A Case of Two Cities

by Qiu Xiaolong

  “Yes, we will do that,” Yu said to the waitress curtly. “Please leave now.”

  “The xiao pork is wonderful too,” Chen said politely. “Thank you.”

  As soon as the waitress left the room, Yu resumed, “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m concerned not just about her health, but her safety too.”

  “Has somebody made a threat against her?”

  “Not explicitly, but I have to be careful. In a real emergency, you may also contact Ling-my friend in Beijing. I’ve put down her phone number too. She may be able to help.”

  “In a real emergency,” Yu repeated. “That’s too much. You must have moved in the right direction, or those bastards wouldn’t have tried to play this kind of dirty trick. They know you are a filial son. It’s not your case anymore, it’s mine too, Chief. I have to do something.”

  “I’m sorry to drag you in like that.”

  “I don’t read much, you know, but I remember the saying in the Romance of Three Kingdoms: ‘Not born on the same day, we want to die on the same day. ‘The three sworn brothers-Liu, Guan, Zhang. So how can I stay outside alone? Let’s have some wine.”

  “Why?”

  “I am a lucky guy-a great wife, a wonderful son, and a real friend. Now I have something worth fighting for. So we’ll drink.”

  “Let’s drink tea instead. I’m going to a government office in the morning.

  “Tea is fine,” Yu said. “Now, what do you think of Comrade Zhao? He’s in Shanghai, isn’t he-because of the investigation?”

  “Comrade Zhao may be one of the last Bolsheviks, like Old Hunter, but you can’t expect him to go out investigating by himself. A high-ranking revolutionary of the older generation, his hands are bound with all the doctrines,” Chen said, taking a sip at the bun. “Oh, I have met with him at the Western Suburb Hotel and mentioned your name to him. He has heard of you too.”

  “Me? That’s not possible.”

  “But that’s true. I suggested to him that you be permitted to act on my behalf during my visit abroad, and he agreed.”

  “Any specific instruction?”

  “With this case, anything is possible.” After a pause, Chen said, “If need be, you may go to him in person. But you don’t have to. You’re an emperor’s special envoy too, and can do whatever you believe necessary. Here is the statement signed by Comrade Zhao on behalf the Party Discipline Committee. I have added one line to it.”

  Yu took the statement printed on the letter of the powerful committee. The line in Chen’s handwriting read, “Comrade Detective Yu Guangming of the Shanghai Police Bureau is hereby authorized to act on Chief Inspector Chen Cao’s behalf during his trip out of China.” Chen had put the line under the original statement, but above Comrade Zhao’s signature, together with his own signature. Yu wondered whether Chen had done that in the presence of Zhao.

  “How can I contact you in the United States?”

  “You don’t call me. I will try to call you-in our weather jargon.”

  In one of their earlier cases, worrying about the possibility of their phone lines being tapped, they had successfully practiced their special weather jargon. Phrases like “cloudy with the possibility of rain,” or “the possibility of the sun breaking out in the afternoon” had served their purpose well.

  “And you can’t be too careful,” Chen concluded, draining the cup.

  “Don’t worry, Chief.”

  ***

  But, at home at the end of the day, Yu was worried.

  Peiqin was busy warming dishes in their room. She was dressed in white and blue floral pajamas and a pair of transparent plastic slippers he had never seen before. He made himself a cup of tea, going over what he had done during the day.

  Not much, he admitted, spitting out a tea leaf. Instead of talking to Kuang, Yu had approached a young cop working with Kuang, and the information he had obtained about An’s phone record did not reveal anything new or different. For an anchorwoman, her phone calls seemed to be surprisingly few. As for Jiang and Dong, it was out of the question for him to go to their offices. And he did not know any people working there.

  “Time for dinner, Guangming,” Peiqin said. “There is a dish in the microwave.”

  He put the tea on the windowsill and took out a dish of salted pork fried with fresh leek. Peiqin was ladling out a bowl of rice for him.

