by Qiu Xiaolong
“Wan has no idea how much I give Xiuzhen’s family each month. And it’s none of his business either. That ugly old toad simply dreams of devouring the white swan.”
“What do you mean by that, Cai?”
“The way he looks at Lindi speaks volumes. He wants to please Lindi, but he has utterly lost his mind. He should pee on the ground and see his reflection in the pool.”
“Well—” Detective Yu remembered the scene of Wan sitting on a bamboo stool in the courtyard, doing nothing, watching while Lindi cut the spiral shells. “But I still do not see why he claimed that he was the murderer.”
“I have no clue,” Cai said.
“Mr. Cai, I have just put the turtle into the steamer,” Peiqin said in a loud voice from the kitchen area. “It took me a while to clean such a huge one. Please stay for dinner. The turtle will take just a little longer.”
“Thank you, Peiqin, but I’m afraid I have to leave. Xiuzhen will be worried if I don’t come back for dinner,” Cai said. “If there is anything I can do for you, Comrade Detective Yu, let me know. I will do my best, like a horse or a dog.”
Yu and Peiqin walked out with Cai to the lane exit.
“We have to wait a little while longer,” Peiqin told Yu. “The coal briquettes I made last week do not burn very well. It will take time to steam the turtle.” She wiped her hand on her apron, which bore fresh bloodstains.
“Oh, have you cut your hand?”
“No, those spots are turtle blood. Don’t worry.”
He didn’t know how long he would have to wait. He was a bit hungry. He phoned Mr. Ren to thank him sincerely for his tip about Wan, and then mentioned Cai’s comment regarding the ex-Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Worker Team Member.
“I’ve not heard anything about Wan and Lindi,” Mr. Ren said. “People do not talk to me that much. But there’s no ripple without a breeze: one evening several months ago, I saw Wan pushing a bulging envelope into her hands.”
“Do you think Wan confessed for the sake of Lindi?”
“Well, Cai is the main support of the whole family. If Cai were sentenced and executed, the whole family would be ruined. So it could have been an act of romantic self-sacrifice—a rather twisted notion of it,” Mr. Ren said thoughtfully. “But I am not so sure. Wan is a bitterly disappointed old man. All the changes in today’s society may be too much for him.
“I can understand. In the early fifties, when my company had been taken away, together with the shikumen house, I thought it was the end of the world. I hung on because of my children. Wan is all alone here. For him, this might have seemed to be a good opportunity to end his agony in a politically dignified way, and at the same time make a last noble gesture to Lindi.”
“Yes, that makes sense now.”
“I’m so pleased with outcome of your investigation, Comrade Detective Yu. The real criminal has been caught. That is what justice is about,” Mr. Ren said. “By the way, the sticky rice cake at Peiqin’s place, Four Seas, is super. I went there yesterday. You know what, I must have met her father forty years ago. Indeed, in this world of red dust, things may be predestined.”
“I’m really glad we met you.”
“Next time, I’ll bring half a pound of xiao pork to her restaurant. You keep it in the refrigerator. You don’t have to go to Old Half Place. But you need good noodles. The pork is best with noodles in hot soup.”
“Next time I’ll introduce you to my boss, Chief Inspector Chen. Another gourmet. You two will have a lot to talk about.”
There did seem to be some mysterious correspondence in this world of red dust, as Mr. Ren had said. Yu still had the phone in his hand when Chen’s call came.
“I have talked to the city housing office,” Chen said in an urgent voice, “and there is a second-hand room available in the Luwan District. Twenty-four square meters, already partitioned in two. Sure, it’s not one of those fancy new apartments, but it is a shikumen room, and it’s practically in the center of the city.”
“Really!”
Yu was confounded by Chen’s choosing to talk about a secondhand room he had found listed by the city housing committee rather than about the case. Yu had long passed the stage, however, of being surprised by anything Chief Inspector Chen chose to do.
“I have made several phone calls, and from what I’ve heard, this is not a bad room.”
“A shikumen room—” Yu was not sure whether this was an alternative he should jump at. Admittedly, it seemed to be better than the one he now lived in: it was ten square meters bigger, and already partitioned. It would offer some sort of privacy for Qinqin. And Yu would not have to share the entrance with his father, Old Hunter. But there would be no bathroom or kitchen in such a room. And if he took it, he would never be able to get a new apartment from the police bureau.
“You can choose to wait, Detective Yu. As long as I am on the housing committee, I will certainly do my best for you. Next time the bureau gets a new housing quota, you will be at the top of the list, but—”
That part of the speech Yu had heard, many times, especially “at the top of the list,” and he knew Chen’s emphasis was really on the last word, “but,” and on what was not said. No one could tell about the next time, about some “unforeseeable” twist like the events that had supposedly occurred last time. Qinqin was already a big boy. How much longer could Yu afford to wait? After all, it would be a bird in the hand, a real apartment, unlike Party Secretary Li’s empty promises.
“Who knows if there will be a next time?” Yu said.
“Exactly. Housing reform may be inevitable in China but,” Chen said, quoting a proverb, “Once you have passed this village, you may not find another hotel.”
“I’ll think about it.” Yu said. “I have to discuss it with Peiqin.”
“Yes, discuss it with her. I’m thinking of buying a small room in the same area. In my opinion, it is a super area, with a lot of potential. It will be a small room for my mother; we may be neighbors there.”
“That would be great.”
Yu knew his boss too well. Chen usually had a reason for saying or not saying something, or for saying it in a roundabout way. With his connections, the chief inspector could be full of surprises.
“Let me know your decision as soon as possible.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks, Chief.”
Yu stood in the courtyard and lit another cigarette, crumpling the empty pack, as he started thinking about the second-hand room in earnest.
After all, there was one advantage living in a shikumen house. The courtyard. If they had moved into an apartment in Tianling New Village, where could he smoke like this?
“Dinner is ready,” Peiqin said.
“I’m coming,” Yu said.
After dinner, he was going to tell her about that second-hand room. Perhaps he should repeat Chen’s comments, word for word. Sometimes Peiqin was quicker than he in reading hidden messages, as in the investigation of Yin’s case. He really should be proud of her, he kept telling himself as he opened the door. But first he would enjoy a good dinner. There was a steamed soft-shell turtle on the table.
“Turtle is especially good for a tired, middle-aged man,” she whispered in his ear.
It was a huge, monstrous turtle. With its head cut off and its shell strewn with sliced ginger and chopped scallions, it filled the small room with a dreamlike aroma.