Enigma of China

NINETEEN

Turning around, Chen caught sight of Kong Yiji Restaurant.

Kong Yiji was the protagonist in one of Lu Xun’s stories. He was a scholar, totally down and out because of his having failed the civil service examination, his quixotic insistence on the old ways at the end of the Qing dynasty, and his inability to adjust to the changing society. Consequently a helpless drunkard, Kong spent his money-whenever he had any-in a small tavern, where he postured and lectured in an impossibly bookish way.

In that story, the tavern was shabby. It was frequented by short-coated, poor customers who could only afford to drink standing at the counter with just a one-copper plate of aniseed-flavored peas. The relatively better-off, long-gowned customers would sit sipping their wine and relaxing in an adjacent room.

The new restaurant was huge, even though its façade sported some decorations depicted in the story, such as a hot water container for wine warming; a row of dented, ancient-looking bowls and saucers; and a signboard on the wall with a chalk inscription declaring, “Kong Yiji still owes nineteen coppers.” Chen walked over and stepped inside.

“Give me a private room,” Chen said to the young waitress who came up to greet him, “a small one.”

“Just for two?”

“Yes, just for two. You know what I want.”

“Sure, we have one for you.”

The waitress led him to a cozy room lined with pink floral wallpaper. It was furnished with a dining table and chair, a long couch, and a coffee table sporting a statuette of a naked Venus, none of which had anything to do with the original story or its protagonist. That bookish archetype would have never dreamed of a romantic rendezvous in a room like this. The waitress handed Chen a pink-covered menu.

“These are specialties of your restaurant?” Chen asked.

“Yes. There is a minimum charge of seven hundred yuan for the private room. I can recommend some-”

“That’s fine. Bring me whatever you recommend, but make sure to include the local specials.”

He then took out his notebook and scribbled on a page:

Don’t worry about who I am. I know you’re in trouble, and I want to help. Come to the restaurant. Private room 101. I’ll be waiting for you.

He tore out the page, put it into an envelope, and addressed it before handing it to the waitress.

“Deliver it to the address on the envelope. Make sure she herself gets it. Here’s ten yuan for delivering it. When she comes over, I’ll have another twenty for you.”

The waitress eyed him up and down slowly before she nodded, like one waking from a dream. Her face lit up with an arch smile.

“I see, sir. She’ll be here.”

He wondered what the waitress saw, but that hardly mattered.

A middle-aged man wearing a long, worn-out blue gown appeared in the doorway, gesticulating, mumbling literary quotations that ended invariably with the refrain, “forsooth, little left, indeed, little left.” Originally, it referred to the peas in the impoverished character’s hand, Chen recalled. He waved “Kong Yiji” away, closed the door, and wondered what Lu Xun would have thought of that.

Twenty minutes later, there was a light knock on the door.

“Come in, Fang.”

A woman in a plain white blouse and black pants stepped in, a suggestion of hesitation in her timid movements. She appeared to be in her early or mid thirties. Thin, slender, she had a slightly long face, almond-shaped eyes, and a black mole on her forehead.

He stood up and signaled her to a seat, raising his finger to his lips like an old friend. The two sat in silence, waiting, as the waitress came in to serve the cold dishes and then pour the rice wine in two bowls in front of them.

Chen took a slow sip from the bowl. The wine was surprisingly sweet and mellow. The dishes of food in front of them appeared interesting. Smoked duck, white fish fried with green onions, stinking tofu, salt-water-boiled river shrimp, fermented winter melon, and dried bamboo shoots. Thanks to Lu Xun, the special dishes all appeared to reflect the traditional local flavor, even though it was done for a strictly commercial purpose.

“Don’t hurry with the hot dishes. We’d like to talk first,” he said to the waitress. “And please make sure to knock before entering.”

“Of course.”

The moment the waitress stepped out, Chen produced his business card and placed it on the table before Fang.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Fang. I’m Chief Inspector Chen Cao, Deputy Party Secretary of the Shanghai Police Bureau, and also a member of Shanghai Party Committee.”

He didn’t like to use the titles printed on his business card, but they might help in the present situation.

