Mei smiled and took a bite. She noticed that Uncle Chen had not touched the duck at all. “Who was that?” she asked, pointing with her chin at Ms. Qing’s table.
“Oh, someone I knew from university,” said Uncle Chen. “She was a year behind me. But look at what she is doing now!” He slid the business card over: MS. YUN QING, CHAIRWOMAN, BEIJING JEEP, A JOINT VENTURE WITH CHRYSLER.
“Mei, let me tell you something. You are doing the right thing, starting your own business. This is the time to do it, to take charge of your life. Don’t wait till it’s too late.”
“Too late?”
“Look at me. I always followed the orders of the Party, did my duty, and waited all my life to be noticed. I will be sixty next year, and soon I will retire. What have I got? Stuck in no-hope land. Too late.”
Mei had never seen Uncle Chen unhappy like this. She thought that perhaps he’d had too much to drink. She looked again at the crowd of people eating, drinking, and talking. Firecrackers exploded outside. Mei felt trapped, as if she and everyone around her were locked inside a city under siege. Those who were outside wanted to get in, and those who were inside wanted to get out.
SEVEN
OVER EIGHTEEN MONTHS HAD PASSED since Lu’s wedding, and if anything, Uncle Chen seemed to have grown even rounder.
“You must be wondering why I am here.” Uncle Chen struggled to settle his wide body into the sofa chair. He was smiling but seemed embarrassed and awkward. “Oh, these cookies are good. ‘Product of Belgium,’ I see.”
Eating seemed to calm him. His smile became more genuine, and he shifted in the chair with less effort.
Gupin brewed oolong tea in a cast-iron pot. Mei poured two cups, one for Uncle Chen and one for herself.
Uncle Chen whispered, “Your assistant is a man? And he makes tea for you?”
“Yes,” Mei said perkily. She was used to people asking such questions, as though there were something bizarre about her or Gupin. Some of them, no doubt, suspected of her of being a menacing boss, a dragon lady. As for Gupin, they may have had worse suspicions.
“Where is he from? He has an accent.”
“Henan. He is a migrant worker. But he has a high school diploma. He is streetwise as well as kind. His mother is paralyzed. He sends money home.” Mei stopped. She realized that she was trying to justify hiring Gupin.
“He seems nice.” Uncle Chen nodded politely.
They quickly moved off the subject of Gupin.
“Where should I start?” Uncle Chen said. “I suppose I should start from the beginning.” He leaned back in his seat. “It was the winter of 1968. I had been working for the Xinhua News Agency for four years. I had just turned thirty. Hard to believe?” Uncle Chen waved a cookie like a flag and laughed from his stomach in the way chubby men do. “Yes, I was your age once.”
Mei smiled back. It was good to see an old friend. Uncle Chen, round and kind-looking, had the air of a smiling Buddha about him.
“It was a harsh winter, a lot of snow and chaos and bloodshed. The Red Guard were fighting among themselves, each faction claiming to be the most loyal and true representative of Maoism. They set up barricades inside universities, factories, and government compounds and bombarded one another with machine guns. Well, you know all about that.”
But Mei wasn’t listening; Uncle Chen’s voice had traveled through her ears like wind through a hollow tree. Instead, she was looking at Uncle Chen closely. Age had taken away his hair the way summer laid claim to the harvest. Mei could see the dye. It was not expensive. It had dried out his head, giving it the look of parched earth.
“Today everyone knows about all that. But back then the central government did not know the extent of what was happening on the ground. The Red Guard and Youth Party members had smashed all the normal communications systems. So the agency sent me to Luoyang to report on the goings-on there.”
“Why Luoyang?” Mei took a sip of her tea, returning her attention to Uncle Chen’s story.
“Someone had to go to Luoyang, and it turned out to be me. Did you know that Luoyang was the last capital of the Han Dynasty? Anyway, the situation there was no different from the rest of the country. The Red Guard had ransacked everything, including the Luoyang Museum. After they destroyed the relics, they piled up the paintings, documents, and records and set the museum on fire. So naturally, people assumed that everything the museum had went up in the flames.”
Mei refilled the teacup for Uncle Chen.
