Apricot's Revenge

by Song Ying

  “Grinning Tyrant, you’ve committed so many evil deeds you will die a terrible death,” Ding said contemptuously.

  Hu’s face turned purple, a fierce glint oozing from his bleary eyes. In desperation, he wanted to call for help, but no sound emerged from his open mouth. Zhong spat on the floor, then picked up a white plastic bucket and poured its contents—dark green seawater—into a large basin, all before the bulging eyes of the terror-stricken Hu Guohao. When the water reached the top of the basin, Zhong reached out and forced Hu’s head down into the water. Hu struggled, but his strength deserted him as his mind began to lose focus.

  Hu Guohao swallowed a mouthful of brackish seawater as he felt a wave pull him under. Swimming for an hour or two was normally a breeze, why was it so hard now?

  That floating white line ought to be the shark barrier. He knew he’d be all right if he could make it that far.

  Hu fought to stay above water, but his head weighed him down and he choked on another mouthful.

  He was starting to black out. Damn it! Where am I? Have I died and gone to Hell?

  He thought he saw a great white gliding up from behind, eyeing him menacingly as it slowly opened and shut its mouth. He struggled to keep his arms moving, but everything he did was like a slow-motion movie scene, unreal and futile. The more he struggled, the faster he sank. A dozen faces—boys and girls, pale with dazzling smiles—floated up from the recesses of his memory.…

  Now it was flames, licking in the air before his eyes. Were they real? An illusion?

  A wisp of green smoke rose up lazily, spreading across the surface like bleeding ink.

  Then the scene began to blur.

  He tried to open his eyes, but a white mist clouding his retinas blocked out everything. Haze that would not go away turned into a gloomy, sinister abyss, sending shudders through his body.

  He could sense that the Angel of Death was inching toward him. His mind was swirling as he heard a faint voice from somewhere up above say, “He’s dead.”

  His heart erupted in a violent spasm, and he began to sink.

  That was the last thing he knew.

  — 5 —

  Nie Feng called Chief Wu from the Kunming airport to give him an update.

  “Hello, Chief Wu, this is Nie Feng.”

  “Oh, Mr. Nie. How are you?”

  “I’m at the Kunming Airport. I returned yesterday from Lanjiang, near the Yunnan border with Burma. It’s where Zhong Tao was sent down as a zhiqing. I know his motive.”

  “That’s terrific. What was it?”

  “Zhong murdered Hu Guohao for revenge. Yes, a serial revenge murder. Hu Guohao was commander of the zhiqing company back then. His nickname was Grinning Tyrant. Hong Yiming was the political instructor, and Hu’s accomplice, which was why he, too, was killed. But one thing is clear—he got what he deserved.”

  “So that’s how it was.” The news came as a surprise to Chief Wu.

  Nie proceeded to reveal the entangled past of Zhong Tao and Hu Guohao, and of Zhong’s deep-seated hatred for Hu.

  “Zhong Tao’s girlfriend, Xia Yuhong, was raped by the Commander of the 2nd Company, Hu Guohao, whose real name was Hu Zihao. After the rape, she left Zhong out of shame and despair. His baby sister, Zhong Xing—Apricot—burned to death in her hut in a fire that also took the lives of nine other girls. They had latched their door with wire to keep the sex fiend, Hu Zihao, from barging in. Hu had his eyes on Zhong Xing, but Xia Yuhong arrived in time to save her from the rapist. Zhong Xing escaped the rape but not the fire.”

  “So Hu Zihao destroyed the two persons Zhong loved most in life,” Chief Wu commented.

  “And that’s not all. An old staff worker, a Mr. Fu, mentioned a third victim, Ding Qiang, Ding Lan’s older brother and Zhong’s buddy. The loss of three lives became a wound that never healed in Zhong’s life. It changed him completely. For twenty-eight years, he sought only revenge; it was his sole reason to go on living—to find Hu Guohao and rid society of an evil man who had managed to escape punishment for decades.”

  “So the case is solved. You really are your father’s son. On behalf of the district office of the Public Security Bureau, I thank you, Mr. Nie.” Chief Wu was almost too excited to finish.

  “No need to thank me. All I did was dig up the truth.”

  But truth can be cruel. Nie Feng had not expected that the truth he’d uncovered was the kind that he’d rather not have to see. Who would pay for this page of bloody history, which had been buried for so long? From the vantage point of a journalist, Nie felt that the fault lay with the red specter of the Cultural Revolution, in which thousands of female zhiqing were violated. It was the tragedy of a scarred nation.

  Nie’s sympathies lay with Zhong Tao; after shutting off his cell phone, he was utterly disheartened. He phoned Xiaochuan, who was away on an assignment. Nie told him what he’d found in Yunnan and mentioned his call to Chief Wu.

  “Congratulations! You did an incredible job helping us solve the case.”

  “I didn’t do all that much. The police deserve the credit.”

  “But why didn’t Zhong Tao report Hu and see him punished through legal channels,” Xiaochuan asked.

