Qiu Xiaolong - The Mao Case

“That’s outrageous. I will find out for you. You have my word for it.”

“Have you seen White Cloud lately?”

“Yes. Why, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“One of the gangsters said something about an ugly toad watering its mouth at the sight of a beautiful swan, so it could involve a romantic relationship. But there’s nothing going on between us, you know.”

“Absolutely nothing, I know, though she adores you like anything. You haven’t given her any chance. No, I don’t think she has anything to do with it, but I’ll talk to her about it. At my request, she has made a point of not mentioning you to other people.”

Chen wasn’t so sure about that. She was a young, fashionable girl. And Gu could be so proud of his connections.

“Of late, I’ve helped someone preserve his old house as a historical site. A real estate company concerned may not be pleased with it. The company is called East Wind, supposedly connected to both the black and white ways.”

“East Wind, I think I’ve heard of it. I know some people in the circle. I’ll tell you what. I’ll dig three feet into the ground.”

“You don’t have to go out of your way, Gu.”

“How can you say that, Chief Inspector Chen? Anyone who attacks you attacks me. It’s a slap in my face too,” Gu went on seriously. “In today’s society, there are not too many honest and capable cops like you left. If I do anything, it’s not just for you.”

“But don’t do anything rash. Don’t reveal my identity, either, when you make your inquiries.”

“Don’t worry. Enjoy your vacation. Call me if there is anything else.” Gu added, “Oh, I’ll visit your mother over the weekend. White Cloud will do so too.”

In Confucian classics, the concept of “expediency” is much discussed, his father had once taught him. For the moment, the Mao Case was the overriding priority, justifying whatever means. Gu had helped before, as he would again this time, full of yiqi, like in a martial arts novel. The chief inspector might have to pay him back, eventually, but he didn’t want to worry about it now.

His next call was to Old Hunter. “I’ve just seen Dr. Xia. He said I have suffered a concussion.”

“Did you have an accident?”

“No, I don’t think it was an accident. A couple of gangsters attacked me on the street,” Chen said simply. “To ensure a quiet recovery period, Dr. Xia insists on my taking a vacation – away from the work and worry. Somewhere that no one knows about. No phone calls. I have to take his advice, I’m afraid.”

“But the situation here may develop unexpectedly -”

“I’ll contact you from time to time.”

“Fine – oh, I got hold of someone, someone very reliable, to serve as Jiao’s temporary maid. She may be able to find out something for us.”

“Great. That will really help. Tell her to go to Jiao’s place at her earliest convenience. I’ll let Jiao know about it before I leave. In any emergency situation, you may contact a friend of mine. This is her number. She should know my whereabouts for the next few days.”

It was Ling’s number. For the moment, there was nobody else he could think of. According to Yong, Ling had moved back to her parents’ home.

“Will it be safe to call her?”

“It’s a special ‘red line’ for her high cadre family. You don’t have to worry about its being tapped. But don’t give it to anybody.”

“I understand.”

Old Hunter might have guessed. What would he be thinking about Chen’s sudden vacation? That the romantic chief inspector was impossible, rushing to his ex-girlfriend…

Chen decided not to worry about that, either.

He had to make another phone call, recommending “someone reliable” to Jiao, who had left a message on her cell number while on his way to the Shanghai Railway Station.

FOLLOWING THE DIRECTIONS PROVIDED by Old Hunter, Peiqin arrived at the high-end apartment complex on Wuyuan Road.

She was the “someone reliable” Chen had recommended to Jiao, though he had no idea that it was none other than Peiqin.

Peiqin had volunteered to serve as a temporary maid, to the surprise of both Yu and Old Hunter, who had asked her to help look for one. She made a convincing argument for her candidacy. It was practically impossible to find a reliable maid on short notice, let alone one capable of reporting to the police in secret. What’s more, whatever the reason for Chen’s vacation, he must be in danger. They had to help. Finally, Yu agreed on the condition that she do nothing there except what was expected of a temporary maid.

Wuyuan Road and the neighborhood around it was an area Peiqin hadn’t visited before. Like many Shanghainese who rarely ventured outside of their own circles, she saw no point in exploring areas that were like another city to her. Before and after 1949, Wuyuan was regarded as one of the “upper corners,” way above ordinary people like Peiqin and Yu.

In the fast-changing city, the gap between the rich and the poor was once again expanding. The newspapers and magazines had started talking about building a harmonious society, all of a sudden and all at once, like never-tiring cicadas in the trees. She wondered how it could be managed. She showed her ID to the green-uniformed security guard at the complex entrance and declared herself to be a new maid.

Moving through the entrance, she felt momentarily lost, like Granny Liu in the Dream of the Red Chamber. The ultraluxurious apartments in front stood like tall magnificent dreams far, far away. Before pressing the intercom at the apartment building, she took another look at her reflection in a pocket mirror. A middle-aged woman in a faded black T-shirt, khaki pants, and rubber-heeled shoes, carrying a white canvas bag. It was the image of a house maid as commonly seen on TV, a role not too difficult for her to play, after all the house work she had done at home over the years.

“Who is it?” A voice came down from the fifth floor. “I’m Pei. Mr. Chen told me to come today.”

“Oh yes, come up. Room 502.”

The lock on the front door clicked. Peiqin pulled the door open and walked over to the elevator.

When she stepped out onto the fifth floor, she saw a young woman standing in the doorway of an apartment on the left.

“So you are the new maid?”

“Yes,” Peiqin said, nodding.

“I’m Jiao.” She was in a light blue mandarin dress embroidered with a colorful phoenix, her feet encased in matching high-heeled satin slippers, as if she had stepped out of a movie from the thirties. The mandarin dress, apparently custom-tailored, brought out all her curves, with a subtle suggestion of voluptuousness. She was holding a pair of stockings in her hand.

Jiao should have been able to take care of the apartment herself, but Peiqin knew it could be simply a sign of one’s social status to have a maid. Peiqin had heard that some upstarts had a cubicle in their apartments called a maid’s room, with its own bathroom, so that the live-in-servant wouldn’t mix with the master. She had grown up during the age of communist egalitarian propaganda, and she couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable with her identity in this situation, even though she was merely playing a role, a temporary one.

“Come on in,” Jiao said. “My name is Pei. Mr. Chen wanted me to come here,” Peiqin repeated what she had said downstairs.

“Mr. Chen called me, saying that he would send over someone capable and reliable.”

“I’ve known Mr. Chen for years. He’s a good man.”

“How is he? I tried to call him this morning, but he didn’t pick up.”

“He is out of town on business, I guess,” Peiqin said vaguely, not sure whether Jiao was aware of the latest development.