“Thanks. Two days ago, a ceremonial bowl that was once part of the Luoyang Museum collection turned up in Hong Kong. Now you understand where I am going with this, don’t you? Yes. If the bowl survived, other pieces might have, too.”
“You mean someone took them before the museum was burned down?”
“Someone stole them!” snapped Uncle Chen. “And the Luoyang Museum had one very special piece indeed. Only a few people from the museum knew about it, and as far as I know, they were either killed by the Red Guard or later died in labor camps. Would you like to hear the story?”
Uncle Chen had made himself at home. He reached for another cookie. “Emperor Xian was the last emperor of Han. He was only fifteen years old when the rebel force arrived in Chang’an in 194 A.D. The royal army had fought the rebels for weeks. The army was losing the battle. Realizing that the West Gate could no longer be defended, Emperor Xian gathered together his advisers at the palace. The counselors recommended evacuation of the capital. But one person came forth to oppose the idea, saying that they would bring shame on their ancestors and the founding emperor, Gaozu, if they gave up Chang’an. He offered to lead the Imperial Guards to combat. This man was General Cao Cao.”
“King Cao Cao of the Three Kingdoms?”
“Yes, the future ruler of China. So Cao Cao went back to the Cao compound to get ready for battle. Like everyone else, he knew that he might not live to see another day. After all, there were only eight thousand Imperial Guards, though they were the best and the bravest, and the rebel force was twenty thousand strong.
“Before leaving for battle, Cao Cao wrote two letters. One of these he gave to his housekeeper to deliver to his wife, Ding, in Ann Hui. Back then, if you were a rich aristocrat, you could have many wives and concubines. But there was always the joint-heir wife, who was the head wife. Ding was Cao Cao’s joint-heir wife. The other letter he wrote was for Lady Cai Wenji.”
“The famous poet!” Mei exclaimed.
“Yes. Cao Cao asked one of his most trusted captains to escort Lady Cai from Chang’an back to her hometown. Then he untied the sash from his waist and gave it to the captain, together with the letter.”
The cookies had vanished. Uncle Chen was growing more animated.
“The captain and his men galloped to the Cai residence. Chang’an was in chaos. One million inhabitants, plus tens of thousands of refugees who had fled into the city ahead of the rebel forces, were moving out. They went on foot, on horses, in carriages, and on wooden carts. At the Cai compound, Lady Cai read the letter. She hid the sash in her wide sleeve and ordered that the letter be burned. Lady Cai was later captured by the rebels and sold to the king of South Mongolia. She lived in the Mongolian grassland for the next twelve years, bore the Mongol king two children, and wrote her most celebrated poems about her longing to return to China.
“Against all odds, Cao Cao defeated the rebel forces and saved the ancient city of Chang’an. But he couldn’t save the Han Dynasty, which soon disintegrated into three kingdoms. When he was crowned the king of Kingdom Wei, he discovered that Lady Cai was alive and living in Mongolia. He sent a representative there with one million gold pieces to buy her freedom. The Mongol king agreed to let Lady Cai leave, but not her children. Lady Cai chose to come home.”
“I can’t believe she would leave her children behind,” said Mei.
“People do amazing things for love.” Uncle Chen raised his eyebrows.
“You mean Lady Cai and Cao Cao were lovers?”
&nbs
p; Uncle Chen nodded. “The key to a legend that is over one thousand years old has brought me here. Now can you guess what was in the Luoyang Museum?”
“The sash?”
“Clever girl. Almost. The museum had in their possession what was inside the sash—Cao Cao’s jade seal. In the Han Dynasty, officials carried their seals in sashes tied to their waists. They wore long colorful ribbons around their waists to show their rank. For example, the prime minister’s ribbon was red and two zhang long.”
Watching Uncle Chen take a long drink of his oolong tea, Mei wondered what his connection with the treasure was and why he had come to see her about it. She knew that Uncle Chen loved art, but something this valuable was surely out of his league.
Uncle Chen leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I would like you to find the jade seal.”
“But something like that must be a national treasure.” Mei frowned. National treasures belonged to the country and were not allowed to be traded by individuals.
