Apricot's Revenge

by Song Ying

  It had all seemed so effortless on the part of Zhou, who came out as the big winner in Landmark’s personnel shuffle. Throughout the negotiation process, Zhu, who was now the majority shareholder, might logically have played a pivotal role, but she’d kept a low profile, more like the Queen of England than Prime Minister Thatcher. Her behavior was intriguing, but the “CEO faction” knew that she’d never been involved in Landmark’s operations, so they could not possibly have asked more of her. On the other hand, would she have been able to handle the job if she’d used her role as majority shareholder to demand the position? And would Zhou and his people have worked hard to help Hu’s widow? She’s a clever woman, Ah-ying said to herself.

  Now that Zhou had taken control of Landmark, his first decision was to cancel the effort to buy the land at Tiandongba, which was the third item on that day’s agenda.

  Zhong Tao wanted to keep the plan going. Everyone in the real estate business thought it was a good idea, and they’d have had no problem finding the capital to buy it. But in Zhou’s view, “our top priority is to repay the loan,” and “it will take three to four years for the Tiandongba investment to generate profits.” He had the support of other Board members, and so Hu Guohao’s extravagant “Oceanview Luxury Villa” project was nixed.

  There was nothing Zhong Tao could do to change the situation. Zhu Mei-feng had abstained; that created an unusual Board, for Zhou would invariably have the final say on matters.

  Ah-ying was upset. Zhu Mei-feng had given away the position of CEO and Zhong had been pacified by a strategic promotion, with CFO Huang defecting at the critical moment. Observing how Hu’s business, aspirations, and wealth had been cavalierly abandoned by his colleagues and widow, she felt more disdain and indignation than pain.

  — 6 —

  The Criminal Investigation Team Office at the Y District Public Security branch.

  Team Leader Cui was analyzing the case with his men. Chief Wu was present, and Nie Feng was permitted to sit in. The focus was on the mysterious wreath, which generated a variety of views and speculations.

  “From the content of the scrolls and the time of delivery, we can safely say that whoever ordered the wreath has intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Landmark as well as Hu Guohao as a person. It could well be someone from Landmark,” Chief Wu said.

  “I concur,” Cui said. “My money is on Zhu Mei-feng.”

  “Hu Guohao’s widow?”

  “She’s no run-of-the-mill woman. From the beginning, I felt she was way too cool in reaction to Hu’s death. It wasn’t normal.”

  Cui’s view won the others over; the focus was now on Zhu Mei-feng as the culprit.

  “And why choose violets? That must mean something,” Cui said as he lit a cigarette. “Did you notice that Zhu’s purse was also purple?” he continued after exhaling a mouthful of smoke. “There has to be a connection. Who would be most upset over Hu’s dallying? Zhu Mei-feng.”

  “And she knew more than anyone else about Hu,” Zheng agreed.

  Not everyone did, but no one had convincing arguments to the contrary.

  “I can’t totally agree with Team Leader Cui,” Yao Li said openly. “I don’t think we have sufficient reason to believe that Zhu ordered the wreath. She was, after all, the center of attention at the memorial, and the wreath meant a great loss of face to her.”

  “I think she’s got a point,” Xiaochuan said. “If she was involved in Hu’s death, then why would she draw attention to herself and ruin everything?”

  Nie Feng nodded, seemingly agreeing with Xiaochuan.

  Xiaochuan continued, “If Zhu Mei-feng was part of a plot to kill her husband, the last thing she’d want would be to call attention to herself.”

  The one thing they could agree upon was that the wreath was odd. Could it have been a taunt from someone in real estate? Or a busybody’s jest? An ironic twist of schadenfreude from his competitor? Or was someone making a final judgment of Hu?

  None of those seemed plausible, for the wreath was really more like a curse.

  It was apparent to Nie that Cui’s views dominated the meeting, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. Chief Wu had different ideas. “Mr. Nie, what are your thoughts concerning the wreath?”

  “Well…” Nie smiled lightly but was unwilling to speak his mind, not wanting to challenge the authority of the team. To be more precise, he didn’t want anything he said to undermine Cui’s confidence.