“Oh, I’ve heard of you, Chief Inspector Chen, but-”

“Let’s open the door to the view of the mountains. I told others that I’m here for the literary festival, but that’s only a smokescreen.”

“A smokescreen? For somebody like you?” She gave him an incredulous look and said nothing else.

“I’m here because of the Zhou case.”

“That’s what I guessed.”

“Do you believe Zhou committed suicide?”

“Does it matter what I believe?”

“It matters to me. You might remember Detective Wei, a close colleague of mine.”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear that he died? The day before he died, he interviewed you.”

“Died? How?” she said, her face blanching.

“Killed by a car. I don’t believe he died in a simple traffic accident-not while he was in the middle of investigating Zhou’s death. I’m here because of that investigation but also because of Detective Wei’s death.”

She made no response.

“Detective Wei wasn’t in charge of the shuanggui investigation-the Party investigation into Zhou’s corruption-but I believe that his investigation into the cause of Zhou’s death led to his fatal accident. I want justice for Wei. And I believe you want justice for Zhou, if Zhou was murdered.”

She nodded, her fingers touching the wine cup without lifting it.

“Thank you for telling me all this,” she said, making a visible effort to pull herself together. “Yes, I want justice done if he was murdered, but I’m only the office secretary. People have put a lot of pressure on me, trying to force me to say things I don’t know. I couldn’t do that, so I wanted to get away from it all for a few days. That’s all I can tell you.”

“If you were really just enjoying a vacation here, I don’t think people would be frantically looking for you everywhere. You’ve only worked in that office for two years. How did you come to have a luxurious villa bought for you? I’ve already talked to your parents. They’ve told me what happened after you returned from overseas. We may go over all this, and, if need be, the transaction records for the property will prove everything.”

She kept her head hanging low, her lips sealed tight.

“Let me assure you that you’re not a suspect in my investigation, and I will do nothing to harm you. But I can’t say the same about the others who are looking for you.” Taking another sip of the deceptively sweet wine, Chen went on, adopting a different tone, “I’m not just a cop; I’m also a poet. As the proverb says, even my heart goes out to beauty-like you. If anything, I’m trying to get you out of trouble.”

“But how?” she said. “How can you help me?”

“Tell me what you know about Zhou-and then, only then, will I be able to find a way.”

“He’s dead because of a pack of cigarettes. How can anything I tell you about him help?”

“What you tell me may help us get the real criminal. The one who was behind all of this. Only by pushing this investigation through to the end will I be able to get everyone else off your back. We have to help each other,” he said, then added gently, “If it would make it a little easier for you, tell me something about yourself, how you started to work for him.”

“My parents have already told you everything, I suppose,” she said. Still, she started telling Chen her version.

About seven years ago, after she graduated from a college in Shanghai, she had gone to England to further her studies. She studied hard and got an MA degree in communications. People believed that she would have a great future, but she couldn’t find a job in England. In the meantime, she used up all the money saved by her not-that-well-off parents. She couldn’t stay in England any longer, so she had no choice but to go back to Shanghai. Once back, she found herself a “haigui”-a derogative term for a returnee from overseas, which was pronounced the same as the word for “sea turtle”-and soon turned into a “haidai,” a derogative term for the jobless from overseas, pronounced the same as the word for “seaweed.”

Then she happened to read about Zhou in the newspapers. He had once lived in the same neighborhood as she, had moved away when she was still very young, and was now an important Party official. In desperation, she contacted him, wondering whether he would remember a little girl from the old neighborhood. He did, and to her surprise, he went out of his way to help her get the job as the secretary in the housing development office. At first, she thought he’d simply taken pity on her, but nothing was simple and pure in the world of red dust. It didn’t take long for her to grasp the true meaning of being a little secretary. She was unwilling, then reluctant, but ultimately resigned. Spring is gone, no one knows where. She was no longer young, and she thought she should feel flattered that a powerful man like Zhou wanted her as a little secretary. Zhou was considerate enough to keep their relations a secret in the office, though possibly more because of his own position, since he had to think about the political consequences. Still, he seemed to care for her in his way, even though he chose not to divorce his wife. He arranged for them to go to England on vacation, where they were able to spend a week like a real couple, staying in the sort of five-star hotels that she had never dreamed of being able to stay at when she was there as a student. It was all at the government’s expense, of course. Then he took her to Shaoxing to buy her a villa. When she asked him why, he told her that there was no telling what might happen to him in the future and that now at least she would have something to fall back on-and wasn’t she glad to own her own home?