“Precisely.” Uncle Chen clapped his hands. “This is why I don’t want to use reporters and certainly not the police. One wrong step and the jade would be on its way to Hong Kong before you knew it.”
Mei did not move or say a word. Instead, she watched Uncle Chen, her eyes deep as mountain lakes.
“Don’t worry. I am not asking you to do anything illegal. A Chinese collector I know is willing to pay a lot of money for the jade, all hard U.S. dollars, to keep it inside China. I can’t tell you who he is, you understand. What I am willing to say is that he’s very powerful and highly connected with the People’s Liberation Army.” He sat back, sinking into the chair, and smiled. “Rest assured, everything is aboveboard. You trust your uncle Chen, don’t you?”
“Of course,” said Mei, embarrassed. She felt that she couldn’t push him any further. He had given her his word. That had to be enough. After all, Uncle Chen was almost like family. She knew that he would never put her in harm’s way.
“I know I can count you.” Uncle Chen nodded. He pushed himself up from the pit of the sofa chair and took out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was a cutting from a newspaper. “Start with Pu Yan,” he said. “He works at the Research Institute of Cultural Relics. He has a private gig on the side—an antiques consultancy, you could call it. From time to time, he does valuations and authentication work for dealers. If you go see him, he will be able to put you on the right track.”
“How much should I tell him?”
“Pu Yan is an old friend. You can be honest with him.” Uncle Chen moved toward the door. “Remember when you first opened this agency, I said that you were doing the right thing? You are, my child. You will one day have both fame and fortune.” Uncle Chen beamed, nodding as if to congratulate himself on his foresight.
“I will go see your mother one of these days,” he added, turning the doorknob. “But I’d rather that you don’t tell her about our little meeting today.”
EIGHT
AFTER DINNER, Mei called Pu Yan.
“Yes, Old Chen told me you’d call.” A soft and slightly accented voice came through the receiver. “You are looking for a jade from the Han Dynasty? No, there are none left.”
“If you could give me a pointer or two and perhaps tell me where to go and how to look…”
“I’d be happy to answer your questions. But if you would allow me to give you a word from my heart, you are going on a wild-goose chase,” said Pu Yan in his singsong voice.
Mei smiled. “When is a good time to meet?”
“When are you thinking of?”
“The sooner, the better.”
“Well, the weather’s terrible.”
Mei looked outside and agreed.
“There’s an ice rink inside China World,” Pu Yan said. “Do you know where it is? We can meet there tomorrow evening at six o’clock.”
“How will I find you?” asked Mei.
“Look for me in the café by the rink. I’m old. Fifty-seven.”
Mei wondered what to do with such a description.
“You won’t have any trouble spotting me,” said Pu Yan, as if he could read her mind. “There’s hardly anyone over thirty-five there.”
“In case I can’t find you,” Mei said, “I am thirty years old, with a round face and shoulder-length hair. My nose is a bit sharp. People say it makes me look angry. I will wear a red wool hat.”
The café was full when Mei arrived. The chairs by the glass partition had been turned around so that people could watch the ice-skaters. A group of businessmen in dark suits were having an argument with the headwaiter and an upset-looking waitress. Two Western men chatted quietly at a corner table. A group of youths stared at Mei when she walked into the café. It had to be the hat, thought Mei; she felt as if she were a red-crowned rooster on parade. She looked around for Pu Yan but saw no one older than thirty-five, as he had warned her.
Mei looked at her watch. It showed five minutes past six. She found a small table and sat down to watch the skaters.
The ice was white, like a delicious candy. A girl, perhaps ten years old, skated in a pink costume in the middle of the rink. One moment she set off flying like a magpie, and a minute later, she was spinning like a long-necked swan. Though she pretended not to notice the gaze of onlookers, it was clear that she loved to dazzle, and she performed as if skating in an Olympic competition.
Mei blinked. The lights were too bright. They made her eyes ache.
A waiter arrived. Mei ordered oolong tea and surveyed the room again. She saw only youth and happiness.
“Are you Miss Wang?”
Mei turned around. She could swear that there hadn’t been anyone standing there when she checked two minutes earlier.
“I am Pu Yan,” said the man. He was short and stocky and carried a carryall.