  “Xiaochuan said you were at the scene, so tell us what you think,” Chief Wu persisted.

  “I’d just show my ignorance, and embarrass myself,” Nie said, trying to fend it off. “I know practically nothing about solving a crime.”

  “Don’t be so modest, Mr. Nie,” Yao Li urged.

  Finally Nie looked up, cleared his throat, and began. “I think the first order of business is to determine what message the wreath intended to send.”

  Xiaochuan and Yao Li watched him with interest.

  “First of all, those weren’t violets. Violets have small petals, and look more like lilacs. Those on the wreath, on the other hand, had big petals, with an unusual color, not pure blue. They had a purple tinge, and if you looked at them from the side, you would have seen that they were so purple they looked almost black.”

  Yao Li was surprised that Nie Feng had observed the wreath so carefully.

  “So, Mr. Nie, what kind of flowers were they?” asked Zheng Yong, who was sitting to one side and had to lean forward to be seen.

  “They were lisianthus, commonly known as bellflowers,” Nie said, “originally from Mexico, also called prairie gentians. The ones sold in Shenzhen are imported from Holland and the flowers are mostly blue, but there are also yellow, pink, and white ones.”

  Yao Li could hardly hide the admiration in her eyes. “Mr. Nie knows a lot about flowers.”

  “Not really. I checked with the Huayi Flower and Ceremony Company, where I was told that these were a new import. And the call showed up on Huayi’s caller ID, so I asked them to check the number. It came from a pay phone by a supermarket.”

  Chief Wu was impressed.

  “They said the woman spoke Putonghua and sounded to be in her thirties.”

  Even Cui looked over to hear what Nie had to say next.

  “At Landmark, in addition to Zhu Mei-feng,” Nie continued, sounding a bit as if he were just mumbling to himself or trying to remind someone of something, “there’s another woman in her thirties who also knows a lot about Hu. That would be Ah-ying, Hu’s personal assistant, Feng Xueying.”

  Feng Xueying would indeed know about Hu, Cui thought to himself. She’d been Hu’s assistant for four years, as well as his office manager, so she would have attended just about every Board meeting. How could he have overlooked her?

  The room went quiet, as the attendees began to refocus their thoughts.

  Cui gave Chief Wu one of his cigarettes; Wu took it but didn’t light up. Instead, he turned to ask Nie: “What’s your interpretation of the scrolled memorial?” He seemed expectant, for Nie was, after all, a reporter, someone who dealt with words and their meanings.

  Nie opened his notebook and glanced at his notes.

  “I think there are different ways to read ‘a well deserved death.’ The simplest interpretation is ‘a rightful death, a valuable death.’ Sima Qian wrote that everyone will die, but one’s death could be as important as towering Mount Tai or as insignificant as a goose feather. But I think what was meant here is the opposite. Hu was murdered, so ‘a well deserved death’ can only mean that he deserved to die.”

  A wave of murmurs rippled through the room.

  “‘All is illuminated,’ I believe, means that the deceased knew exactly why he died. Of course this doesn’t discount the possibility that it could be related to the numbers on the paper found in his briefcase. If that’s the case, then the illumination refers to the strange sequence seven-nine-one.”

  More murmurs.

  “Now let’s look at ‘an im
posing personality soars into the air.’ ‘Imposing,’ could mean something serious or damaging, perhaps an intolerable situation.” Nie paused before continuing, “‘Soars into the air’ could mean an end, a closure. This is a key phrase.”

  That surprised them.

  “And what about ‘boldly corrosive’? Sounds like he was a real rotter,” Yao said, drawing laugher from everyone but Nie Feng, who was struck by Yao’s casual comment. He decided to let it go for the time being.

  “I’m no expert, so I could very well be wrong, but thanks for listening.” He stopped before the others had fully absorbed what he’d said. The room was quiet again. Cui frowned, and for a moment, the air seemed so thick you could cut it with a knife. Then the telephone by the computer rang; Cui picked it up.

  “Hello? Detective Cui Dajun. Right. What did you say? That’s fine. We’ll be right there.” He put down the phone and said to Chief Wu, “That was Big East’s Hong Yiming. He has something to report and wants to see us.”

