by Mai Jia
Outside, he was pleasantly surprised to see his jeep parked in the courtyard. Rushing over to it he saw the driver hunched over the steering wheel taking a nap. The jeep seemed to have been brought for him to use. Lying by telling the truth, he told his wife that he had left his briefcase at the station and had to go and retrieve it. But he never went to the station, going directly to B City instead.
Rong Jinzhen understood that the thief could be either on the train or in B City – there were no other possibilities. If he was still on the train, then there was nowhere for him to run. That meant that Rong Jinzhen had to make great haste to B City. A City didn’t need him, but B City – B City might yet need its entire population!
Three hours later, Rong Jinzhen pulled into the courtyard of the city garrison. From there he learnt that he had to go the Special Incidents Task Force, located within the garrison guest house. The man in charge was a Deputy Minister dispatched from General Headquarters; but he had yet to arrive. Below him were five deputy heads whose responsibilities had been divided up between the relevant departments of the military in A City and B City. This group included one deputy head who would later become Director of Unit 701: Zheng the Gimp. Upon reaching the guest house, Assistant Director Zheng gave Rong Jinzhen some bad news: the train had been searched from top to bottom and the thief was nowhere to be found.
This could only mean that the thief had alighted in B City! Without delay, everyone involved was dispatched to B City. In the evening, Vasili himself arrived, initially under orders from Director Feng to escort Rong Jinzhen back to the hospital; but sensing that Rong Jinzhen would most likely refuse to return, Director Feng had included supplementary instructions: if he would not relent in his desire to remain in B City, then Vasili had to accompany him everywhere and ensure his safety.
This is more or less what transpired.
No one knew that Vasili would potentially compromise the very security of Unit 701 and nearly bring ruin upon them all.
6.
Over the course of the next few days, Rong Jinzhen drifted through the streets and alleys of B City much like a wandering, displaced soul. During the long endless nights – nights that would have driven the most resolute person insane – he whiled away the hours contemplating the most far-off things. He had passed through hope and now felt the most extreme despair; the night had become torture. Every evening, his most pitiable fate nagged at him, tortured him and stole away his sleep, and yet the mornings only served to pressure him even more, like burning moxa on his body. He delved deep down into his mind in an effort to recall that day and evening, to censure himself, and to try and understand how he had committed such a terrible mistake. But in truth, it seemed as though everything he had done had been a mistake, and yet free of mistakes: it was all a dream, a fantasy. Tangled up in this bewildering, agitating and yet shameless predicament, miserably hot tears scorched his eyes, drowning him within this torture. Rong Jinzhen felt he was a withered flower, his petals in the process of falling off. He was like a lamb that had lost its way, whose mournful calls grew weaker and weaker, ever more heartwrenching.
It was now the evening of the sixth day since the incident had occurred. This most important and yet most hurtful evening began with a torrential downpour. The rain drenched Rong Jinzhen and Vasili to the bone, giving rise to a ceaseless cough in the former, and causing them to return early from their search. Stretched out on beds that had been provided for them, the weariness in their bones was not entirely unbearable, but the endless rain outside was tormenting.
The rain made Rong Jinzhen think of a dreadful quandary . . . [Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]
As someone intimately involved in the situation, Rong Jinzhen had a unique point of view when compared to the other investigators assigned to this case. For instance, he believed that the main motive for the theft had to have been money, and that once the thief had taken what was financially valuable, he would dispose of the rest, including Rong Jinzhen’s most precious notebook. This perspective was not without reason, and so once Rong Jinzhen set it out, everyone working on the case paid it special attention. Consequently, men were sent out to search all the city’s dustbins and landfills. Of course, Rong Jinzhen himself went out to scour through the city’s rubbish, taking the lead in many instances, putting his energy into being especially meticulous, even going over the same places that someone else had already looked through.
But on the evening of the sixth day the city was immersed in a deluge of rain that showed no signs of stopping: it howled through the sky and beat against the ground, and soon the city’s nooks and crannies were inundated with water. The rain made Rong Jinzhen feel even worse for all the personnel from Unit 701 who had come to search for his notebook, that most precious repository for his thoughts that the rain would now transform into an undecipherable blotch of ink. The rain had coalesced into a torrent, most likely washing the notebook away with it, making it even more difficult to find. The heavy rain drenched everyone with a feeling of acute pain and a terrible sense of anguish. But for Rong Jinzhen it must have been even worse, more dispiriting. To tell the truth, this rain was really no different from any other downpour: it harboured no ill will, and certainly had no connection to the thief ’s actions; but from a certain point of view, it did seem as though the rain was the far-off echo of the thief, as if the two were in silent collusion, the rain carrying on the malice of the thief, nurturing it, ensuring that this disaster became more intense, heightening its impact.
The rain drowned any remaining hope that Rong Jinzhen still held . . .
[To be continued]
To hear other people tell it, the rain drowned any remaining hope that Rong Jinzhen still harboured.
