by Song Ying
Nie took out his notebook and began to jot down what he was reading. The first were from young hands:
My mother was a Yunnan zhiqing; her name is Zhang Yan—by Kang Kang, June 9.
I’m the daughter of a zhiqing sent to fortify the border; my father is Liu Weidong—by Liu Wei.
My parents were in the 3rd platoon of the 7th Regiment. I love to hear my mom talk about Yunnan—by Zhou Xiaobing.
Two lines of a palm-sized inscription flowed on the upper edge of the curtain:
Time seemed so imposing at this moment.
It relates a true story to those of us who came later.
Below that, a couple of lines in dark green by a primary school student displayed raw emotion:
I saw the exhibit; I can’t forget the forest of green, green rubber trees and red, red coffee beans.
My parents were zhiqing and I envy them their youthful days.
Next to that, in a heavy brown script:
I curse those days!
I envy you—a Chengdu zhiqing stationed in the border town of Gengma, who never left.
He moved forward and saw some lines in purple in an upper-right corner; they had been scrawled in a hurry by a nameless zhiqing. Both the contents and the writing style were like a shout:
Was it an ideal? Or was it an aspiration?
Was it exile? Or was it deception?
Please ask history to give the answer.
Time, history, stories of China’s zhiqing. Who could answer these powerful questions?
Finally he found what he was looking for:
Souls attached to Lanjiang, impossible to forget!—by the 2nd Company of the 4th Battalion of XX Regiment.
The abbreviated line was written in dark blue, heavy and forceful.
Nie stared at the inscription and took out his pen to copy it, when he saw, below it to the left, another inscription, water-damaged and barely readable:
Youth—regret.
Below that a slogan in green:
Long Live the Spirit of the Border Brothers!
It was from the 10th Corps.
He paused momentarily before continuing to search the curtain, as if propelled by a hunch. The crowded inscriptions were like thousands of voices echoing in his ears, voices of the young; a rousing vigor in some, indignation in others, and still others patently naïve. Yet they merged into a single voice as a pointed reminder of China’s past.
Row after row of blazing inscriptions flew past his eyes:
Eight years of wind and rain, blood and tears;
I’ve cursed, but mostly I find the past unforgettable.
And another:
The rubber trees will never forget.
All the inscriptions were signed.
A line at the very bottom, in slanted red characters, was like a raging fire:
Youth has no regrets, but the cost was too high.
Nie Feng was too emotional to know how he felt; Zhong Tao had once recited those lines to him. He walked to another corner, where, beneath lines about missing former zhiqing lovers, he happened upon several lines written in thick, black ink:
I can forget everything,
But not my first love in Yunnan.
My love, my eternal hatred, and a debt of blood.
You, hypocritical tyrant, run all you can,
But I will find you.
The lines, penned by someone called Dark Boy, sounded like a call to arms or a vow. It astounded Nie Feng; reminded of something, he hurried back to the small building and asked the manager to take out the address book. There he found some of the names from the original 2nd Company of the 4th Battalion, XX Regiment. On one of pages was the name Zhong Tao and his address, and underneath his name was that of Ding Lan.
It had never occurred to him that Ding Lan could have been a zhiqing as well. She and Zhong had been in the same company.
* * *
He finally met Ms. Cheng the next morning. She was in her mid-forties, with her hair cut short and a bit on the heavy side. Dressed in a dark short-sleeved blouse with tiny floral patterns, she looked capable and experienced. Her office was not big, but had two desks placed side by side, and along the wall were several silvery-gray file cabinets; it looked like the typical office of a civil servant.
“I went to Jiaolin Villa yesterday,” Nie said.
“How was it? Did you learn anything useful?” she asked eagerly.
“Quite a lot. But I still have some questions.”
“What about?”
“Did you know Ding Lan?”
“I did. She was in the 2nd Company of the 4th Battalion.”
“What about Zhong Tao?”
“I did, but not well. We weren’t in the same year in high school.”
He brought up the fire and the knotty question of why they’d shut themselves in with wire.
Ms. Cheng then told him what she knew: The first one to spot the fire and try to put it out was someone they called Second Uncle Dong, the village head at the time. The fire had indeed been caused by a Shanghai zhiqing reading secretly at night, but there was no consensus as to what he was reading. Some said it was Song of Youth, and some said it was Miss Jenny; a later article claimed it was A Young Girl’s Heart. In any case, one thing was clear: he was reading a banned book.
“I read that the door was secured with thick wire,” Nie said.
But the former zhiqing, who had been in charge of propaganda work, said she’d been away from Lan’que Ridge and had only visited the scene the following day with the 4th Battalion propaganda team. She had heard nothing about the door.
“It must have been a rumor,” she said.
“Could someone have covered it up?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Do you know if I can find anyone who was there when the fire broke out?”
“That would be hard; it’s been nearly thirty years.”
He’d heard that when the Chengdu zhiqing had returned from Lanjiang, some were lucky enough to get into college, but most went to work in factories, which meant they were scattered all over the place. The eight years spent in the border region had cost them the best years of their youth, along with the many opportunities that would have given them a better life. Instead, most returned to the city and wound up with menial jobs. Now some of those had been “downsized” as a result of changes in the economic system. Only a few of those witnesses were still around.