  The dish was steaming hot and good, in spite of its coming out of the microwave. The appliance was a housewarming gift from Chen in celebration of their moving into the shikumen room. A well-chosen gift, especially for Peiqin, who insisted on having hot meals at home. She could not, however, bear the idea of the shiny white microwave being smudged by the wok fumes in the common kitchen area, so she put the microwave in their bedroom, which also served as the dining room.

  Theirs was not exactly a multiroom apartment, but it was still a huge improvement on what they had had-staying under the same roof with Old Hunter and sharing everything. It was at least a room under Yu’s own name.

  It was a simple meal only for the two of them. Their son Qinqin studied hard at school and would normally stay there until after nine. Earlier this evening, he had called, saying that he would be studying even later for a coming test. It was a crucial period. They did not have to wait up for him. With the partitioned outer room, Qinqin could come back late without waking them up.

  Peiqin made a point of preparing special dishes only when Qinqin was home. It was a priority of necessity, to which Yu had no objection. Qinqin should have a different life, and for that, a good college education was a must. They had to save every penny for the boy. So the only fresh dish that evening was the hot and sour soup made of the ingredient package Peiqin had bought at a food store. She also sliced a thousand-year egg with a thin thread, which took no time, and divided the small dish of leftover soy-sauced pork with leek he had taken out of the microwave.

  She, too, had been extremely busy. In addition to her accountant job at the state-run restaurant, she helped more and more with the private-run restaurant. She did not have as much time to cook at home. But the soup tasted good, enhanced with an egg and a handful of chopped green onion.

  Over the meal, Yu told her about Chen’s new assignment. That was the question she was going to ask, sooner or later.

  “What about his anticorruption investigation under the Party Discipline Committee?” she asked, without looking up from her rice bowl.

  “It has to wait until he comes back. The delegation assignment was a decision made at a higher level.”

  “So he has to go.”

  “He can’t help it.”

  “But it’s-” she said in an elated voice with the spoon between her lips, “it’s also a good opportunity for him.”

  “Why?”

  “He may meet that American woman officer again-what’s her name?”

  “Catherine Rohn.”

  “Yes, that’s her name. She really likes things in China. She studied Chinese in college, I remember, but for one reason or another, she ended up being a cop. In that, she’s like him. They are both in a career they hadn’t planned for themselves. She had dumplings with us at our old home, don’t you remember that? We still have the food mixer in our kitchen cabinet.”

  “I remember, that’s a gift from her. But I doubt whether they will meet there. As the delegation head, he will be in the political limelight-and then with her?”

  “Your boss is still single.” Peiqin did not respond to the question directly. “I’m not talking about the one in Beijing. Such a distance between them. And such a gap too. I don’t think that’s good for him.”

  She ladled some more soup onto her rice, and then added a little water. It might be too spicy for her. The instant food was not that good after all.

  “Well, he mentioned his Beijing girlfriend Ling today.”

  “In connection with his investigation?” She looked up sharply.

  “In a way, yes. He mentioned her when he talked about his c
oncern for his mother. No one takes care of her during his trip abroad.”

  “The old woman is in poor health, I know, and his HCC girlfriend Ling is in Beijing.”

  “Yes, he wants me or you to call her regularly. I mean his mother.” He added, “And I also have permission to contact Ling in an emergency.”

  “Really!” She raised her chopsticks involuntarily. “That’s not good. Now, is it just because of his mother’s health?”

  “He’s concerned with her safety too. He gave me Ling’s number.”

  “That sounds worse.”

  “I know. It’s the first time he has talked to me about her. He usually avoids the topic, you know. According to someone in the bureau, their relationship has been strained. I doubt whether she would help him.”

  “Things might be more serious than he has told you, or he wouldn’t choose to play the last card-I mean Ling. What else does your boss want you to do?”