  “Then you should go right away.”

  “All right. We’ll stop here. Xiaochuan, Yao Li, you come with me.”

  Nie Feng walked up and asked in a somewhat humorous manner: “I’m a tagalong reporter. Can I come?”

  “No,” Cui said firmly, but added to make him feel better, “I’ll make sure Xiaochuan shares any new information with you.”

  “Many thanks.” Nie did not mind the rejection.

  — 7 —

  Big East Realty, which occupied the entire eighteenth floor of East City Plaza, had a marvelous view of the bustling port.

  Assuming that Hong had important information to share, the two officers and their leader hurried through the Plaza and headed straight for the elevator.

  They emerged from the elevator and were greeted by Big East’s logo and bright lights. Vibrant oranges, yellows, and bright reds on a gray background made the logo fresh, inviting, and ultramodern.

  After Cui told the attractive receptionist who they were, she picked up the phone, and Hong’s personal assistant, Ms. Lin, in a simple but elegant dress, came out to usher them into the CEO’s office. Although not as luxurious as its counterpart at Landmark, the office, with its unpretentious décor, was uniquely fashionable and polished. A plasma TV and impressionistic drawings of world-famous architectural sites adorned the walls.

  Hong stood, smiled, and showed them over to a white sofa.

  He was dressed in a beige suit with a brown tie. A clotheshorse who cared a great deal about how he looked, he was always well-decked-out for public appearances.

  Many CEOs liked to display a cigar case or a model car on their desk to show off their hobbies. Hong chose a lovely crystal case, in the shape of a lotus leaf, for candy. Those closest to him knew that he had a sweet tooth and enjoyed treating his guests to candy. Born in a poverty-stricken village in Henan, as a youngster he’d sometimes been forced to beg for food. So it was no surprise that he had yet to taste candy by the time he enrolled in middle school. Back in primary school, he once stole a small chunk of brown sugar from a classmate, and when his father found out about it, he hung the boy up and beat him so badly he was covered in bruises and laid up for two days. From that moment on, he had developed a special feeling for candy, and vowed to buy all the best candy in the world when he had enough money.

  After the police took their seats, Hong pushed the dish toward them. It was filled with fine candy—mints wrapped in green paper and liqueur-filled chocolates wrapped in golden yellow paper.

  “No, thanks,” Cui said.

  Yao Li, an unapologetic chocoholic, was tempted, but took none when she saw that neither Cui nor Xiaochuan touched the dish.

  “Take some as an energy boost,” Hong said, as he picked one, peeled away the golden yellow wrapping paper, and popped the chocolate into his mouth.

  Xiaochuan and Yao Li exchanged a look. Yao’s eyes said, “Mr. Hong is an interesting man,” while Xiaochuan’s said, “No wonder he’s somewhat overweight.”

  Ms. Lin came in with three cups of coffee. She set them on the glass-topped coffee table, then walked out and closed the door behind her.

  “Mr. Hong, do you have something to tell us?” Cui wasted no time.

  “Yes. It’s—” Appearing awkward, he rapped his finger on the edge of the crystal dish. “On the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, Hu Guohao and I didn’t just talk business. We were chatting about all sorts of things when I sensed he wasn’t his usual self. He seemed disturbed, apprehensive.”

  “What gave you that feeling?”

  “He just looked different.” Hong was still focused on his feeling.

  “Was there anything specific?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Hong seemed hesitant.

  “So?” Cui persisted.

  “He seemed afraid, but—”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “He just said, ‘Sooner or later this day would come—’”

  “‘Sooner or later this day would come,’” Cui repeated.

  Yao Li and Xiaochuan exchanged another look.

  “What else did he say?”

  Hong looked even more hesitant. “That’s it.”

  Midway through the conversation, Ms. Lin came in with forms for Hong’s signature, which he signed with an expansive gesture before returning to his guests.

  Cui wondered why Hong had waited so long to mention this to the police.

  “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

  “Well, I didn’t think much of it at the time. But later, as I thought back, it seemed odd. You see, I knew him for many years and never saw him like that. I just thought it might help you with your case.”

