Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

“Snake blood is good for blood circulation. It is useful in treating anemia, rheumatism, arthritis, and asthenia. Snake gall bladder proves especially effective in dissolving phlegm and improving vision-”

“You have to have the gall, Chief Inspector Chen,” Gu insisted. “The gall is associated with yin and has a special effect on human health.”

This medical theory did not appeal to Chen. He knew it was customary to save the gall for a distinguished guest. Kneeling, White Cloud held the cup out to him in both hands, respectfully. The gall looked a ghastly greenish color in the clear liquor. It was hard to imagine what it would taste like.

With one determined gulp, he swallowed without tasting, as he used to swallow an oversized pill in his childhood. He did not know whether it was the effect of his imagination, or whether the snake gall was really that potent. It produced in his stomach an instant chill that contrasted with a burning sensation in his throat. Yin, in traditional Chinese medical theory.

“Now you must have the blood. That’s yang,” Gu urged.

In kung fu fiction, drinking wine mixed with rooster blood was part of the triad initiation ceremony, like a blood oath: to share weal and woe. Gu had a bowl in his hand too, perhaps in a gesture with a similar connotation. Chief Inspector Chen had no choice but to drain the bowl, trying his best to ignore the strange smell.

Then a platter of fried slices of snake meat was set on the table. White Cloud fed him a slice with her fingers. Tender, under a golden crispy surface, it tasted like chicken with an unusual texture.

He tried to lead the conversation in the direction he wanted.

“We did not have enough time yesterday, Gu. There’s a lot more we could have talked about.”

“Exactly, Chief Inspector Chen. As for what you wanted me to find out yesterday, I have done some legwork-”

“Excuse me, General Manager Gu,” Meiling said, rising. “I think I need to take a close look at the parking lot. White Cloud may accompany me there.”

“That’s a good idea,” Chen said gratefully.

When they were left alone, however, Gu did not provide much new information. Gu discussed what he thought suspicious about the way Mr. Diao, that Hong Kong visitor, had appeared. A Flying Ax would not have come to Gu, since he was not really a Blue member. Diao should have gone to the Eldest Brother of the Blue. Gu was out of his element when trying to play detective, but he had learned that Diao had also visited the Red Capital Bathhouse.

Apparently, Gu had really tried hard to get information. Chen nodded, sipping his wine. If that Fujianese was a Flying Ax looking for Wen, Diao might be from a rival organization. A third party, as Inspector Rohn had suggested.

“Thank you, Gu. You have done great work.”

“Come on, Chief Inspector Chen. You have taken me as a friend,” Gu declared, “and for a friend, I’m willing to have my ribs pierced with knives.” Gu had turned red in the face, beating his chest with a fist, not a gesture Chen had expected to see in a private karaoke room.

When Meiling returned with White Cloud, another bottle of Mao Tai was opened.

Gu kept toasting “Chief Inspector Chen’s great achievement and prosperous future.” Meiling joined in the toasts. Kneeling by the table, White Cloud busily added wine to his cup.

Chen could not remember how much he’d had to drink. Warmed with gratification at such recognition, he was coming to terms with his status here.

Seizing the opportunity when Meiling excused herself, he posed a question to Gu, “Has Li Guohua been here?”

“Li Guohua, the Party Secretary of your bureau? No, not here. But one of his relatives has a bar in a very good location. It was the Eldest Brother of the Blue who told me this.”

“Really!” That his brother-in-law had a bar was not news, but Gu had specifically mentioned the Eldest Brother of the Blue as his source. This was disturbing. Heretofore Party Secretary Li had been a prototype of Party correctness for Chen as well as a political mentor.

Was this why Li had been so reluctant to have him pursue an investigation dealing with the triads? Perhaps why Li had insisted on assigning Qian to him as a temporary assistant?

“I can find out more for you, Chief Inspector.”

“Thank you, Gu,” he said.

Meiling came back into the room. A new piece of music played. It was a tango. White Cloud, kneeling with a cup for him in her hand, looked up at him. There was a small bloodstain on her bare sole. Maybe it was blood from the big king snake. He felt tempted to have another dance with her.

He was not drunk-not as drunk as Li Bai, beneath the Tang dynasty moon, who had written about dancing with his own shadow. In a lonely moment, Li Bai must have enjoyed his intoxicated departure from humdrum existence. Escape, though no more than momentary, seemed to be desirable tonight at the Dynasty.

At the sight of Meiling checking her watch, Chief Inspector Chen thought about asking her to go home now, on her own. However, he rose to leave instead.

Detective Yu was wakened by a hoarse, long-drawn-out sound.

As he roused himself from the dream, blinking in the half-light of the room, the sound was repeated several times in the distance. Still disoriented, he had a feeling that the eerie sound came from another world. Was it the cry of a white owl? It was probably not unusual in this area. He reached for his watch. Twenty to six. Gray daylight was starting to filter through the plastic blinds.

An owl’s hoot was supposed to be ominous, according to folklore, especially when it was heard first thing in the morning.

In Yunnan, he and Peiqin had sometimes awakened amid nameless birds’ twittering. Different days. Different birds, too. After a night’s wind and rain, the slope outside their window would be covered with fallen petals. He was missing Peiqin again.

Rubbing his eyes, he made an effort to shake off the feeling the owl’s cry had induced. There was no reason to suspect that it was going to be a bad day.

Chief Inspector Chen had discussed with him the likelihood that the Flying Axes would take desperate measures. It was alarming, but understandable. Considering the huge profit in human smuggling, the gang would make every attempt to get hold of Wen, on its own or through connections, to prevent her husband from testifying.

His phone started ringing. The number on the LCD display was a local one. The call came from Manager Pan, the first time they’d spoken since the food poisoning accident.

“Is everything all right, Pan?”

“I’m fine. I entertained a customer last night in a bathhouse in Tingjiang Village. And I saw Zheng Shiming playing mah-jongg there with several good-for-nothing guys.”

“Who is Zheng Shiming?”

“A Flying Ax. He did some business with Wen’s husband Feng two or three years ago.”

“That’s a piece of news. You should have called me last night.”

“I’m not a cop. I did not associate Zheng with your investigation there and then,” Pan said. “But it may not be too late. A mah-jongg game can last all the night. If you go over right now, I bet you’ll still find him there. He has a red motorcycle. A Honda.”

“I’m on my way,” Yu said. “Anything else about Zheng?”

“Last year Zheng was in jail for gambling. He’s just out on probation for medical treatment. Playing mah-jongg is way out of line.” Pan added after a short pause, “Oh, I have also heard stories about Zheng and Merry Widow Shou, the owner of the bathhouse. She loves to have her legs entwined with Zheng’s.”

“I see.” That was why Pan called him so early in the morning. A sly dog. After a night of mah-jongg, a six-thirty visit was well-calculated to catch them off guard.