  “He also wants me to follow up some possible clues. Nothing officially,” he said vaguely, and checked himself at the sight of her chopsticks coming to an abrupt stop in midair, like a wand in a magician’s hand.

  “Your chief inspector may be a capable cop-but he may not be so capable of staying out of trouble.”

  “What do you mean, Peiqin?”

  “He is part of the system, so to speak,” she said, dipping a slice of a thousand-year egg into the soy sauce. “He may fix a small problem here and there, like a loose screw, or a broken nail. But when the whole system is in a mess, what can he do? What, but put on a show-nothing but a show- whenever there is anything remotely like a stage?”

  “He’s above that,” he said, surprised at her harshness. “At least, he doesn’t believe he puts on a show.”

  “The system has not treated him too shabbily. His position, his room, his car, and whatnot. He may believe he’s in serious business. It’s useless.”

  “I’ve tried to talk him out of it, Peiqin, but as a cop, he has his responsibilities. And he insists on carrying on with the investigation, so-”

  “So you have to throw in your lot with him. The government may try to expose a couple of red rats, but there are hundreds or thousands of them carrying on under their eyes, and they choose to do nothing. Why? It’s their foundation. How can they do anything to shake their foundation?” Peiqin went on, putting a slice of the egg into Yu’s bowl, “Do you know who’s really behind Xing’s case? Somebody too high, too powerful. That’s why Chen is worried. So what’s the point of dragging you into it?”

  “Do you think I have a choice?” Yu said. “He is a good boss. And a good friend too. I can’t stand aside with my arms crossed.”

  “He may be an honest cop, but this case involves too high a price tag. As a celebrity cop, he may be able to get away with it. But what about you? It’s not even your case.”

  “He’s not required to do anything while he is abroad. But he says he has to, as an investigator, and he needs my help,” Yu said. “There aren’t many cops like him left today. If I don’t help, who will?”

  “Sometimes, you talk like your Chief Inspector Chen,” she said, shaking her head. “There must be somebody like Judge Bao, or the grand stage will not attract any audience.”

  “I haven’t read many books, Peiqin. There are things I don’t have to do. But if I don’t, I can’t sleep with an easy conscience.” He said after a short pause, “Remember, Chen didn’t have to go out of his way to help us with the apartment, but he did.”

  “Yiqi, the oughtness of the situation. I knew you would come to that. The obligation for you to pay him back,” she said. “Don’t take me wrong, Guangming. As long as you try to stay out of harm’s way, I’m not opposed to your helping him.”

  “I will. In fact, I’ll hardly do anything except keep an eye on some people. I am being more than careful. That’s why I want to suggest that you call his mother.”

  “I’ll do that. Things may not be so easy for him.” She changed the subject abruptly: “By the way, have you heard about a plan for a high-end commercial complex in our neighborhood? If so, this old shikumen building of ours will be torn down, and as compensation, we may have a brand-new apartment.”

  “I think that’s why he insisted on us taking it. He might have used some inside information for us.”

  “Yes, he did, and I should say, not for his own benefit. However, what will eventually happen to him? I don’t mean the case, but the way he stays mixed up with those ‘inside people’ and connections?”

  “Let’s not worry about things too far in the future,” he said.

  “Qinqin is going to an English camp in Hangzhou,” she said, switching to yet another topic. “Three weeks. Possibly a large sum. If we are going to move again, there will be another expense. I’d better put in more time at Old Geng’s, and you have to take good care of yourself.”

  Yu did not make an immediate reply as she stood up to clean the table. He helped with a wet mop in his hand.

  It was about ten when they went to bed.

  “Oh, he wants me to keep this envelope for him,” he said, reclining against a propped pillow. He took out the padded envelope, opened it, and the pictures fell out on the bed.

  For the next few minutes, Yu and Peiqin gaped at the lurid photos without uttering a sound.

  “It’s An Jiayi,” Peiqin finally said, her hand grasping his on the towel. “They killed her, didn’t they?”

