by Qiu Xiaolong
They were interrupted by a young boy approaching them nervously, holding an envelope in his hands.
“Are you Mr. Chen?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Here’s a letter for you. Confidential. You need to sign the special delivery receipt for me.”
It was a new sort of business in Chinese cities. Instead of sending things through the post office, people used a service for intra-city delivery. With one phone call, a letter or package would be delivered in a couple of hours. The only equipment the business needed was a bicycle or a motorcycle. Chen had no idea who would have arranged for such a special delivery to him.
“Thank you.” He signed his name on a form and took the letter, then turned back to Qiao without opening it. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, Director Qiao. Let me take a rain check on your invitation.”
“Then let the center’s car take you to the station.”
“That I gratefully accept, Director Qiao.”
He walked out of the center’s office and a shiny black limousine was waiting for him outside. The limousine driver, a short, middle-aged man with a receding hairline, said in a respectful tone, “Railway station, sir?”
“No, let’s go to the Wuxi Police Station.”
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, THE limousine drove up to the Wuxi Police Bureau, which was located at the center of the city. It was a sprawling concrete complex with a shining vertical sign in the front of the main building and a gray iron gate on the side. Two armed cops guarded the entrance.
“Do you want to drive in?” the driver asked, glancing first at the gate and then over his shoulder.
“No, I’ll get out here. Right here—not in front of the bureau, please.”
“Whatever you say,” the driver said without trying to conceal the puzzled look on his face.
“You may go back to the center,” Chen said. “I’ll take a taxi to the railway station when I’m done here.”
“There’re several trains to Shanghai today,” the driver said good-naturedly. “Don’t worry about getting a ticket. You can buy one at the train station easily—even just five minutes before the train leaves.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
It wasn’t yet noon. Chen looked around for a place to sit. Across the street, he caught sight of a teahouse, which didn’t exactly face the bureau but did command a good view of it. It was one of the new fashionable Hong Kong–style establishments, serving tea, as well as other drinks and snacks, with several plastic tables outside and a large pink umbrella sporting a Budweiser logo. It almost looked like an open café. He chose a table behind a willow tree.
Thinking that the local cops might frequent the place, Chen put on a pair of sunglasses. Hopefully no one would recognize him except perhaps Huang.
For a change, he had black tea, with a wedge of lemon placed on the edge of the cup. Sipping at the tea, he noticed a grocery store not far from the bureau. It was a mid-sized store that supposedly stayed open for twenty hours, where customers were constantly moving in and out, around a flowering pear tree standing near the entrance. Chen leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs.
He had made the decision to come here on the spur of the moment. With Comrade Secretary Zhao pushing for Chen’s report and Shanshan refusing to accept his calls, this would probably be the only opportunity for him to see her before he left for Shanghai that afternoon.
She wanted to say good-bye to Jiang, a natural gesture to someone in trouble given her generous personality. Chen thought he understood, and if anything, it made him think even more highly of her.
Looking around, he prayed that he could get hold of her before she met with Jiang. Chief Inspector Chen wasn’t going to do anything to prevent the meeting. He simply wanted to tell her that he had to leave, and that he would come back.
His cell phone vibrated. He snatched it out and answered it. It was from Sergeant Huang.
“I’ve called you a couple of times, Chief, but you were always on your phone.”
“Sorry, I had a call from Beijing,” he said, realizing that he must have been too engrossed in his talk with Zhang to notice the incoming call.
“We had a real breakthrough after I spoke with you, Chief, and it’s all due to our conversation. The moment I put down the phone, I started searching Fu’s place all over again. You know what? The missing statuette was there, sitting on the top shelf in the midst of some other awards and statuettes, staring me right in the eyes.”
“Exactly, like in ‘The Purloined Letter.’ It speaks of a devilish mind.”
“What?”
“That’s the title of a short story by Poe.”
“Then I have to read it, Chief. Still, working a case under you, I could learn far more than from ten years of reading Conan Doyle or Poe,” Huang said, paraphrasing an old proverb. “Anyway, after I bagged the statuette, which was covered with his fingerprints, as well as some tiny black stains—which are Liu’s blood, I bet—I went to join my team at the chemical company. They were still working on Fu, who denied everything except for his clandestine affair with Mi, saying that he had just broken it off with her, so she must be out of her mind and reacting to that. With Mi still hysterical and Fu continuing to deny everything, Internal Security actually tried to call into question the investigation’s shift from Jiang. Fu might still have had a chance to get away with it, but the sight of the statuette finished him. He collapsed right then and there, and confessed everything.”
“What did he say about that night?”
“He said it wasn’t premeditated. Shortly after Mi went back to the company, he sneaked into Liu’s apartment. Sure enough, he saw the draft of the restructuring plan on the desk, and began to copy it with a scanning pen. According to him, he wanted to get the details of the plan, so he could file a report accusing Liu of plotting to turn a state-run enterprise into a private one run by his family. But Liu unexpectedly stirred, his arm stretching out—”
“Mi might have fed him a handful of pills,” Chen cut in, “but not enough to knock him totally out.”
