On Wednesday morning, Chen called Shanshan.
“I tried to get hold of you yesterday, Shanshan. I called you several times, but without success.”
“Something happened at the company. It turned out to be a false alarm,” she said. “But they didn’t let me go until the evening.”
“What!” he said, acting surprised.
Sergeant Huang had informed him that she’d been released the previous evening. How Huang had managed it, Chen didn’t ask, but Huang mentioned that Internal Security had shifted its attention to somebody surnamed Jiang, who had been feuding with Liu. In other words, Jiang was a more likely suspect. Still, Chen had become increasingly interested in the case, whether or not Shanshan was out of the woods.
For one thing, Internal Security wouldn’t have intervened in a simple homicide case, even though Liu was an important man in Wuxi.
“I’m glad that it was nothing but a false alarm. But I think you need to take a break, Shanshan.”
“What is false or not false, I don’t know. And I am taking the day off.”
“That’s good,” he went on. “How about an excursion around the lake today?”
“We walked along the lake the day before yesterday, didn’t we, Mr. Chen?”
“Well, had we but world enough, and time-”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just a line from a poem by Andrew Marvell,” he said. “My vacation here is only for a week or so, you know. Since you’ve taken the day off, why not?”
“You’re really persuasive.”
“Good. We’ll do something to relieve shock.”
“Relieve shock?”
“Something fun, so your mind won’t dwell on the unpleasant experience. Tell you what: I haven’t yet taken a boat trip here. So let us go, you and I, drifting in a gondola.”
“What a poetic tourist.” But she then said, unexpectedly, “Where shall we meet?”
“How about under the bronze turtle statue in the park? I’ll be waiting for you there.”
Soon, he found himself standing under the bronze turtle statue, leaning against the gnarled back of an old tree trunk. It was such a scenic park. The sun hung above the tilted eaves of an ancient lakeside pavilion, gilding the water with its reflections. A line of white ducks patrolled the bank nearby. He felt he could spend the day there-in her company.
His gaze shifted toward the dock, which was as crowded and noisy as the day before. A large boat was chugging out. A young couple leaned against the white rail on the top deck, sharing one ice cream cone, beaming blissfully, as if nibbling at the world in their hands.
He then saw Shanshan coming through a gourd-shaped stone gate, tripping across the meadow dappled in the shadow of a boxwood tree, and carrying a nylon string bag of bottled water. She was dressed for the occasion, wearing a lightweight maroon trench coat over a white strapless dress and white high heels.
She was dressed for his company, he observed. Confucius says, A woman makes herself beautiful for the man who appreciates her. It wasn’t necessarily antifeminist, depending on the viewer’s perspective.
“It can be windy on the lake,” she said, explaining her trench coat. Her smile was radiant. She shook hands with him, and her fingers felt wonderfully soft.
Across the lake, a water bird took flight, swirling and soaring away into the distance. They started walking along the lake. It took them quite a while to find a boat they liked. Most tourists preferred the large, comfortable, modern-looking passenger ships or power boats, which were less expensive, costing only about ten yuan per person. But Chen had something different in mind.
They finally settled on a mid-sized sampan with a tung-oiled canvas awning, under which there were a couple of settees covered with indigo homespun, and a small bamboo table in between. It wasn’t quite as antique-looking as he’d hoped, but it was cozy.
There was cabin room for four, but there wasn’t another customer waiting at the moment. Chen offered to hire the sampan for the two of them and pay the difference. The sampan man agreed readily. He was a jolly one, in his fifties, with a weather-beaten face as rugged as in an oil painting, yet with a shrewd light in his eyes. He pulled out, standing on the stern and speaking with a loud voice:
“You’re a lucky man, sir, with such a beautiful girlfriend sitting beside you. Indeed, a romantic spring day in the same boat with her is worth every penny you’re paying.”
Chen smiled without commenting. He seated himself opposite Shanshan. She looked at him, her hands on the table. Her eye glinted with something hard to identify, yet appealingly enigmatic. In classical Chinese literature, there was a stock phrase describing “autumn waves” rippling in a beauty’s eye. She was still so young that the waves in her eyes were spring rather than autumn. There was a red paper cutting stuck to the cabin wall behind her, he noted. The cutting, though slightly torn, was a recognizable pattern of fish and flower, symbolic of passionate love and fruitful marriage.
