Chen didn’t immediately respond, being reminded of a metaphor: China was turning into a huge cobweb of omnipresent correlations, with every thread connected and interconnected, however thin or insubstantial, visible or invisible.
“Guess what I’ve been reading lately. Detective stories. Some of them were translated by you. That’s another reason I have to call you a master. Not just because of your literary work, but also because of your police work.”
“I have to cut my visit short, Young Bao. The tea is really excellent,” Chen said, draining the cup, “but I have to go now.”
“I’m glad you like it. I’ll keep the tea here for you—it’ll be here anytime you come over.”
Chen walked back to Shanxi Road. He remained depressed, in spite of the refreshing tea, but he no longer felt so exhausted. He headed straight to the hotel, though not without looking over his shoulder a couple of times.
A flower girl standing by the street corner greeted him with an engaging smile.
“Buy a bouquet, sir?” She spoke in a non-Shanghai dialect, a basket of dazzling white jasmine flowers at her feet.
Thinking of Wei, he paid for a budding jasmine blossom as small as a button decoration and put it in his blazer pocket.
Yesterday, Wei could have been on his way to the hotel, turning the same corner, with, or without, the flower girl standing here with her basket.
The scenario of Wei going to the hotel would account for his formal dress that morning. He would have been going on his own, trying to make sure no one recognized him as a cop. Wei would have had to be cautious, since the city team was still stationed there.
Now there were people from the Central Party Discipline Committee from Beijing involved as well, and they were probably not coming just for someone like Zhou. Beijing wouldn’t send a team just for him. Chen had to be more cautious.
Still, he thought he would try not to worry about the Beijing team too much: its work would be considered none of his business, and Chief Inspector Chen had enough on his hands.
He slowed down, strolling at a leisurely pace, like a tourist, and pulled out his cell phone. Chen called a retired cop nicknamed Encyclopedia.
Filling him in briefly, Chen asked, “Why have all these people chosen the Moller Hotel? Can you tell me something about the history of the hotel?”
“Oh, it used to be Moller Villa. After 1949, it was turned into offices of the Shanghai Communist Youth League. It operated both under the city government and under the Central Communist Youth League in Beijing. Quite a few of today’s high-ranking leaders in the Forbidden City started out in the Youth League, which makes them a most powerful faction in the Party power structure.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Encyclopedia,” Chen said. He said his good-byes and hung up.
It occurred to Chen that the current Central Party general secretary had also been a cadre from the Communist Youth League. He and his closest allies were sometimes called the Youth League Gang. There was also a Shanghai Gang, as it was sometimes called, consisting of cadres who rose to the top through the city government. That group was headed by the Shanghai Party boss, Qiangyu, and it was said the Shanghai Gang stood in opposition to Beijing’s Youth League Gang.
The arrival of the Beijing Central Party Discipline Committee team in Shanghai, and at this particular hotel, could be a sign of an intensifying power struggle at the top. Chen couldn’t tell whether or not it was in any way connected to the Zhou case.
Actually, that struggle might have been another factor in Chen’s not being promoted to Party secretary of the Shanghai police bureau. Chen was rumored to be closely connected to major figures in Beijing, such as Comrade Zhao, the ex-secretary of the Central Party Discipline Committee, even though Chen himself knew that it wasn’t true. For one thing, Comrade Zhao had not contacted him in quite a while. For another, no message had been sent to Chen about the Beijing team being dispatched to Shanghai.
The chief inspector decided to take a few extra precautions on this visit to the hotel. Instead of going to Jiang’s room in building B of the hotel, Chen approached the hotel front desk. He didn’t have to sign a register to do that.
“Sorry, but there’s a special meeting going on at the hotel,” the desk clerk said as Chen walked in. “It is no longer open to tourists.”
“What a pity! I’ve heard so much about this legendary hotel,” Chen said. He picked up a brochure, adding, as if an afterthought, “But what about the people already staying here?”
“They will have to move out, and as soon as possible.”
So there was something going on here. Perhaps there wouldn’t be an exception made for Jiang, and he too would have to leave the hotel, but Chen wasn’t sure.