“Panic-stricken, Fu snatched a statuette up from the desk and cracked Liu’s head with the heavy marble base—”
“Hold on, Huang. The statuette was on the desk, not on the shelf?”
“That’s what Fu said.”
“It’s possible, I suppose. Liu could have had it to the desk for some reason, but it’s also possible that Fu said that to make his actions seem less premeditated.”
“Afterward, Fu wiped away his fingerprints from the apartment and brought the statuette back home, along with the copy of the restructuring plan and the cup with the sleeping pills from Liu’s desk. He burned the document, splintered the cup and threw the pieces away, but he didn’t get rid of the statuette. Apparently, he didn’t think anyone would notice it in his place, or if they did, would suspect it was the murder weapon. After all, the statuette was now rightfully his, since he was going to be the new head of the company.”
“What cruel karma!”
“What do you mean, Chief?”
“The award for the chemical company’s success under Liu turned out to be the weapon that killed him. Now, with the company falling into Fu’s hands, the statuette became the irrefutable evidence that will convict him. All from an award for increasing production and profit at the expense of the environment. Bad karma indeed.”
“You always see things from a different angle, Chief.”
“What about Mi?”
“Once she leaned that Fu had made a full confession, she also spilled everything. However, she insisted that she knew nothing about Fu’s real plan, and that she didn’t give Liu a lethal dose—just a large enough dose of sleeping pills so he would sleep heavily. She also confessed to arranging those threatening calls to Shanshan. That was Liu’s idea—to use the hint of triad enforcers to silence her at the critical juncture before the IPO. He asked Mi to make the arrangements, so she paid a thug to call Shanshan from a public phone booth. When L
iu died, there was no need to continue.”
“No wonder Shanshan stopped receiving those phone calls,” he said. “Though that’s pretty much what I guessed.”
“But you must have realized it was an important clue. I should have followed it all the way back.”
It would be useless for Chen to explain. He’d asked Huang to check on the calls simply because of his interest in Shanshan. But to the young cop, the chief inspector must be like Sherlock Holmes, with his every move full of insight.
“Oh, I am calling from my car,” Huang continued. “I’m very close to the bureau now. I’ll be taking Jiang to prison from there, you know. I have to end this call, but I’ll keep you updated one way or another.”
“Thanks, Huang. If there’s anything new, let me know.”
Setting his cell phone down on the table, and then taking another sip at the tea, Chen remembered the special delivery letter he had stuffed in his jacket pocket back at the center. Wondering who could have sent it, he tapped the cigarette ash slowly into a black shell-shaped ashtray.
He took the envelope out, opened it, and upon reading it, sat up in spite of himself.
Dear Chen:
I’m writing this letter because I don’t think I can bring myself to say good-bye to you. It is an ending that you and I both should have known was inevitable.
Now looking back, I think it was during the night at your place I began to make up my mind—subconsciously, as you might say. Even at our first meeting at Uncle Wang’s eatery, I was aware of something different in you—that you were a man of resources and connections, but at the same time, of integrity and idealistic passion. No, I’m not saying so just for the sake of this letter. What you have done for me, especially after learning that there was something between Jiang and me, speaks volumes for you.
You’ve never asked any questions about it. With so many things happening around us, and so quickly, I didn’t even have an opportunity to tell you more about myself. Yes, I have known Jiang for a long while. We shared a lot of common interests, as you know, and our relationship developed. You must have read the files on him—a man obsessed with his vocation as an environmentalist, to such an extent that he landed me in a mess. I was so upset, I broke up with him. That was before I met you.
Then he got into serious trouble—more serious than he bargained for. It was beyond me to do anything to help. Not for one moment, however, have I suspected him of committing the crimes he was accused of.
For the last few days, I’ve also been thinking a lot about him. Perhaps I was wrong about him. He must have been aware of the risks, but having made his choice, he has accepted the consequences for what he believes in. That, too, happens to be what I believe in. If I left him in the lurch, I would never be able to have any peace of mind.
Besides, he’s not strong, not like you. He needs me—more than ever.
I hope you understand why I’m making this decision. Believe me, it’s not an easy one. Can you do me the favor of not making it more difficult for me?
I still don’t know what work you are really engaged in. No, I am not complaining. You must have your reasons. But far from being the bookish schoolteacher as you have claimed to be, you are a man with great potential in our society. You can go a long way, I’m sure, within the system.
In contrast, I’m on a political blacklist for what I have done.
You believe you can get me out of trouble, and perhaps you can. This time. If we’re together, however, I may bring you no end of trouble, for which I’ll never be able to forgive myself. You are “in a position”—as you sometimes say—to make a difference in today’s society. You’ve already demonstrated as much. For your career, you don’t really need me—except as a temporary companion during one of your vacations, for a short moment.
Still, the memory of that moment will go a long way for me. One of these days, I may come to pride myself on having been once close with you, being nearly the one for you, even though a voice in the back of my mind said: No, I’m not the one for you.