  “I thought about that, too.” Nie Feng paused to think. “It all happened twenty-eight years ago, beyond the statute of limitations. Zhong Tao was smart enough to realize that. You know the law says twenty years is the limit for serious crimes that warrant a death penalty or life in prison. If a plaintiff wants to pursue a case after twenty years, he must petition the people’s highest court. Once Hu Guohao transformed himself into a famous entrepreneur with political connections, it would have been extremely difficult to take him down.”

  “I see your point.”

  “There may be another important factor,” Nie continued. “That is, Zhong Tao wanted to carry out the punishment himself because he believed he was on a sacred mission to right a wrong, and it was the only way his restless mind could gain peace. That’s typical of an avenger, and for him, a lifelong goal. Think about the carefully designed ‘notice of death,’ the ‘fire’ symbol, and the eerie funeral wreath. Weren’t they the products of a vengeful mind?”

  “That certainly makes sense.” Xiaochuan was convinced. “Remember Miss Bai?”

  “The service manager at the Greater Meisha hotel?”

  “She left the Seaview Hotel, fired for being sexually involved with Hu Guohao. No one was sure who told on her. We got the story from Miss Bai’s best friend at the hotel, who said that Hu tricked her into the relationship. It turned out that one night she was called into Hu’s room, where he forced himself upon her. She had always liked him, and had never expected him to do such a thing. She was afraid to call for help, and he raped her.”

  Xiaochuan told Nie that hotels all forbid their staff from having inappropriate relationships with their customers, let alone a sexual liaison. Miss Bai became Hu’s prey, unable both to escape his clutches or to report him. She nearly killed herself because of the humiliation. Afterward, Hu sweet-talked her around, apologizing and showering her with gifts of money and jewelry. She eventually decided to go along because there was no better option.

  “So she was also a victim,” Xiaochuan concluded. “And then there’s Feng Xueying, who was killed over the botched blackmail scheme. She died because of Hu Guohao.”

  “Any news of Zhu Mei-feng?” Nie asked.

  “We heard she fled to Canada. The police have issued a warrant for her arrest through Interpol.” Xiaochuan paused. “She thought she could use the two hundred thousand yuan to eliminate further blackmail from Feng Xueying, but probably never considered the price she’d have to pay.”

  So Zhu Mei-feng was another of Hu’s victims, Nie mused. She was trying to protect Zhou Zhengxing when she locked horns with Feng Xueying and, in the end, was guilty of murder by hire. What an incredible link: Miss Bai, Feng Xueying, and Zhu Mei-feng, every woman associated with Hu came to a terrible end. Despite himself, Nie Feng was glad th
at Hu was dead and that justice was done. Hu deserved what he got—poetic justice. This must have been what people meant by heavenly retribution.

  Nie returned to Chengdu. The moment he stepped inside, his poodle, Yahoo, began to run around the house with his slippers in its mouth.

  “Good dog, Yahoo. Bring me my slippers.”

  The praise had the poodle wagging his tail as it dropped his slippers by his feet. The young maid Xiao Ju was next.

  “Brother Nie, you’re back. There’s a fax for you.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  “The Shenzhen Public Security Bureau. Looks like they’re inviting you back to celebrate.” She was grinning from ear to ear.

  “It’s not such a big deal, you silly girl.”

  Nie tore the fax off and read it. Not a word about celebration. Chief Wu was inviting him to join the wrap-up session for the case, all expenses paid.

  After dropping his duffle bag in his room, he gave Chief Wu a call.

  “This is Nie Feng. I just got home. I saw the fax and thank you for the invitation. I’ll ask for a leave of absence and get out there the day after tomorrow.”

  “No need to ask your editor in chief. He already agreed to give you a few days off.”

  So Chief Wu had talked to the editor. Of course, he’d agree to let Nie go, so long as he didn’t have to pay the expenses. In fact, Nie knew that his editor had probably jumped at the offer, because Nie would soon give him an exclusive follow-up story on the murder cases.

  “Mr. Nie, there’s one more thing to do before we can close the case. We found Zhong Tao’s motive, but we lack the evidence to send him to jail. Too much time has passed, and the contents of the water we found at the Greater Meisha rental has deteriorated. The test results—”

  “I may have a solution. I was just going to tell you about it.”

  “Is that so?” Chief Wu sounded dubious. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  “Well, when I was waiting for a flight out of Kunming, I went online and happened upon a site called Windows to Shenzhen, with a brief mention of red tides, posted by a Dr. Zhou at the Shenzhen Oceanic Environmental Monitoring Station.”

  Nie had contacted Dr. Zhou and asked about the issue of algae life span. Zhou had told him that the life span was indeed short, two days tops under normal circumstances and even shorter in a plastic bucket devoid of light and oxygen.

  “Is there a way to identify the algae after it breaks up?” Nie asked.

  “DNA sequence!” Dr. Zhou blurted out. “The cells have broken down, but samples can still be taken for DNA testing. But it’s very difficult and you have to know what type of algae you’re looking for.”

  Nie interrupted to tell him the names of the algae.