Mei stood up. “How do you do.”
Pu Yan looked younger than she had expected. He had soft southern features—smooth curves around his mouth, vulnerable thin lips. He wore a number of layers under his open coat: a dark jacket, a gray knitted vest, a brown sweater, and a button-down shirt. They were typical state-run department-store finds, not fashionable, but thoughtfully put together. When he spoke, his facial features seemed to soften even further. Mei liked him right away.
He sat down across the table from her and pointed at the ice rink. “I saw you from out there. You see the little girl in pink? That’s my granddaughter. Isn’t she magnificent? She is already at the city junior level. Such a fancy place to skate, though she just loves the attention.”
Mei smiled. “Does she come here often?”
“Oh, goodness, no. She normally trains at the City Children’s Sports Hall. Look how happy she is on that ice! Poor girl, her parents are divorced. Her father went to England. She hardly sees her mother because my daughter works very hard in a Hong Kong advertising firm. She makes good money, so from time to time we bring her here for a treat. We live nearby, in the Central Academy of Arts and Crafts, just the other side of the ring road. My wife teaches there.”
Mei looked again and saw the girl flying across the ice like a vision in pink.
The waiter brought them tea. Mei asked for some preserved plums and roasted sunflower seeds.
“Do you know much about jade?” Pu Yan asked her.
Mei shook her head.
“Westerners always like green jade. The Mayas used jade as a weapon because it’s a strong stone, stronger than steel. But in China, white jade is more valuable; it’s called the Stone of Heaven. Have you heard of Hetian white jade?” Pu Yan reached under the table and produced two small white cardboard boxes from his carryall.
“Hetian is a remote outpost at the bottom of the Taklamakan Desert in Xinjiang province. Hetian white jade comes from the deposit by the banks of Jade Dragon Kashgar River. White jade is quite rare now, because after thousands of years of mining, the deposit is exhausted.”
The waiter brought the snacks and poured tea for both of them.
Pu Ya
n opened the boxes and handed Mei two small pieces of jade. They were each the size of a business card and about two centimeters thick. When Mei held them in her hands, she could feel the coolness of the stone. They were creamy white and smooth and seemed to glow with clarity. One of the pieces was decorated with delicate carvings of clouds and natural scenery, and the other was inscribed with a lady in traditional attire.
“Look at them under the light,” Pu Yan said. “Look at the smoothness and transparency of the jade, then look at the carvings. Jade is a very hard material, difficult to work with. But look at how detailed these carvings are.”
“Are these new?” Mei rubbed the pieces of jade in her hands. They felt pure.
“Unfortunately, they are. Today it’s almost impossible to find antique Hetian white jade pieces. A lot of them were destroyed in the Cultural Revolution. If even one piece had been sold on the market, it would have fetched a fortune. Even the new ones are expensive; these cost a few thousand yuan each.”
Pu Yan gestured for Mei to give back the jade. “I have to return them to the research institute tomorrow,” he said casually, putting the pieces back in their boxes. “Tell me about the jade you are looking for. It’s from the Han Dynasty, you say?”
Mei told him that the jade was believed to be a seal that had belonged to Cao Cao.
“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Pu Yan exclaimed.
Mei repeated the story Uncle Chen had told her and showed Pu Yan the newspaper article Uncle Chen had given her about the ceremonial bowl.
Pu Yan studied the picture of the bowl. It was a rustic brown ceramic decorated with paintings of galloping horses and battle scenes. He then read the article. Mei drank her tea and ate the dried plums. Outside, the loudspeaker boomed out the Carpenters’ “Yesterday Once More.”
“Sold for sixty thousand U.S. dollars!” Pu Yan muttered to himself. “That would be over half a million yuan!” He nodded as if taking a mental note. “I have heard about this ceremonial bowl. You see, sometimes I do antiques valuations. We valuers belong to a small circle.” He handed the newspaper cutting back to Mei. “I believe the bowl was sold to one of the dealers in Liulichang. I suppose either the dealer or someone associated with him smuggled it to Hong Kong. Trading and exporting national treasures is a crime punishable with thirty years in jail. But people still do it, for money.”
The Eye of Jade Page 5