Ever since the 95 Supreme Majesty scandal had broken, she’d been living in unceasing trepidation. Though he might not have confided in her about all his dirty business deals, she knew enough to realize that he was finished. As for herself, while she might not end up like him, it was only a matter of time before she was fired. Dang wouldn’t let her keep that crucial position in the department. What’s more, Jiang and his team were putting a lot of pressure on her to speak out against Zhou. She didn’t know what to do, so she called in sick and fled. She needed a break and a place she could quietly think about her options.

“I didn’t think anyone knew about this place,” she concluded.

Her account focused on her own experience, Chen noticed, and it didn’t have much to do with Zhou, though she didn’t try to conceal their relationship.

What could Jiang have wanted from her, considering how anxious he was to have Zhou’s death declared a suicide?

And why had she really fled here, all of a sudden? Presumably there was much pressure put on her, as she claimed, but she should have known that running away only made matters worse.

“What do you intend to do now, Fang?”

“Perhaps I can go back to England. That is, if I’m able to sell the property here.”

“Do you think you could get out of the country? As far as I know, your name and passport picture have been sent to the customs authorities throughout the country.”

She didn’t respond.

“Let’s talk a bit more about Zhou,” Chen said.

“What more can I tell you? Jiang believes I know ‘secrets’ about Zhou, but Zhou always told me that it wouldn’t do me any good to know about his business. I really believe he was trying to keep my interests in mind,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “He told me one day that everything he did for me was because I had been so nice to him in the old neighborhood. Allegedly, as a little girl, I’d flashed a sweet smile at him one day when he was utterly down and out. That was when he was working at a neighborhood production group for seventy cents a day and not seeing any light at the end of the dark tunnel.”

“It’s just like Jia Yucun at the beginning of Dream of the Red Chamber,” Chen commented without elaborating on it. It was possible that the archetype of an appreciation for beauty overwhelmed Zhou.

“I just did what I was supposed to do as the department secretary, never inquisitively or intrusively.”

“Did he have any other secretaries?”

“You mean little secretaries? Not in the office. Some people said that he kept me simply as a cover for other ones. I suppose that’s possible, but I don’t think he had the time for that.”

“But as his secretary, you surely know some of the confidential details about his work.”

“He worked hard and was under a lot of pressure,” she said, discernibly hesitant. “It was not an easy job for him. Nominally, he was the one in charge of land and housing development for the city, but there were so many other officials anxious to have a finger in the pie. He had to walk a tightrope all the time. For instance, there was the scandal of the West Eight Blocks. The head of the Jing’an District practically gave the land away, selling it at an incredibly low price to the developer. The developer got a loan on it for five times the amount he’d paid. Zhou knew about that, but the district head had already gotten approval for the deal from Zhou’s superior. What could Zhou do with those higher-ups who were far more powerful? He didn’t really talk to me about those things, but they weren’t really secrets, not in today’s China.”

“Yes, I have heard of the West Eight Blocks. The head of Jing’an District was shuangguied because of it, but the scandal didn’t touch Zhou. Not at the time.”

“Whatever sort of official Zhou might have been, he was good to me,” she said, her head hanging low. “It’s not fair that Zhou alone was to be punished when it’s really like a chain of crabs bound together on a straw rope-all connected.”

She then went on, repeating what she’d already said, adding nothing new or substantial.

But Chen didn’t believe she was telling him everything. He had to break down her resistance.

“I don’t know how I can help you if you don’t tell me everything,” Chen said, interrupting. He brought out the envelope from Melong and handed it to her. “Take a look.”

Her hand was trembling as she took out the pictures.

“So it was you, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was sent copies of these pictures a couple of days ago.”