With this torrential downpour, it was easy to see how severely this catastrophe had affected Rong Jinzhen. It was as if some unknown outside entity was manipulating the situation, bringing whatever was dreadful and unexpected all into line, to form a freak combination of events; an abhorrent situation. Because of the rainstorm, Rong Jinzhen looked back on the last twelve years, back upon its mysteries and profundities: he saw how the inspiration he received on how to decipher PURPLE, gleaned from a dream about Mendeleev, had in one night metamorphosed him into something glorious and splendid. He used to think that this type of miracle, this form of divine providence, was no longer something he possessed because it was too extraordinary: such miraculousness meant people dare not seek it. But now he felt that this heavenly intervention had returned, but not in the same form as it once had. Now it was brightness together with darkness, a rainbow together with menacing clouds; it was the reverse of a ‘thing’ – as though over these many years, he had been circling round this ‘thing’ but had only seen the ‘proper’ side. Now, however, it was inevitable that he would witness the reverse.
But what was this ‘thing’?
To this former student of Mr Auslander, a student whose heart had been influenced by the teachings of Jesus, this ‘thing’ could be nothing else but God, the omnipotent Holy Spirit. Because he felt that this ‘thing’ must be God, it possessed a complicated and yet absolute nature. While it possessed a beautiful side, it also and necessarily possessed an evil side; it was benevolent, but also malevolent. Though it seemed to be only a spirit, it possessed enormous power and capabilities, forever forcing you to revolve around it, spinning and spinning; allowing you to observe all: all that was happiness and pain, all that was hope and despair, all that was heaven and hell, all that was glorious and in ruin, all that was honourable and dishonourable, all that was exultation and grief, all that was good and evil, all that was day and night, all that was bright and dark, all that was proper and improper, all that was yin and yang, all that was above and below, all that was inside and out, all that was this and that, all that was everything . . .
The radiant and grand appearance of God on the scene thoroughly and decisively put Rong Jinzhen’s heart at ease. He thought, ‘If this is how it is, then this must be
God’s plan: how could I oppose it? Resistance is futile. God’s laws are just. God would not change these laws to satisfy the aspirations of any man. God’s ultimate plan is to make clear to everyone the beauty of all creation.’ God had shown the nature of everything to Rong Jinzhen by means of PURPLE and BLACK –
All that was happiness and pain.
All that was hope and despair.
All that was heaven and hell.
All that was glorious and in ruin.
All that was honourable and dishonourable.
All that was exultation and grief.
All that was good and evil.
All that was day and night.
All that was bright and dark.
All that was proper and improper.
All that was yin and yang.
All that was above and below.
All that was inside and out.
All that was this and that.
All that was everything . . .
Upon hearing these parallel slogans issue forth from deep inside, Rong Jinzhen calmly and serenely turned his eyes away from the downpour still raging outside. Whether it stopped raining or not seemed no longer to matter: the sound of the rain was no longer unbearable. When he lay down, the sound of the rain was amiable, so pure and unadulterated, so mild and gentle, he was entranced by it; he felt himself dissolving into it. He slept and dreamed. Within his dream he heard a far-off call – ‘You still have this superstitious faith in God . . . God is a coward . . . God never gave Johannes a perfect life . . . And don’t tell me that God’s laws are just . . . God’s laws are entirely unjust . . . ’
The last phrase repeated over and over in his mind, the voice getting louder and louder; finally sounding like lighting cracking in his ears, forcing him awake – and yet he still heard the voice linger in his ears: ‘Unjust – unjust – unjust . . . ’
He didn’t recognize who or what spoke these lines, and he certainly didn’t know why it had wanted to speak these mysterious words to him – ‘“God’s laws are unjust!” All right, let’s say they are unjust, but then what?’ He began to ponder. But whether it was from the pounding in his head or from some unconscious worry or unknown fear he harboured, his thoughts were uncoordinated and unfocused. Every starting point drifted out of reach, like a headless dragon not knowing which way to go. A quarrelsome cacophony raged in his head: his mind was like a pot of boiling water, bubbling and gurgling. But if you removed the lid you would discover nothing of value inside. His mind was simply going through the motions; nothing of substance was happening. A moment later, the mental undulation ceased – as if food had been put in the pot to cook. Then memories of the train ride, the thief, his leather attaché case, the rainstorm rolled over him in succession, bringing into the frame once more his own personal doom. But this time, Rong Jinzhen did not understand the significance of these memories – as if the food had yet to be fully cooked. Later, the memories pressed themselves upon him once more – like the pot beginning to slowly boil again. But now the pot was no longer empty. His mind was beginning to become excited as a mariner is once he sees land after a long sea voyage. Moving at full throttle towards his destination, moving ever closer, Rong Jinzhen once again heard that mysterious voice speak to him: ‘Allowing this accident to herald catastrophe for you, to beat you down, how is that just?’
‘Noooooo – !’ Rong Jinzhen roared, smashing through the door and rushing out into the downpour, assailing the darkness with invective: ‘God, you have been unjust to me! God, I want to let BLACK defeat me! Only by letting BLACK defeat me can there be justice! God, only the vilest person need suffer such unfairness! God, only the vilest divinity could force me to suffer such blame! Oh wicked Lord, you shouldn’t do this! Oh vicious God, I will fight you to the bitter end – !’