There’s also something that may sound absurd, but it’s important to me, so let me say it: even at our closest moment, I had a curious feeling that you were still thinking of something related to your work, something essential to you, but about which I know nothing.
Early that morning, I read the lines you’d written in the dark, as I lay beside you. It is a great poem, and you have to complete it—for me. You see, I’m already taking pride in being the one in your poem.
It reminded me of a favorite poem of mine. So let these lines say what I cannot say. After all, you have your destination, and I have mine, like in the poem.
A cloud in the sky, inadvertent, I cast
a shadow in the wave of your heart.
Don’t be so surprised,
nor be so overjoyed—
In an instant everything is gone.
We meet on the night-covered sea;
You have your destination, and I, mine,
If you remember, that’s fine,
But you’d better forget
The light produced in the meeting.
Because of the light produced in our meeting, however transitory, over the night-covered lake, can you forgive me for this upset and stay friends?
Shanshan
The poem quoted at the end of the letter was one entitled “Inadvertent,” written by Xu Zhimo, a celebrated modern Chinese poet. She, too, had liked poetry in college.
To his surprise, the letter didn’t surprise him that much.
She said what she could say. It explained, at least partially, her unexpected visit to him that night, and her sudden decision this morning. Also, she touched upon things he himself had been contemplating. For one, the position that enabled him to make a difference in today’s society. He didn’t care enormously for the “position” per se, but when looking at the situation closely, he realized that there was a responsibility in being a chief inspector. As long as he held the position, he could strive for justice and security—however small, however limited—for the people.
Was there any point in pushing for a meeting now?
Better to hold on to the image of her in that unfinished poem, in the fragmented memory of the cloud turning into the rain, and the rain into the cloud, with the lake water lapping against the night.
It was time for him to leave, he thought. He folded up the letter.
An occasional siren reverberated in the distance. It began drizzling, just a little. Still, he remained sitting at the table, an empty cup beside him, staring at the gray iron gate in spite of himself.
You’re leaving, a cloud drifting away / across the river, the memories / falling like a willow catkin / to the ground, clinging, after the rain.
But was he going to give up so easily?
No, he didn’t set that much store by his so-called position or career. Not if he couldn’t make a difference in his own life by being with the woman he cared for.
Nor did he think that she made her decision simply because she cared for Jiang more than for him. Rather, it was in the best interests of Chief Inspector Chen, at least so she might have believed. That was why she came to his room that night, and why she let him go this morning.
The gray iron gate began to open with a loud scraping across the street.
She appeared, her face pale, her black hair streaming disheveled over a white dress, holding a plastic bag full of newly purchased food, striding hastily out of the grocery store.
It had been arranged by Huang. How long she had been in there, Chen had no idea. He didn’t think she’d seen him sitting behind the tree, waiting. She was waiting as well, but not for him.
A black police van rolled out. It had barely turned to the right when it slowed to a stop close to the grocery store. Huang got out of the vehicle, waved to his colleague in the driver’s seat, said something inaudible there, and headed into the store.
A window in the back of the vehicle rolled down and Shanshan hastened over in uns
teady steps.
From where Chen stood, he couldn’t see clearly. But she was leaning into the car, her face drawn, infinitely touching, and her bare shoulder dazzlingly white against the blaze of the transparent pear blossoms …
For a split second, Chen felt as if he were watching a movie, spell-bound and from a distance, and the realization hit that she still cared deeply for Jiang, a fighter for a worthy cause.
The moment belonged to the two of them.
It was unthinkable for Chief Inspector Chen, who was but a spectator here, to step out from behind the scenes.
He wondered if he was worthy of this moment. It was Jiang—together with Shanshan—who was fighting, suffering, and sacrificing for the cause of the environment. Chen might have unknowingly taken advantage of the situation—sweeping her off her feet when she was lonely and vulnerable, all by herself.
It was a battle, however hard and difficult, that she wouldn’t give up and in which Jiang, with the common language and interest between them, might be the ideal comrade. If she could forgive Jiang for the upset and reach out to him again in his time of need, what was Chen supposed to do?
Questions stretched on like those side streets, turning and twisting, leading him to an overwhelming question: would she ever be able to really forget about Jiang?
For the sake of argument, what was it about her being eventually won over for the chief inspector? If they were together, she’d have to change herself for his sake. A rising political star couldn’t afford to have a dissident wife at his back. However “successful” he might prove to be in China’s one-party system, would it be fair to expect her to be a good wife and give up the fight that meant so much to her?
Of course, Chief Inspector Chen could change himself for her sake—throwing to the wind all considerations about his career or position. But would he be a good companion for her? At the beginning of his vacation, he’d composed a couple of stanzas, playing with the idea of one’s identity existing in others’ interpretations. It was true, but not the whole truth. To Sergeant Huang and others, Chen was a capable cop; for all his idiosyncrasies Chen knew that he did make a difference, as he had in the present case, even if it wasn’t as much as he would have liked.