  “Chen interviewed her two days before her death.”

  “That’s too much.” She suddenly rested her head against his chest. “Why did he give those pictures to you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think he wants to carry them with him.”

  It was probably not true, he knew. And she knew too. Neither of them wanted to discuss it. He caressed her hair in silence.

  One of the pictures appeared to be staring back at them. An nestled against a man on the bed, her bare breasts hardly covered by the quilt, her long black hair streaming like a fall.

  Yu lost his mood, holding on to Peiqin, feeling her toes pressed against his leg.

  That night, he lay awake for a long while. Beside him, she began snoring, lightly, worn out with work and worries.

  He tried to think about things he could do for Chen, but without much success. Finally, sleepiness seemed to come over him in a confusion of fragmented images.

  Among them, a very blurred image of several crabs bound together with a straw rope. For a moment, he seemed to be one of the crabs, caught out of water, producing bubbles of crab froth for each other’s survival in the dry night, and the next moment, it was Chen who was the crab, waving its claws in a futile attempt to scissor through the silence. In bewilderment, Yu turned to touch Peiqin’s bare shoulder. She turned over, nestling herself against him in sleep.

  He realized that she had been worried about him. Her reaction at dinner could have been an effort to stop him from joining Chen in the investigation, but she did not really push. The same way he had earlier tried to talk Chen out of the case. He took another look at his watch in the dark. It was almost eleven-thirty. Qinqin was not back yet.

  And the chief inspector must be flying over the Pacific Ocean, wondering what Detective Yu was doing at this moment in Shanghai.

  13

  I left the city of the White King

  in the morning, in the midst

  of the colorful clouds,

  sailing thousands of miles

  to Jiangling, all in a day’s trip,

  the monkeys crying on

  along both the banks,

  and the light boat

  speeding through mountains.

  CHEN QUOTED THE TANG dynasty lines as the airplane was beginning to land at the Los Angeles airport. He added in a hurry, “Of course, ours is a Boeing, not a boat.”

  Perhaps he should have chosen another poem, more appropriate for the occasion, in the company of these established writers. The flight had been delayed for ten hours in Tokyo. Nor had any m
onkey been heard or seen throughout the journey. It was not like in his bureau, where, whatever the chief inspector chose to cite, his colleagues would raise no question. Still, reciting the lines seemed to have relieved his tension. So far, everything had been smooth sailing, in spite of the delay, in spite of unexpectedly finding himself the delegation head.

  Chen knew he wasn’t a popular choice as head of the delegation. It wasn’t difficult to understand their reservation, if not resentment. His police background projected him as sort of a politically reliable watchdog, hardly anyone had read his poems, and except for Little Huang, the interpreter, Chen was the youngest in the group. It was a pleasure to meet and talk with these well-known writers, but not necessarily so to serve as their boss.

  But he had little time to worry about those things.

  It was early morning in Los Angeles. The American host waited for them at the airport-greeting, handshaking, self-introducing and introducing each other, business card-exchanging, all the polite, meaningless, yet necessary talking. Boris Reed, a history professor of the University of California and one of the original sponsors for the conference, was overwhelming in his welcome speech.

  What happened next was like a surrealistically hectic montage. What with the jet lag and the culture shock, Chen and his writers remained disoriented during the long drive through the awakening highway, through the unfamiliar skyscrapers and unbelievable slums… Because of the delay at the Tokyo airport, the delegation arrived in the morning instead of the previous evening. As the first session of the conference had been scheduled several weeks in advance and a couple of American writers were there for only one day, the Chinese barely had time to check into the hotel before they had to hurry over to the conference hall.

  It was a huge, impressive hall with Chinese and American writers sitting around tables set up in an oblong ring. In spite of the simultaneous interpretation equipment, Chen made his speech first in Chinese, and then in English. A speech of formalities, decked with quotes from classical Chinese and modernist Western writers. Then he was repeating the Tang dynasty lines in conclusion.