Enigma of China(27)

Walking out of the hotel like a disappointed tourist, Chen looked around before he crossed the street and went to a new restaurant. The restaurant was called Northeast Family, and it sported a row of red lanterns in front of its rustic façade. He walked in, and then went up to the second floor, where he was surprised to see several kangs—or table-and-seat units shaped like kangs—by the windows overlooking Shanxi Road. He went over to one out of curiosity.

A waiter hurried to his side, saying apologetically, “Sorry, this is a table for six people.”

Sitting at this table, however, Chen could easily keep the hotel in sight.

“What’s the minimum charge to sit here?” Chen asked.

At some restaurants, a private room had a minimum charge attached: it was possible this restaurant had a minimum for desirable tables.

“Usually, we charge six hundred. Our northeast cuisine is not expensive, so you can have a banquet for that. One person alone wouldn’t be able to finish that much.” The waiter paused. “Well, let’s make an exception for you and waive the minimum expense, sir,” he said considerately. “We have eating girls here. For just one hundred yuan she’ll sit at your table and introduce you to the specialties of our cuisine.”

“Fine. I’ll pay for her company, but I want to sit by myself for a while first.”

“Whatever you want, sir. I’ll brew you a pot of Dragon Well tea first.”

He secured the table against the window. It wasn’t that comfortable to sit on the kang. A real kang was a long earthen bed with coals burning underneath, the people sitting above with their legs comfortably crossed under them, and with a small table in the middle during mealtime. Here he saw only a resemblance of one, but he took off his shoes, climbed on, and started keeping watch on the hotel.

Across the street, the hotel shimmered in the sunlight. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the hotel looked different that morning. For about fifteen minutes, he didn’t see anybody walking in or out. There were only a couple of luxury cars that drove in, their curtains drawn, and not a single taxi. The hotel must have been converted into a “political base.”

A young eating girl came over, dressed not unlike someone from the northeast, and managed to speak with only a slight suggestion of a northeast accent.

“Shark fin is a specialty of our restaurant, sir.”

“Shark fin is advertised as the special in every restaurant. I don’t have to order it here, but I’ll have the rest of the specials on the menu.”

“You certainly know how to order,” she said in agreement. She perched herself on the edge of the kang and kicked off her slippers. He wondered whether she would sit with him like that through the entire meal, as if they were in some movie scene of a couple in the northeast countryside.

“Thank you,” he said, taking out a ten-yuan bill. “Here’s a small tip for you, but I want to sit by myself for the moment.”

“Whatever you like, Big Brother,” she said, standing up, clutching the bill. “Whenever you need anything, just call me. We have all sorts of service available. And service for you afterward in a private room too.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Soon the dishes he’d ordered arrived on the kang table. Northeast cuisine, known for its homely style, was not considered one of the major cuisines in China. He helped himself to a piece of pan-fried tofu, took a sip of tea, and took out a notebook.

Chen started drawing up a timetable in his notebook of the events surrounding Wei’s accident the previous day. One probable scenario was that Wei—dressed like a tourist—was going to check into the hotel, incognito, in the hope of learning something that had eluded him in his official capacity. But was the hotel already closed that day due to the arrival of the mysterious Beijing team?

Whether the hotel was closed or not, Wei, leaving home around eight that morning, should have been somewhere near this location around nine. He made his way to the scene of the accident three or four hours later, though it was no more than a five-minute walk from the hotel. So, where had Wei been during the interval?

Wei could have sat here by the window, just as Chen was doing today, keeping an eye on the hotel. It was eerie to imagine—to imagine himself turning into Wei—

“Big Brother, the dishes are getting cold,” the eating girl said, returning to the table.

It was true. He hadn’t even touched some of them. He wondered how long he’d been sitting here, lost in thought.

“They are quite good, but I’ve somehow lost my appetite,” he said apologetically. He pointed at several dishes. “Sorry, these are not even touched.”