The sampan moved further out, swinging a little from time to time, riding in a channel marked on both sides by poles stuck upright in the water.
She took off her trench coat, her white shoulders flashing against the somber background. Picking up a cup from the table, she poured some water from the bottle she carried with her.
“You’re so careful.”
“You can’t be too careful these days.”
“That sounds like a line I read long ago.”
“Again? You’re so into poetry,” she said with a teasing smile that illuminated her vivacious face. “Are you always such an impossible romantic as a tourist?”
“I don’t know, but as a tourist, I’ve always wanted to spend a day on the lake,” he acknowledged. “And there’s a more pressing reason, of course-I wanted to be with you.”
His words just now sounded like an echo of something he’d read long ago, though it could have been prose and not a poem. He found it easy to slip into the role she’d assigned him.
“Shall we go to the Three Celestial Islets?” the sampan man said. “With all the Taoist temples, pavilions, pagodas, jade and crystal towers there, it is filled with really heavenly scenes.”
“The Three Celestial Islets is a tourist attraction next to the park,” she said. “According to one interpretation, the islets look like a turtle from across the water. It’s always packed with tourists.”
“No, I’m not the typical tourist,” Chen said. “I can’t help but think of some lines from Su Shi: Only it could be chilly there, / in the jade and crystal towers. / Incomparable to dancing here / in the human world.”
“You’re absolutely right,” the sampan man said. “My boat is dancing at your command.”
“What are you thinking now?” Shanshan said.
“Well, some other lines come to mind: Water flows in the rippling / of her eyes. / Hills rise in the knitting of her brows. / Where is a traveler going to visit? / The enchanting landscape / of her eyes and brows. That’s not my poem, but one by Wang Guan, a Tang dynasty poet. For him, spring and beauty are one, that’s why the poem ends like this: When you catch up with spring, / south of the river, make sure / to stay with her. So I’m staying here with you.”
“You are overwhelming me,” she said with a light, wistful smile. It was no longer fashionable to quote poetry in today’s society, but it didn’t seem to irritate her.
“What a poet you are!” the sampan man cut in, having overheard their conversation. “Would you like to hear a couple of sampan songs?”
“Sampan songs?”
“Yes, a time-honored convention here,” the sampan man responded with a broad grin. “Remember the love songs in the stories about Tang Bohu?”
Tang was a legendary romantic scholar and painter in the Ming dynasty. There was a singing boatman in those stories, Chen recalled.
The sampan man began to sing in his deep voice with a strong Wu accent, a song celebrating the eternal theme of love:
Red peach blossoms blaze
all over the hills,
with the spring water
of the river flowing around.
The flower color will easily fade,
my lord, like your passion,
while the water runs on,
never-ending, like my feelings.
To his surprise, Chen recognized the song as one composed by Liu Yuxie, another well-known Tang dynasty poet. It was a sort of boat melody for lovers in ancient times.
“Well done,” Shanshan said, clapping her hands.
“Bravo!” Chen said. “I’ll add ten yuan to the fee.”
The sampan man’s eyes, Chen noticed, seemed to be anchored on Shanshan. Perhaps he was singing to her, reminded of his own younger days. She must have been aware of it too. She smiled good-naturedly at Chen as she patted his hand across the table.
The sampan kept gliding on, the sampan man still singing, declaring passion unchanged from time immemorial.
The willow shoots green,
the river water smooth,
she hears him singing
across the waves.
It shines in the east,
it rains in the west.
It is said not to be fine,
but fine to me.
Chen was amazed. It was another boat song by the same Tang dynasty poet, and the second stanza contained a clever pun that was both about and not about the weather.
In the distance, there were a couple of rowboats, some sharp-nosed, some blunt. One of them seemed to be checking nets in the waves, just the way it was done in the Tang era. However, factories also loomed along the lakeshore, with their smokestacks pouring out smoke against the brownish hills. Not far away, several water birds were seen scavenging among washed-up dead fish.