“I really would like to interview at least one who was there,” Nie stressed.
Ms. Cheng thought about it and gave him a name.
“Her name is He Xiaoqiong, a clerk of the 2nd Company of the 4th Battalion. She was there when the fire broke out. After she returned, she worked in the benefits office at the Progressive Shoe Company, but we’ve been out of touch for a very long time.”
In the days that followed, after wrapping up his interview with the TV magnate in Mianyang, Nie spent all his spare time searching for He Xiaoqiong.
After many phone calls and online searches, he learned that the Progressive Shoe Company had folded years before, its site now occupied by a mall of boutique shops. He was about to give up the search when he happened upon a newspaper article. In “Laid-off Couple’s Exquisite Paper-cutting,” a downsized husband and wife had found a way to support themselves by developing their paper-cutting skills. Their artistry had gained them fans not only in China, but in places like Japan, as well. The husband had once worked at Progressive. Nie phoned the newspaper and spoke to the story’s author, who then gave him the couple’s phone number.
At last his persistence paid off, for two days later, with an address from the “paper-cutting husband,” he found Ms. He Xiaoqiong in the mailroom of a dormitory on Huzhu Road.
“How did you find me?”
“Cheng Xiaowen gave me your name.”
Ms. He wore glasses and was dressed in a floral blouse that day. She was articulate and obviously cultured. He learned that she had gone to work at a community organization after b
eing laid off, and was extremely busy.
“Oh, so it was Duckie.”
He’d heard that the zhiqing all had nicknames, and that some of those names—like Duckie—had stuck.
In that tiny mailroom, she recounted the past for him. Sadness crept onto her serene face when the topic of the fire came up.
“It was simply horrific. Too terrifying for words.”
Her recollection of the cause of the fire was consistent with what he’d heard elsewhere. She said she’d lived in the second hut with six other young women. The ten who had died in the fire had lived in the next, and larger, hut.
“Have you heard that the reason they couldn’t get the door open was because it had been secured with wire?” Nie asked.
“I don’t believe so.”
She told him she’d gone to bed earlier than usual that night, exhausted from the day’s work, and had fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Heat woke her up later that night and she opened her eyes to see fire leaping onto the thatched roof, from which burning couch grass was dropping. It was a scene of sheer chaos, with people screaming. An old staff worker tried to move stuff out and rescue children, while the boys helped get the girls out, ignoring their belongings. In all the confusion, she saw one of her roommates, a Miss Huang, jump over a bamboo fence. A few of her roommates ran back inside because they were wearing only shorts and bras. The men, who were stripped to their waists, shouted for the girls to flee. The fire burned for over half an hour. No one recalled who saved whose life.
She said she’d pushed the bamboo fence over so she could escape, but had fallen to the ground. Her right arm and forehead had suffered burns, so they’d carried her to the township clinic that night. She didn’t recall much about what happened next at the scene.
“Why couldn’t they open the door of the third hut?”
“Maybe they propped a bench against it, and couldn’t open it when they panicked.”
“Was the door completely blocked?”
“Yes, safer that way.”
“Were they afraid someone might sneak in at night?” Nie stared at her, “Who were they afraid of?”
She hesitated. “It’s been so long. Some things are hard to talk about.” She seemed reluctant to say more.
Two residents walked in to pay their cable bills, so the conversation came to a brief halt. After the residents left, Nie asked her:
“Do you know Ding Lan?”
“Of course. We were classmates. Her nickname was Silly Girl.” She laughed. “She was also in the second hut, and was the last one to escape.”
“Did she suffer any burns?”
“No. I guess that’s why people say that silly people have all the luck.”
“Do you know Zhong Tao?”
“He was also in the 2nd Company of the 4th Battalion. Why do you ask?”
“I heard that Ding Lan was his girlfriend.” Nie decided to try a bluff.
“That’s not true. His girlfriend was Xia Yuhong, the prettiest girl in the company.”
Xia Yuhong, not only the prettiest, but also the most talented girl in the company, and Zhong Tao had been a couple, Ms. He told him. She did not know why they broke up, but everyone felt sorry for Zhong Tao. His father had died of lung cancer when he was young, and he and his sister had been raised by their mother, a primary school teacher. She had died the year he entered middle school and the two orphans managed to get by with help from a distant aunt. He and Xia Yuhong had been middle-school classmates, class of ’72; his sister, Zhong Xing, and Ding Lan were two years their junior. The Chengdu zhiqing were mostly sixteen and seventeen years old when they traveled to Yunnan; Zhong Xing, the youngest, was only fifteen. Zhong Tao, famed for his combative nature at school, seemed unafraid of anything, and would go after anyone who dared to pick on his baby sister.
“Anything special about him?” Nie asked.
“Since he was very dark, everyone called him Dark Boy,” Ms. He said casually.
“His nickname was Dark Boy?” That was surprising news.
“That’s right.” She nodded.
