Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

But Chief Inspector Chen knew better than to push the matter further. On the surface, everything could be attributed to coincidence. There was no point going on with Inspector Rohn and Wen waiting.

“We local police can do little,” Hong said, looking Chen in the eye. “You know that, Chief Inspector Chen.”

Could that be a hint about the higher-level politics?

The doubts Chen had harbored at the beginning of the investigation were resurfacing. Wen’s disappearance might not have been orchestrated from above, but whether the authorities had been so eager to deliver her to the Americans, he was not sure. What was left for Chen to do was perhaps no more than a performance in an ancient shadow play, full of sound and fury, but no substance. In his eagerness to serve as a model Chinese chief inspector of police, however, he had stepped beyond the boundaries of the stage.

If this was so, the battle in the village might truly have been beyond the scope of the local police, as Superintendent Hong intimated.

Maybe “the order of the acts had been schemed and plotted,” at the highest level.

He did not really want to believe this.

Perhaps he would never know the truth. Perhaps it would be best if he could be content to be one of those brainless Chinese cops in the Hollywood movies, and to let Inspector Rohn think of him that way.

Whatever his suspicions, he was in no position to confide in her. Or another report by Internal Security would travel to Party Secretary Li’s desk even before he got back to Shanghai.

“Now the case has been concluded.” Superintendent Hong changed the topic with a ready smile. “You have found Wen. All is well. We should celebrate. The best Fujian cuisine, a banquet of a hundred fishes from the southern sea.”

“No thanks, Superintendent Hong,” Chen declined. “But I need to ask a favor of you.”

“We will do anything we can, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“We have to return to Shanghai right now. We are pressed for time.”

“That’s no problem. Let’s go to the airport directly. There are several flights to Shanghai every day. You can take the next one. It’s not the high season. I believe there should still be some seats available.”

Hong and the others drove off in their jeep, taking the lead. Yu followed with Wen in the car that had brought them from the airport. Chen rode with Catherine in the Dazhong.

The half bag of lichee still lay on the seat. The fruit no longer looked so fresh. Several appeared black rather than red. Or if the color remained the same, his mood had changed.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“I should not have supported Wen’s wish to take this trip.”

“I was not opposed to the idea, either,” he said. “I’m sorry, Inspector Rohn.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

“How could the gang have found us so quickly?”

“That’s a good question.” That’s all he said. It was a question Superintendent Hong should have answered.

“You called the Fujian Police Bureau from Suzhou,” she said quietly. The tai chi term was: It is enough to touch the spot. She did not have to push.

“That was my mistake. But I did not mention Wen.” He was puzzled. Only the Suzhou police were aware that Wen was with them, but he went on, “Maybe some villager notified the gangsters as soon as we arrived. That’s Superintendent Hong’s story.”

“Maybe.”

“I do not know much about the local situation.” He caught himself talking to her in the same evasive way as Superintendent Hong had spoken to him. Still, what else could he say? “Maybe the gangsters were waiting for Wen. Just like ‘the old farmer waiting for the rabbit to knock itself out.’”

“Old farmers or not, the Flying Axes were here and the local police were not.”

“There’s another proverb, ‘A powerful dragon cannot fight local snakes.’ “

“I have another question, Chief Inspector Chen. Why did these local snakes come with nothing but axes?”

“Perhaps they came at a moment’s notice, so they carried whatever weapons they happened to lay their hands on.”

“At a moment’s notice? I don’t think so. Not so many of them, and masked.”

“You have a point,” he said. In fact, her question led to another one. Why had they bothered to wear masks? Their axes gave them away. Like the ax wounds on the body in Bund Park. A signed crime.

“Now that our mission is completed, we don’t have to worry about those questions,” he said.

“Or answers.” She sensed his reluctance to talk further.

It sounded like a sarcastic reference to the poem read in the Suzhou garden.

He felt her sitting so close, but so far away at the same time.

Chen turned on the car radio. The broadcast was in the local dialect, of which he did not understand a single word.

Presently, the Fujian airport came in view.

As they neared the domestic flights gate, they saw a peddler in Taoist costume displaying his wares on a piece of white cloth spread on the ground. It exhibited an impressive array of herb samples, along with a number of open books, magazines, and pictures, all of them illustrating the beneficial effects of local herbs. The ingenious entrepreneur wore a white beard, an image associated with the legends of a Taoist recluse cultivating herbs in the clouds of the mountains, meditating above the vexing hubbub of the world, and enjoying longevity in harmony with nature.

He spoke a few words to them but neither Catherine nor Chen could understand him. Seeing their puzzlement, he addressed them in Mandarin.

“Look! Fulin cake, the well-known product of Fujian, beneficent to your body system,” the peddler declared. “It contains natural energy, and a lot of ingredients essential to health.”

The Taoist peddler reminded Chen of the Taoist fortuneteller in the Suzhou temple. Ironically, the cryptic poem’s prediction had turned out to be true.

As they walked through the gate, flight information was being broadcast, first in Mandarin, then in Fujian, and finally in English.

Finally, Chen realized something.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Damn!” he cursed, glancing at his watch. It was too late.

“What, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“Nothing,” he said.

The dinner invitation was Detective Yu’s idea. To be exact, however, it was an idea he had gotten from Chief Inspector Chen. Chen had mentioned Inspector Rohn’s interest in visiting a Chinese home, adding it would not be convenient to invite her to a bachelor’s place like his. Chen did not have to say more to his assistant.

The moment he returned, Yu broached the dinner plan to Peiqin. “Inspector Rohn is leaving tomorrow afternoon. So she is available only this evening.”

“You have just come back.” Peiqin handed him a hot towel from a green plastic basin. “It’s such short notice. I don’t have any time to prepare. Especially for an American.”

“But I have invited them already.”

“You could have called me first.” Peiqin poured a cup of jasmine tea for him. “Our room is so small. An American will hardly be able to turn around.”

Yu’s room was on the southern end of the eastern wing, in an apartment which had been assigned to his father, Old Hunter, in the early fifties. Now, forty years later, the four rooms accommodated four families. As a result, each room functioned as a bedroom, dining’ room, living room, and bathroom. Yu’s room, which had once been a dining room, proved particularly inconvenient for entertaining guests. The room next to it, Old Hunter’s, was originally the living room, and had the only door opening into the hall. A visitor had to walk through Old Hunter’s room to reach theirs.