“One more,” Shanshan said to the sampan driver.
The Qing River meanders
against myriads of willow shoots.
The scene remains unchanged
as two decades ago …
The same old wooden bridge,
where I parted with her,
brings no news, alas,
for today.
The last song astonished Chen with its abrupt sad ending. He looked up to see the willows lined along a curving stretch of the bank, just as in the poem.
Where would he be in two decades? Would he remember this day in the boat? he wondered.
“We also provide a special boat meal,” the sampan man said, wiping sweat off his forehead with his hand. “Fish and shrimp, all fresh and live, straight out of the water. I’ll throw in the net right now, if you like.”
“That would be interesting,” Chen said. He had read about boat meals-where a fresh catch was prepared there and then, cooked on a tiny stove, and served in the cabin.
But then he caught a glance from Shanshan. She didn’t say anything, perhaps reluctant to be a wet blanket again, but he knew her reservations about the contaminated lake. There was no point discussing it, however, in the presence of the sampan driver.
“Well, we’re not that hungry,” he said. “Not now, thank you.”
“Thank you,” she echoed.
“That’s fine. You have my boat for the whole day. No rush on the meal,” the sampan man said in good spirits, stealing another look at her. “Now, I happen to know a boat meal story.”
“Yes, tell us the story,” she said.
“This story is the supposed origin of the well-known dish called Emperor Qianlong’s Live Carp. This specialty is available in some fancy restaurants, served on a willow-patterned platter with the carp’s eyes still turning.”
“Really!” Chen said, also intrigued.
“According to the story, Emperor Qianlong, of the Qing dynasty, was exceptionally fond of traveling incognito. During a trip south of the river, disguised as a merchant, he was caught in a storm at night. When he finally boarded a sampan, he was cold and hungry as a drenched wolf. Now sheltered, he paid some silver for a meal. The boat girl was young and capable, dressed in a blue homespun tunic and shorts, bare-legged and barefoot, all alone in the sampan. She pulled out an urn of Maiden Red-”
“That’s the name of some Shaoxin rice wine, right?” Shanshan inquired, now in higher spirits too.
“Yes, it’s traditional for people to bury an urn of rice wine underground when a daughter is born. It would then be unearthed on important occasions years later-for instance, when she gets married. Anyway, back to the story. That urn of Maiden Red must have been stored for years. It tasted so mellow that he drained several cups without taking a break. Soon he was beginning to forget he was an emperor. The boat girl took pity on him, still looking as wet as a chicken drowning in a pond. She fried for him a live carp she’d just caught from the river. The fish turned out to be too large for the small wok in the boat, so she had to fry it with its head and tail sticking out of the sizzling oil. She served the fish hot and fresh on a willow-pattern platter. The fish tasted extraordinarily fresh and tender, with its eyes still goggling once or twice in the dark-”
“Yes, I’ve heard of this dish,” Chen said. “I’ve had it at a Beijing restaurant, but never heard the story about it.”
“Oh, the story is not finished yet. Now comes the climax.” The sampan man paused dramatically. “Qianlong must have had too many cups of rice wine. Raising his chopsticks, he swayed and attacked the fish savagely, but of all a sudden he saw the fish turn into the girl, who was writhing, bleeding and thrashing under him as he fell to sucking her small toe as if it was a dainty ball of carp cheek’s meat … Afterward, it became a special palace dish.”
“What a bizarre story about a fantastic special dish,” Shanshan said. Turning to Chen, she added unexpectedly, “A connoisseur like you should not miss an experience like a boat meal. Go ahead and order whatever you’d like. But after such a story, no fish for me.”
“Don’t bother fishing for anything from the lake,” Chen said to the boatman. “A simple boat meal will do.”
“Yes sir, a simple boat meal,” he said. The sampan man must have caught their earlier hesitation, for he continued, “but I have something special today-white shrimp.”
“One of the three special whites of the lake?”
“No, I didn’t catch the white shrimp here. I got it from Ningbo, and it’s still quite fresh. I live on the lake, so I know better.”