  “You compare the DNA sequence with these algae. It’s called molecular biology, a cutting-edge field. Scientists outside of China have been working on it, and theoretically they can determine if the fragments in the water are the algae you’re talking about from the molecules. But no one has tried that in China yet. It’s extremely difficult because you need to collect enough samples to make sure the DNA sequencing is reliable.”

  “After I thanked him,” Nie said to Chief Wu, “I immediately did an online search of ‘identification of algae DNA,’ ‘biological DNA sequence,’ ‘samples of biological DNA sequencing,’ and ‘algae DNA databank.’ I found nothing useful.”

  “So we’re stuck then.”

  “When I was about to turn off my laptop, I recalled Dr. Zhou’s mention of molecular biology, so, for the heck of it, I typed ‘red tide molecular biology’ into the search engine, resulting in nine hundred and ninety-eight hits, two of which were very important. One was ‘Molecular Identification and Study of Red Tide Algae in Nanhai,’ the other was ‘Single Algae Cell Preparation and Its Application in Identifying Red Tide Algae Molecules.’ Both were government-funded projects, headed by biologists.” Nie Feng gave Wu their names.

  “Where are they located?” Chief Wu asked urgently.

  “Guangzhou,” Nie replied. “In the Biology and Life Science Institute at Z University.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Nie. This is invaluable information.” Chief Wu was overjoyed. “I’ll send the samples over right away.’

  Three days later, when Nie arrived at the Y District Public Security Bureau from the Shenzhen airport, the identification had been completed. DNA sequencing showed that the algae fragments in the plastic bucket were the ones they were looking for.

  A warrant for Zhong Tao’s arrest was issued the following day.

  Epilogue

  At Baiyun International Airport. Zhong Tao, red duffel bag in hand, followed members of a tour group. When he neared the security checkpoint, he turned to wave at Ding Lan. “Take care of yourself, Silly Girl,” he said silently.

  Ding waved back, tears sparkling in her eyes. In twenty minutes, Zhong Tao would board an international flight, heading for North America to pursue his lifelong dream. She wished him good luck.

  He walked down the blue security check line and stopped at the checkpoint to show his boarding pass and passport. A woman in a CAAC uniform checked his document and then looked up at him.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s an irregularity with your passport,” she said politely as she took it from him. A pair of brawny men came up to take Zhong Tao to a private room

  Ding Lan ran up when she saw what was happening but was stopped by two plainclothes airport policemen.

  “Zhong Tao! Zhong Tao!” she shouted agonizingly.

  Chief Cui handled the arrest. Xiaochuan and Yao were on hand, both looking grave. They’d solved the case, but, strangely, neither of them felt much happiness over the victory. Nie Feng was standing next to Chief Wu, observing the arrest.

  Zhong Tao, escorted by the two policemen, came down the escalator. When he saw Nie Feng standing at the bottom, he rewarded him with a serene smile, presumably telling him that he had no regrets.

  Nie felt sorry for him, but that was tempered by respect.

  It was midsummer. Zhong turned and spotted a pink sunset through the window. A breeze had sent flower petals falling like raindrops.

  “A gust of wind sends petals falling to the ground … all that’s left under the setting sun is the apricot rain.” Zhong recited the lines in a soft voice, almost like a somnolent murmur, drawing curious stares from passengers around him.

  Nie Feng looked on, his expression showing the complexity of his feelings.

  Ding Lan also looked on through teary eyes.

  A song seemed to be playing; it was the “Song of the Zhiqing,” which had once sent its listeners into a reverie; a chorus of boys and girls echoed in the vast airport waiting lounge.

  The song was coming to an end:

  Say good-bye to Mama, say good-bye to my dear hometown,

  The golden days of a student are entered into history books, never to return.

  Ah, the road ahead is so arduous, winding and endless,

  The footprints of life beached on a remote alien place.

  Leave with the rising sun, return with rising moon,

  Our sacred mission is to repair the earth with great devotion, it is our destiny.

  Ah, use our hands to turn the earth red, and embroider the universe in red.

  Do not doubt the tomorrow we look forward to will be here.

  About the Author

  SONG YING is an award-winning author of both fiction and nonfiction in China. He has published five bestselling novels and fifteen nonfiction books. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  Contents

  Title Page
<
br />   Copyright Notice

  Prologue

  1. Fog Over Lesser Meisha

  2. Landmark Realty

  3. Three Beneficiaries

  4. “Alibi”

  5. The New Boss

  6. Flowers in Misty Shadows

  7. The Second Victim

  8. Tip of the Iceberg

  9. Fire! Fire! Fire!

  10. Re-creation of the Crime Scene

  11. Melodious Harmonica

  12. Heartache at Lan’que Ridge

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.

  An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

  APRICOT’S REVENGE. Copyright © 2016 by Song Ying by agreement with Grand Agency. Translation copyright © 2016 by Howard Goldblatt and Sylvia Li-chun Lin. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.thomasdunnebooks.com

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  Cover designed by Laura Klynstra

  Cover photography: Chinese temple © Mohamad Itani / Arcangel.com; texture © javarman / Shutterstock

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-1-250-01644-7 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-4668-7398-8 (e-book)

  e-ISBN 9781466873988

  Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.