So Zhong Tao was the one who’d written “eternal hatred and a debt of blood.”
“Zhong Xing was the youngest of the ten who died in the fire.” Ms. He sighed.
“I see.” Nie was saddened by the tragedy.
She added that Ding Lan had been in love with Zhong Tao. Her brother, Ding Qiang, whose nickname was Qiangzi, was a childhood friend of Zhong Tao. They were buddies. Qiangzi vanished the day before the fire.
“What was the name of your company commander?”
“Hu Zihao.”
* * *
That night Nie Feng sent Xiaochuan an e-mail to inform him of what he’d learned:
Dear Xiaochuan,
How’s everything? Any recent developments in the 06/25 and 07/6 cases?
I did some sleuthing after returning to Sichuan and here’s what I’ve found: 28 years ago, a fire broke out in Lanjiang, Yunnan, where the 2nd Company of the 4th Battalion was stationed. Ten zhiqing girls from Chengdu died in the fire, including Zhong Tao’s younger sister, Zhong Xing. This might explain why Zhong would look so strange at the sight of fiery sunset clouds. It may even be connected to the “fire” symbol on the two pieces of paper. Also, Ding Lan and Zhong Tao were in the same platoon; her brother, Ding Qiang (nicknamed Qiangzi), was Zhong’s buddy, and she was in love with Zhong.
So, the alibi she provided for Zhong could be false, which means that the 25-minute absence is a problem for Zhong and may well be the key to solving the case.
Please share this with Chief Wu and Team Leader Cui.
I’ve also decoded the string of numbers; it’s the date of the fire, June 24, 1972, in reverse.
But I have yet to determine if Hu Guohao was connected to the fire. And what about Hong Yiming?
I may make a trip to Yunnan one of these days if I have a chance.
That’s all for now. Please give Officer Yao my best.
Nie Feng, 07/15
— 3 —
Two days before Nie Feng sent his message, a fifth suspect emerged.
It was a beautiful morning at the Mei-feng Beauty Salon. Zhu Mei-feng walked into her office and sat down in her leather chair. The salon remained the center of her daily life even though she had now inherited Hu’s wealth and become chairwoman at Landmark. She loved the elegant, quiet place, and the girls working there were her friends, which was why she still came to work every day.
Ah-lan, in a pink uniform, walked in with a steaming cup of coffee the moment she sat down.
“Good morning, Miss Zhu.”
“Thank you, Ah-lan.” She nodded and picked up the day’s newspaper—nothing but current affairs and some gaudy inserts for cosmetic products. Plus a thick manila envelope.
She picked up the envelope; it felt heavy. A white piece of paper the size of a cake of tofu, with her name and the salon address printed on it, had been stuck in the middle of the envelope. There was no return address. She tore open the envelope, which included a stack of 7 × 7 photos. One look took her breath away.
They were photos of her trysts with Zhou Zhengxing. Some had been taken at the beach in Nan’ao, showing them holding hands and hugging; some were of them having dinner at Jiaoye Restaurant, or kissing in the suite at the Emperor Hotel. The most shocking ones were of her with Zhou in bed, stark naked, making passionate love.
A chill ran down her spine. At first she was merely upset, but that feeling was quickly followed by an unknown fear.
Who had taken the pictures? Was there an eye in heaven watching her at all times?
She’d gone swimming at Nan’ao and enjoyed dinner at the Thai restaurant with Zhou Zhengxing after Hu Guohao’s death. It would not have been hard for someone to photograph them in public places like that. But who could have taken their pictures in bed in the hotel? She took a quick mental survey of the suite—the door was locked from the inside, the curtains were drawn, and the lights were dimmed. The photo
seemed to have been taken from above their heads. Then it hit her—a canopy directly above the bed, the perfect hiding place for a camera. How terrifying! Who would have hidden a camera there?
She shook the envelope, and a folded slip of paper fell out. Only three lines of text:
Need money. Please wire 200,000 RMB (an insignificant amount to you) to China Merchant Bank All-in-One-Card # 00200XXX1238, under the name Ma Yin.
You have three days. Do not delay or call the police, or be prepared for the consequences.
I believe Madam would not want these amorous pictures forwarded to the media.
Who was this blackmailer, Ma Yin? And how did she get these pictures? Zhu knew this was serious, but she sensed something fishy about it. Her initial reaction was to call Zhou Zhengxing. But when the call went through, she hung up before he picked it up.
She couldn’t tell him about it, at least not yet; he mustn’t be involved.
Though this was blatant blackmail, she could not call the police, and most of all, she could not let anyone else know about the contents. The blackmailer obviously had planned everything carefully, including the amount. She was right; two hundred thousand RMB was nothing to her, after having inherited her late husband’s wealth.
After some deliberation, she decided to follow the instructions. As the saying goes, money takes care of all problems. Two days later, she removed two hundred thousand yuan from the cash in the safe, which had been returned by the police. Then she drove to a branch of the China Merchant Bank near the Diwang Building, where she deposited the money into the account specified by the anonymous letter. An idea occurred to her before she completed the transaction.