“Really! I didn’t send those. Do you know who else might have sent them?”

“No, I don’t. It looks like everybody is trying to blackmail or threaten me.”

“Everybody? Tell me about it.”

“The day I got these pictures, Jiang and his people came to talk to me, saying that the consequences would be too much for me if I didn’t cooperate. And then, that evening, Dang also called, telling me I would have to give up.”

“Give what up?”

“I don’t know what he meant. Tell Jiang’s people everything? Give them something that they believed Zhou had given to me? But the message I got was that if I didn’t do what they told me to do, then the pictures would come to light. That’s why I ran away.”

“Can you guess where I found the pictures?” Chen asked deliberately. “On Dang’s computer.”

“What?!”

“He’s after something, but what it is, I don’t know.”

“Zhou had already had his name dragged through the mud. I didn’t want that to happen again, not because of me. He told me he’d kept this property a secret, so I came here.”

“But you can’t hide out for long. What then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be able to eke out an existence, I think, for two or three months on my savings. The storm may have blown over by then, and I’ll be able to turn a page somewhere else.”

So the pressure Dang and Jiang were putting on her wasn’t to get her to speak out against Zhou but for her to give them something they thought Zhou had entrusted to her.

Her story was so unlikely that Chen believed it was actually true, whether or not she was innocent. But what could Dang be after? For that matter, what could Jiang and his team want so desperately? This opened up totally new possibilities.

“Hidden treasure?” he murmured, almost to himself.

Zhou was said to have amassed a huge fortune, and what had been exposed on the Internet was merely the tip of the iceberg. Dang must believe that Fang knew about it.

Was that what Jiang was after, too? It wasn’t likely. It could be a huge amount but not so much that it would be worth such an effort on the part of the city government. If any more details about such corruption were to leak out, it wouldn’t do the city government any good.

“Those people are capable of anything,” she muttered, though not in response to Chen.

Jiang’s continuous presence at Moller Villa could possibly backfire on him now, with the Beijing team stationed at the same hotel. Even though Fang might not have told him everything, hemming and hawing as she had about details, her fear was genuine. If Zhou had been murdered for something-whatever that might be, Chen had no clue and too little knowledge to speculate-that something was still out there, and Fang wasn’t an unlikely next target on the list. That was the real reason she’d run away.

She hadn’t said that in so many words, but she didn’t have to.

Zhou might have hidden the something away-this crucially important “something”-but could it possibly be in her possession? From what Chen could see, while it might have been a matter of life and death to Zhou, it wasn’t to Fang. There was no point in her holding on to it, particularly at the expense of becoming a fugitive.

At the same time, it had to be something that was a fatal threat to Jiang and his people, and something Zhou believed would provide him protection. Nothing like that had come to the surface yet-not as far as Chen could see.

Then how could he help Fang? With others watching and plotting for reasons unknown-to him, and perhaps to one another-it’d be better not to reveal her whereabouts to any of them. Otherwise, before he was capable of making a move, she’d be snatched out of his hands.

He dipped a piece of stinking tofu in the hot sauce. It was slightly cold yet still crispy, but the hot sauce wasn’t spicy enough, just as Lu Xun had deplored in a story. It was probably titled “In the Tavern.”

Fang’s staying here wouldn’t harm anybody, he decided. Nor would it obstruct the investigation of Zhou’s death. Turning to Fang, he said, “Things are complicated. Because of Zhou’s position and because of his connections, you might as well stay here for a while, for your own safety. You’ll have to avoid contacting others. Do your parents have any idea where you are?”

“No, they don’t. They’re old-fashioned people. They would be upset that I have a villa given to me by Zhou, so I’ve never told them anything about it.”

“That’s good. Don’t contact them, either-not until I tell you it’s okay. It won’t be too long. Soon there may be a drastic change in the situation,” he said, not saying more than was necessary. “In the meantime, if you can think of anything that might have caused Zhou’s death, or about things he might have left behind-anything at all-let me know immediately. You have my cell number. But make sure that you call from a public pay phone, one that’s not near here. You’re right about one thing. Those people are capable of anything.”