After this raging outburst, Rong Jinzhen felt as though the freezing rain were burning him, and his blood began to gurgle and flow forth, making him realize the rain too was gushing. As this thought flashed in his mind, he soon felt that his entire body was streaming forth, becoming one with the sky and the earth, drop by drop melting into them, like air together with cloud, like dream together with fantasy. It was then that he heard once more that faint, indiscernible voice from somewhere beyond. It was as if this most pitiable sound issued forth from his lost notebook, in the dirt and the mud, miserable and desperate, appearing and disappearing, intermittently crying out: ‘Rong Jinzhen, listen . . . the rainwater is surging, turning the ground into a bubbling mass . . . even though the water may have carried your notebook away, it might also carry it back to you . . . back to you . . . after everything that has happened, why can’t this also happen . . . even though the water may have carried your notebook away, it might also carry it back to you . . . back to you . . . back to you . . . back to you . . . ’
This was the final strange thought Rong Jinzhen had.
It was an eerie and evil night.
Outside the window the sound of the rain was indomitable, unceasing.
7.
This part of the story will make people feel both inspired and sorrowful. It is inspiring because Rong Jinzhen’s notebook will finally be found, sorrowful because Rong Jinzhen will disappear without a trace. Taken altogether, this outcome is what Rong Jinzhen spoke about: God gives us happiness and also suffering; God reveals everything to us.
Rong Jinzhen disappeared the very same evening of the torrential downpour. No one really knew exactly when he stepped out of his room, whether it was early or late in the night, during the rainstorm or after. But everyone knew that he wouldn’t return – like a bird that forever leaves its mother’s nest, or like a circling star forever torn from its orbit.
Rong Jinzhen’s disappearance caused the case to become more complicated and confused. One person suggested that perhaps his disappearance was the next stage in the case of the missing notebook, that the operation was a two-step procedure. The identity of the thief now became more mysterious and sinister. However, more people believed that Rong Jinzhen’s disappearance was due to his lack of hope, his inability to withstand the fear and pain of what had happened. Everyone knew that ciphers were Rong Jinzhen’s life, and that meant that his notebook was too. Now hope of finding his notebook was slowly but surely fading – even if it were located, it would most likely be nothing more than a water-soaked ink smudge. There was no way that he could take a lighter view of what had happened; suicide no longer seemed impossible.
What happened afterwards seemed to confirm everyone’s misgivings. One afternoon, along the eastern side of the river that made its way through B City, close to an oil refinery, a leather shoe was picked up. Vasili identified it immediately as belonging to Rong Jinzhen because of its stretched mouth, caused by all the recent rushing about in search of the notebook.
It was at this time that Vasili began to believe that their efforts to find Rong Jinzhen would in truth result in nothing. Dejected, he couldn’t help but feel that they would never find the notebook either. Perhaps all that they would find would be Rong Jinzhen’s corpse floating down a muddy torrent.
If things turned out this way, Vasili conjectured, then it would have been better had he taken Rong Jinzhen home at the beginning. The whole situation seemed to be hanging over his head like an evil sword of Damocles.
‘Fuck it all!’ Holding Rong Jinzhen’s dirtied shoe in his hand, he couldn’t help but violently fling it as far away as possible, as if he were attempting to do away with all of the bad luck that had hung over these past days.
This all transpired on the ninth day of the investigation. No information had come to light about the missing notebook, which couldn’t help but make people lose heart; the shadow of despair began to entrench itself in peoples’ minds, growing and expanding, consuming all hope. Because of this, Headquarters agreed with the investigators and decided to publicize what had happened instead of keeping it a secret.
The following day, in the morning edition of the B City Daily, a lost property notice was
printed and widely circulated. The person in search of the missing item was identified as a scientist, the notebook that had been lost contained information on certain new technological innovations the nation had been working on.
We should say that carrying out this sort of action was exceptionally risky due to the fact that the thief could, upon learning of this public search, either hide the notebook away or destroy it, causing the investigators’ work to reach an impasse. However, contrary to expectations, that evening at precisely 22:03, the telephone hotline at the special investigative team’s office rang. Three hands immediately reached out to grab the phone, but Vasili, being exceptionally nimble, took hold of it first: ‘Hello, this is the Offices of the Special Investigative Division, please state your information.’
‘ . . . ’
‘Hello, hello, is anyone there? Please speak.’
‘Ah, ah, ah . . . ’
The telephone went dead.
Crestfallen, Vasili returned the receiver to its base, feeling as though he had been making a mountain out of a molehill. A minute later the telephone rang again.
Yet again Vasili grabbed the receiver first. When he said hello, he immediately heard a hurried and agitated voice issuing from the phone: ‘The note . . . notebook . . . is in a letterbox . . . ’
‘A letterbox? Where? Hello, what letterbox?’
‘Ah, ah, ah . . . ’
Again the phone went dead.
This vile thief; this pathetic and yet somehow adorable little thief. Because the thief was so terribly flustered, as you can imagine, he was unable to finish telling them exactly which letterbox the notebook was in. But no matter, this was enough, quite enough. B City only possessed a few hundred letterboxes, and what did this matter? Luck had finally arrived, for in the first letterbox Vasili opened he discovered –