If anything, it confirmed Shanshan’s statements about the toxic lake food. “Well?” Chen said, looking up at her.
“Most locals would indeed know better,” she whispered, leaning over the table. “He is probably telling the truth.”
It turned out to be a boat meal different from any he had read about or imagined. It was simple, sure enough. A hot pot over a small burner of liquid gas, with frozen tofu, cabbage, and sliced beef, in addition to the white shrimp. The sampan driver pulled it all out of a cooler. They put the food into the boiling water, dipped it in the special sauce, and then enjoyed it.
It was a unique experience, with the hot pot sizzling between them, their chopsticks crossing each other in the cramped space. The white shrimp, almost transparent in the hot pot, tasted surprisingly fresh. Shanshan didn’t eat much, though, touching only tofu and cabbage. She picked up a shrimp by mistake, but she peeled it with her slender fingers and put it onto his saucer, seemingly apologetic for her fastidiousness.
Perhaps she was not ideal company for a gourmet like him, he thought, amused at himself. But what’s the big deal? It was good for a change. After all, he would only be here for a week.
Around them, a thin mist seemed to be congealing, and the air grew slightly damp. It was probably going to rain.
He made an effort to bring the conversation around to a topic not appropriate for a tourist. “I went to Uncle Wang’s place yesterday. Don’t worry. I remembered what you told me, so I didn’t order any lake fish there.”
“I know. Uncle Wang told me that you made phone calls for me.”
“Don’t mention it. I was worried about you, so I tried to find out what was going on.”
“I really appreciate it, Chen. But for a tourist, you’re very resourceful.”
“I’m nobody, Shanshan. I know nothing about police procedure, but I do know that it’s wrong to treat you like that. Like the old proverb says, if one sees something not right, one must draw out his sword to intervene,” he improvised, casting himself in an archetypal role from classical Chinese literature. He added, with a self-deprecating shrug, “Alas, I have no sword in my hand.”
“Well, it’s getting warm here,” she said, her eyes alert, her brows lightly arched. “Shall we move to the bow?”
Chen became aware of the boatman standing out on the stern, capable of overhearing their conversation.
“Good idea.”
They climbed out to the bow, where they enjoyed a better view of the lake and the hills in the distance. With no chair or bench there, they had to seat themselves on the deck, which, though a little wet, bothered neither of them.
She sat cross-legged in a lotus position, but soon shifted. Leaning back against the outside post of the cabin, she stretched out her long legs and slipped off her shoes. She tilted her face to the light and blossomed into a smile. The wind was ruffling her shoulder-length hair, as though adding to the temptation.
Again, he tried to convince himself he didn’t have to be a chief inspector at the moment. He could simply be a man in the company of a woman he cared for.
A bass sprang out of the algae close to the boat and snapped at something hardly visible in the misty air. The silver scales flashed against the dirty green mess, and the fish plunged back into the water, twisting and swimming away.
“Thank you, Shanshan. I’ve been enjoying the boat trip-every minute of it,” he said, feeling that the moment was fleeting. But considering her possible involvement in a murder, he had to slow down, he told himself. At least until he could really check it out.
“Uncle Wang told me a little,” he said, “but I don’t have a clear picture of what happened at your company.”
“I don’t know what Uncle Wang said,” she said, “but he hardly knows anything. What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what’s been going on at the company of late, as much as possible.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, I’ve been translating mysteries, so I’m naturally interested in a murder case. I may also be able to help a little,” he said, taking her hand on an impulse, “through some connections here.”
She didn’t take hers away, but she didn’t meet his gaze, looking instead at the green mass that stretched out, almost touching the horizon in the afternoon light.
“I don’t know where to start, Chen.”
“For starters, how about the IPO plan for the company? I think you mentioned it. Why should the company go public? I mean, what’s the reason behind it, given that it’s a state-run company? Or what’s the connection to the issue of environmental protection?”