  “When did you and Mr. Hu meet?” Yao asked casually.

  “Oh, we came from the same place, a dirt-poor place called Yucheng in Henan. We came out together bare-assed and determined to make names for ourselves. It’s been decades.” Hong appeared to be getting emotional.

  “I’ve heard that Mr. Hong was a soldier before going into the real estate business, and he was born under a lucky star.” Xiaochuan offered a bit of flattery.

  “I cannot claim the lucky star, and all I’ve ever wanted are peace and safety. Peace and safety.” Hong gave Xiaochuan the impression that he was referring to something else.

  On their way out of the Plaza, Xiaochuan shared his impression with the others.

  “I don’t think so.” Cui shook his head.

  “I got the feeling that Hong didn’t tell us everything,” Yao said.

  “He may have a reason for holding something back,” Xiaochuan agreed. Cui considered what he was hearing, but couldn’t make much sense of it.

  * * *

  After seeing off the three police officers, a dejected Hong sank into his high-back chair, as a myriad of emotions flooded his mind.

  He told Miss Lin not to disturb him and to hold all calls. Then he shut himself up in the office, lost in thought. Images of his meeting with Hu Guohao on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth passed before his eyes.

  They were in the Oceanview Restaurant at the Seaview Hotel. Hu had ordered an array of braised turtle, spicy crab, and razor clams, plus some cold dishes as starters. They ate and talked, mostly real estate gossip, and washed everything down with red wine.

  When they were both a little tipsy, Hu fixed Hong with a searching gaze and said:

  “Here’s a test for you.”

  He wrote a string of numbers on a napkin—42602791—and asked Hong if he knew what the numbers meant.

  Hong took a look and said, “No idea.”

  “Think again.”

  “Someone’s phone number?”

  “Horseshit.” Hu cursed, a dark glint showing in his beady eyes. “Read it backward.”

  Hong trained his eyes on the numbers, and his face turned ashen when it finally came to him.

  Hu opened his briefcase and took out a folded sheet of paper, which he spread out on the table. In the middle of the paper was a large red symbol that resembled “山,” wit
h a set of numbers underneath in a large, dark, bold font: “42062791.”

  “Who—who gave you this?” Hong stammered.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should be careful.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  Though Hu tried to brush it off, his thick lips quivered, giving the impression that he was hiding fear inside.

  He refolded the paper and stuck it in the notebook in his briefcase as he murmured:

  “Sooner or later this day would come…”

  The phrase presented Hong with a scary premonition. Then Hu’s cell rang. He flipped it open and pressed it up to his ear.

  “Oh, it’s you. What do you want? I see.”

  A simple enough conversation.

  “Something’s come up. I have to go. Enjoy the turtle spawn,” Hu joked as he walked off, the briefcase tucked under his arm. Hong watched his broad back disappear into the crowd at dusk. He never saw him alive again.

  Hong snapped out of his reverie, his face ashen. He opened the small, middle drawer of his desk, which held a letter-size sheet of paper, which he’d found earlier that morning when he walked into his office. It was folded twice and had arrived in an envelope with the Big East address, stamped at a local post office. He glanced at the paper and quickly slammed the drawer shut. It felt like an evil omen.

  His heart was gripped by a debilitating terror.

  SIX

  Flowers in Misty Shadows

  — 1 —

  At the Jianglang Chaozhou Congee Shop, Xiaochuan treated Nie Feng to a bowl of fish belly congee.

  True to its reputation as a migrant city, Shenzhen boasts cuisine from all corners of China; there is enough on the small Nanyuan Road alone to satisfy even the most demanding diner—Beijing Dumpling Emporium, Old Sichuan, Chaoji Hakka Cuisine, Hunan Cuisine for Hunanese, Jiangxi Diner, Jianglang Chaozhou Congee Shop, Old Xinjiang Muslim Café, one right next to the other. The best of the bunch is the Beijing Dumpling Emporium, where authentic northern dumplings with meat and scallions are tasty and affordable. Ten yuan gets you a big plate of plump dumplings and a dish of pickled cucumbers.