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Enigma of China(75)

By:Qiu Xiaolong


It was Sheng’s turn not to respond. Silence hung heavily over the room.

Chen continued. “The water may be too deep for us to jump in headfirst. Like pieces on a chessboard, we’re positioned there by others. Our respective roles might not be known to us, that is, in the larger picture. As long as we do our jobs conscientiously, that’s about all that is asked of us. But we also have to make sure that our work doesn’t get in the way of the larger picture.”

“Yes, I think I’m beginning to catch your point, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“That’s why I quoted the metaphor about the blind man and the blind horse. To be frank, some of your Internal Security officers and I may have had misunderstandings in the past. But I hope not this time. You’re different, Lieutenant Sheng. You invited me over to talk about our common goals, even though we have different priorities.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“But do you think the Central Party Discipline Committee team would come from Beijing and stay here for a small potato like Zhou?”

“No, I don’t…” Sheng added hesitantly, “I think I’ve heard of something between Beijing and Shanghai.”

“As the song goes, ‘I don’t know which direction the wind is blowing,’” Chen said, then added in a whisper, “I’ve just received an e-mail from Beijing.”

“From Beijing?”

“He quoted a poem to me by Wang Yangming. From what I can tell, the basic message is: you can’t afford to lose sight of the big things in the distance because of the small things close at hand.”

“There’s no point in his stating things too explicitly,” Sheng said, without even having to ask who “he” was.

It was then that Sheng’s phone rang.

As Sheng picked up his phone, Chen stood up and started walking toward the balcony for a cigarette. Then he came to a dead stop. He heard the name of Fang repeated by Sheng into the phone. Chen slowed down, pretending to look for matches, walking back two or three steps to retrieve some from the coffee table. He overheard several more fragmented words.

“Shaoxing, or near Shaoxing… a public phone… her parents don’t know anything…”

He lit a cigarette, stepped out to the balcony, and inhaled deeply. The city was looming all around him, with old and new skyscrapers, impersonal and oppressive.

When he went back inside, Sheng had finished his call and had made another coffee for the chief inspector.

Sheng didn’t say anything about the call, probably thinking that the chief inspector wouldn’t be able to make anything out of one or two out-of-context words.

But Chen knew what he’d heard, and what he was going to do.





TWENTY-TWO


TWENTY MINUTES LATER, CHEN stepped into a public phone booth on Yan’an Road, took a quick look around, and then dialed the number of the cell phone he’d given Fang.

When she picked up, Chen blurted out, without pausing to greet her, “I warned you not to call your parents.”

Despite his warning, she’d called her parents in Shanghai from a pay phone near Dayu Temple, like a lonely, lost tourist.

“I’m all alone here, in the house he bought me, surrounded by nothing but memories of him, and the echoes of my own footsteps. I really can’t stand it anymore.”

“But their phone in Shanghai was tapped,” he said. “Now they’ve been able to narrow down your location to Shaoxing. It’s only a matter of time before they track you down to that villa. You have to move—as soon as possible.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Away from Shaoxing. I know things are hard for you, but you have to stay out of their hands. What happened to Zhou shouldn’t happen to you.”

“But how long do I have to hide and wait?” She went on without waiting for an answer: “Is there anything new in Shanghai?”

“We’re making some progress, but—”

“The other day,” she said, interrupting, “you asked me to recall anything unusual—anything at all—about Zhou before he was shuangguied. I thought this through several times, and I think there might be something, but I’m not sure.”

“Yes?”

“There’s a small bedroom attached to his office. He usually worked late, so occasionally he stayed overnight. One evening, after more pictures were posted on the Internet, he looked very upset. He wanted me to join him in that bedroom to, among other things, dance for him.”

“What? In a parody of the Mighty King of Chu?” Chen asked. Zhou must have known of the impending disaster and had reacted like the King of Chu, who requested that his favorite imperial concubine dance for him before he went off to fight his last-ditch battle.