“I’m no expert on the latest reforms on the ownership system in China,” she started slowly. “For my parents’ generation, there was nothing but state-run companies. Then things began to change with the economic reforms launched by Comrade Deng Xiaoping, and non-state-run companies came to the fore. An increasing number of state-run companies have been falling apart in recent years. They can barely survive in today’s market. So some people proposed a reform in the ownership system. It’s based on the theory that a company can’t succeed unless someone owns it. In other words, with socialism and communism gone to the dogs, everything has to depend on a capitalist interest. So entrepreneurs simply took over a bunch of state-run companies, buying them at an incredible bargain.”
“Yes, a lot of deals like that were made under the table, I’ve heard,” Chen said. “It has resulted in a huge loss of state property.”
“However, the situation for our company is different. The ownership system is to be changed, but it is not being purchased by an outside entrepreneur. Rather, the company will become a public one, owned by shareholders. As a consequence, Liu, the company’s general manager, could end up owning millions of shares. He would have been able to buy them at a huge discount-an ‘inside price’-or simply get shares for free through all sorts of tricks-say, setting five cents per share as the inside price for executives like himself, when each share will be immediately worth twenty or thirty yuan once it goes on the market. What’s more, Liu was in a position to purchase shares without paying a single penny from his own pocket. It would have been easy for him to get the money by mortgaging the chemical company.”
“It’s called catching a white wolf with your bare hands. I read about it somewhere.”
“You’re not that bookish, are you?” she said, nodding. “In Western countries, it’s a matter of course for the owner to have the largest number of shares, since he started the company. But people like Liu simply happen to be in a position that enables them to turn state property into their personal property, all in the name of economic reform.”
“Yes, these Communist Party officials turn into billionaires, but at the same time they remain Party officials,” he said, looking up at her. “You’ve made a thorough study of the issue, Shanshan. It’s as if you were teaching a course.”
“It’s because the IPO plan is somehow related to the pollution problem. That’s why I’ve been paying attention to the so-called reform. A successful IPO depends on having an impressive balance sheet, so for the last half year, Liu has been dumping industrial waste into the lake like never before. It was a business decision designed to drastically reduce production costs. For his own personal gain, the world itself can go to hell. He was already in his mid-fifties, getting nearer to retirement, so he had to rush the process.”
Shanshan’s lecture testified to something he’d sensed in her. She wasn’t merely a “flower vase,” a pretty but naive girl. Things in China were complicated. The reform was, as Deng Xiaoping had said, like wading across the river by stepping on one stone after another. But which stone was next, no one could tell. For instance, the changes in the ownership system were confusing to most people, and some simply didn’t bother to understand.
Shanshan didn’t have to worry about these things, which weren’t in her field. But apparently she did, studying all the factors that were behind the current environmental problems.
The pending IPO could actually be another one of the new problems that Comrade Secretary Zhao wanted Chen to pay attention to.
“Thank you for enlightening me. I’ve finally got some idea of what is going on with the IPO,” Chen said. “Do you think Liu’s death could be connected to it?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Another question. You told me that Liu died at his apartment-or, rather, his home office. Can you tell me something about that place?”
“It’s close. Only a five-minute walk from the company. It’s just another privilege provided to the Party officials. The apartment was assigned him in recognition of his hard work, and it’s in addition to the two-story house he bought with the company housing subsidy. But many people work hard at the factory, and they didn’t get an apartment. Some of them still don’t have even a single room.”
“He stayed there all by himself?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, then added without waiting for his answer, “Mi, his ‘little secretary,’ was there with him, of course.”
“Did he go there a lot?”
“Perhaps the only one who could really say is his little secretary.”
“Yes, she would be there to help him with his work, right?”
“And help with his bed too.”
“Oh that!”
He should have guessed. Nowadays a big boss, whether at a private or a state-run company, had to have a “little secretary”-a young girl who accompanied him in the bedroom as well as in the office. It was a sign of his status and, of course, more than that.
“A little secretary. I see. Do people know about the relationship between Mi and Liu?”
“Are you from Mars, Chen? That’s how she became his secretary in the first place. What are her qualifications? She had barely graduated from middle school when she was hired. It’s an open secret, but people don’t want to talk about it.”
“In other words, Mi would know not only about Liu’s whereabouts that night, but a lot more.”
“As far as I know, if Liu was there for some business reason, she would be the one to make the plans and preparations. If it wasn’t for business, she would be the one to make the bed.”
This was quite different from Sergeant Huang’s version, according to which Mi didn’t know anything about Liu’s plans that evening and instead had worked late at the office, a fact that had been corroborated by a colleague.
“That’s right,” he said, aware that it wasn’t easy not to talk like a cop. “But that evening, it could have been something he didn’t want her to know about.”
“That’s possible. Who can really tell what’s happening between a man and a woman?”
“He must have paid her a lot.”
“At the company, her pay was appropriate to her position as a secretary. To give the devil his due, Liu at least tried to keep up appearances.”
“Well, whatever he was worth, it could have eventually been all hers. For her, it would have been only a matter of time.”
“She might not have been so sure about that. If a little secretary doesn’t turn into a Mrs. in a year or two, then a little secretary she’ll remain. The boss may have all kinds of reasons to do or not to do something. How much Liu gave her in private was, of course, another story.”
“That’s a very good point,” he said. “But what about Mrs. Liu? She knew about Liu’s evening plans, right?”
“I don’t know, but she knew about the little secretary Liu kept there-”
The sampan swayed and she lurched forward, her hand touching his shoulder for support.
“Now tell me about your argument with Liu. It was about a week before his death, I heard.”
“You’ve heard a lot, Chen. We argued several times. For Liu, profit was more important than everything else. That’s what had made him-and not just as a general manager but as a much-propagandized representative of China’s economic reform. It probably would have to be a top priority to keep up production at whatever cost for anyone in his position. But I had to do my job as an environmental engineer.”
“You did the right thing.”
“But that day, about a week ago, he snapped and started shouting at me in his office. People must have heard our argument.” She added softly, after a pause, “I don’t want to speak ill of him now that he’s dead.”
A short silence ensued. Another fish jumped out and fell back in, splashing. The boat was probably in the middle of the lake.
“That’s the Wuxi Number One Chemical Company,” she said abruptly, pointing to their left. “Over there, I can show you something in the water.”
“Move over there,” Chen called, rising to give the order to the sampan man.
“There?” The sampan man looked puzzled. It was far from any scenic sights, and no tourist would be interested going there. But the sampan went there as instructed.
“Let’s stop here for a while,” Shanshan said to the sampan man. Turning to Chen, she said, “Take a close look at the water here.”
Already Chen could see a difference in the color of the water close to the chemical company. But it was more than that. An immense expanse of the water was covered in something like a heavy blackish-green shroud. It was substantial, almost solid, and stretched far into the distance. He hadn’t seen anything like that in the Huangpu River in Shanghai or, for that matter, in any other river.
“Do you see something over there that looks like a dam, Chen?”
“Yes, what’s that for?”
“This horrible green mess might be permissible here since no visitors come around, but it wouldn’t be allowable near the park, and definitely not near the center. So the dam is designed to keep tourists like you from seeing this.”
She spoke less reservedly today than she had before, about the problems and about the people responsible for them. After the detention she had suffered, Chen reflected, that was understandable.
He knew that her history with the company might make her not such a reliable source for the investigation, though he chose not to believe that.
“What you see here is not the worst of it,” she went on. “A couple of miles up, it is even worse.”
“I just read an article in the newspaper which claimed that green algae might be a longstanding problem for the lake.”
“How can you believe what’s written in those Party newspapers? They would never trace back the ecological disaster to industrial pollution. In the past, you might see a small green patch here or there in the lake, and occasionally the water would be too rich with nutrients because of the weather, but it didn’t affect the quality of the water for the whole lake. Nothing like this.”
She was speaking fervently, as if to justify her work. There was no need for it, certainly not for him. He knew she was doing the right thing. So he tried to say something to lighten the moment.
“I’m no expert,” he said, “but the water reminds me of a Tang dynasty poem about the south: the spring water ripples bluer than the skies, reclining / against a painted barge, / I fall asleep, listening to the rain. The lake water turns green, more or less naturally, with the arrival of spring. In a way, you might call that poetic.”
“You really think so?”
Then she did something totally unexpected. She shifted to the side of the boat and put her feet into the water.
He didn’t know why she suddenly chose to dangle her feet here, her white ankles flashing above the darksome, smelly water. He leaned over, her long black hair straying across his cheek. Watching, he wondered whether he should do the same, and he bent over to undo his shoelaces. But she was already pulling her feet out of the water. They were covered with a layer of green grime, as if painted: wet, slimy, and sticky.
“Would you call that poetic?”
“You didn’t have to do that, Shanshan.”
He grabbed one of her feet and tried to find a handkerchief. He ended up wiping the algae off with a small packet of paper napkins, which turned out not to be an easy job. His hands quickly got smeared too.
He couldn’t claim it was poetic for him, but even so, it was almost surreal, yet touching. Her bare soles yielding in his hands, her soft toes flexing against his clumsy fingers, she seemed inexplicably vulnerable. He had known her for only a couple of days, with his identity as a chief inspector unrevealed to her.
But she had proved her point. And she had done so in a way he had never read about in classical poetry.
“Let’s go back,” he said to the sampan man.
“Where?”
“To the Wuxi Cadre Recreation Center.”
“Wow!” the sampan man said, with a puzzled expression on his face when he noticed the grime on her feet and on Chen’s hands.
“You want to go back?” She, too, looked up at him in surprise.
“I am no expert like you, Shanshan. But I don’t think exposure to the chemicals will do you any good. You have to wash off your feet with clean water.”
“I appreciate your offer, but you don’t have to worry,” she said, shaking her head.
He also shook his head, resolutely.
They remained sitting like that for a long while, not speaking, her feet still in his hands.
The sampan man began to exert himself, looking over his shoulder from time to time.
The center’s fence at the foot of the hill came into view.
“Pull over,” Chen said, “we want to get off here.”
“Here?” the sampan man repeated, not seeing a dock or an entrance.
Chen had him row the sampan over to something like a landing near the concealed door in the fence.
“I know a shortcut. We can get in through there,” he said and paid the sampan man generously. “It’s for the full day, as we agreed, plus fifty for the boat meal and a tip for the boat songs. Is that enough?”
“More than enough, sir. Thank you so much. But you’re from the center, so it’s little wonder. Sorry that I was so blind as not to recognize Mount Tai.”
It was an old proverb, often used to describe one’s failure to recognize people of high status or importance.
Chen helped Shanshan to the shore and carried her shoes, which she didn’t immediately put back on. The ground was gritty against her bare soles, and she leaned slightly against his shoulder for a minute. He pointed at the villa glittering in the afternoon sunlight.
“That’s where I am staying.”
“Oh, that looks like a villa.”
“Yes, let’s go there. You can wash your feet and we can have a drink.”
“No, not today,” she said, looking down at her feet. “What a sight I would be for your high-cadre center.”
“In classical Chinese literature, there is an expression about ‘walking lotus flowers,’ which refers to a beauty walking barefoot. So what’s wrong with that?”
“You’re being sarcastic again,” she said. “No, definitely not. I don’t want to make a mess of your room.”
“As it is, it’s already a mess.”
“Well, some other day. I’ll keep your invitation in mind and take a rain check.”
“Yes, do keep it in mind. When you come, if you come through the main entrance, make a right turn at the first crossing, and you’ll see the white villa. It’s a freestanding one. Number 3A. You can’t miss it. At night, you can see its green-shaded windows against the shimmering expanse of the lake.”
“I wish I could say something similar about my room, my dorm room. It’s number 3B, but that’s the only resemblance. It’s as small as a piece of tofu and no one in the center would care to see it.”
“Why not?” he said. “I’ll take a rain check.”
They arrived at the fence door and she took the shoes from his hands, yet still didn’t put them on.
“Thanks for everything, Chen.”
“Thank you, Shanshan.”
Standing at the door, he watched her walk barefoot along the road, turn as she took out her cell phone and shut it off, and then hasten away.