Yu was pleased with the conclusion of Yin Lige’s case. He was sitting in the courtyard while Peiqin was preparing a special dinner in the common kitchen area “in celebration of the successful conclusion of the case,” she told him.
Qinqin was overwhelmed by the need to study for an important test next week. “Extremely important,” Peiqin had declared. So the only table in the room was reserved for Qinqin until dinner time.
Incoming phone calls would not help Qinqin to concentrate. Nor did Yu want to smoke like a chimney with Qinqin studying hard in the same room. As a result, Yu had to remain in the courtyard, although it was chilly for this time of the year. Seated on a bamboo stool, with a pot of hot tea, a cordless phone, and a notepad resting on a slightly shaky chair in front of him, he looked almost like a lane peddler. He was going to write the report concluding the Yin case. It was his case, after all.
It was true that Chief Inspector Chen, while on vacation, had played a crucial part in the breakthrough but Yu believed that he had performed well as officer in sole charge. Police work could sometimes be like a blind cat jumping on a dead rat, dependent on a lot of luck. Still, the cat had to be there, capable of jumping energetically at the right moment. Whatever others might think, Chen and he had moved beyond the stage of splitting hairs over who should get the credit for each contribution to the solution of a case.
It was also true that Peiqin had helped a great deal. Chief Inspector Chen had praised her perception when she had shared her insight into the textual problems of Death of a Chinese Professor, which proved to be a crucial lead.
Even Old Liang had contributed in his way, pushing and pressing his theories, by the ironic causalities of misplaced yin and yang, a phrase Yu had recently learned from Chen.
As Party Secretary Li had declared, “The homicide case would have remained unsolved but for Detective Yu’s hard work.” What the Party boss did not admit was that but for Yu’s hard work, the case would have been “solved” by the arrest and conviction for murder of an innocent man. Li would not say a single word about this at the press conference, of course, and he had taken pains to arrange for Yu to take a break at home while the conference was being held. As Chief Inspector Chen was still on vacation, it made sense for the senior Party cadre to talk about the significance of their work to the media. Yu readily agreed.
It was still a moment of triumph for him, Yu thought; a moment of redemption as well, in spite of his pathetically low pay, of his bottom-level rank, and of the fiasco that had taken his promised new apartment from him. What’s more, it was a moment that might reinspire him to hang on to his position as a policeman.
The telephone calls kept coming as he sat in the courtyard. He had no more time to think about himself. There was still plenty to do to wrap up the murder investigation.
Whatever defense Bao might drum up, it was all over for him. Not only the city government, but the central government too, had expressed concern over the tragic death of Comrade Yin Lige. The murderer had to be punished. That was a foregone conclusion.
It remained for Yu to notify Hong, the poor mother who still had all her hopes vested in Bao. It would not be a pleasant job, and he was not in any hurry to do it.
The remaining loose end to the investigation was the manuscript Bao had stolen, even though it was Yang’s rather than Yin’s. It had at once been seized by Internal Security. To his puzzlement, Chief Inspector Chen had made no protest. Later he would have to discuss this with Chen, Yu decided.
Then, in accordance with the terms of Yin’s will, whatever was left of Yin and Yang’s money would go toward a scholarship for college students writing in English. It would not amount to a great deal, and it was not police business, but Yu had volunteered to help with this arrangement. To his surprise, Party Secretary Li had not objected.
The neighborhood committee was so pleased with the special commendation from the city government that they honored Yu by asking him to make a speech at the entrance to Treasure Garden Lane.
Lei, the food stall proprietor, telephoned to express his thanks to Yu for his investigative work. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Comrade Detective Yu. Finally, Yin may rest in peace. She must be in heaven, I know, looking down at this lane and at my business at the lane entrance, with a smile.
“And you know what? My lunch business is growing. So I am going to give it a formal name: ‘Yin & Yang.’ That will be my way of commemorating that remarkable woman, and it may also bring in more business. A magazine has already contacted me for the story of how she helped me at the lowest ebb of my fortunes. She’s the guiren-important person-in my fate.”
“We can never understand the workings of fate,” Yu said, “but the restaurant’s new name is catchy and should even attract customers who know nothing about the story behind it.”
“Exactly. Yin & Yang. And it goes without saying, Detective Yu, whenever you come to the lane, lunch is on me-on the Yin & Yang Restaurant.”
It had been much tougher, on the other hand, to deal with the two men who were in custody, Cai and Wan.
Cai should have been released days earlier, the day Wan turned himself in. Old Liang had objected, insisting that there was still something suspicious about Cai, for he had never provided an alibi for the night of February 6 or for the morning of February 7.
Finally, Yu had to put his foot down. “If Cai was detained as a suspect, he must be released now that the case is closed. I’m in charge, and that’s my decision.”
Grumbling, Old Liang realized that he had no choice but to let Cai out.
But for Wan, the situation seemed far more complicated. To begin with, no one could understand why Wan had come forward. He did not utter a single word when he was informed of Bao’s arrest. He sat with his chin on his chest, like a statue, offering no explanation as to why he had confessed to a crime he had not committed.
According to one neighborhood committee member, Wan must be assumed to be more or less demented-Alzheimer’s disease or something like it must have been behind his confession. Another suggested that Wan had sought the limelight he had long missed. According to a third, Wan must have imagined himself to be the last soldier of the Cultural Revolution. And, finally, according to neighborhood hearsay, Wan was secretly in love, and he confessed in order to impress his undisclosed lover. Or a combination of various factors might have motivated him. For, as Chen had pointed out, Wan was like a fish out of water in present-day China, a factor that must have influenced his thought processes.
Old Liang was furious with Wan. The residence cop insisted that some charge should be pressed against him. “He should be sent to prison for at least three or four years. Wan deserves it. Deliberate false testimony! This ex-Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Worker Team Member is crazy. He must believe he can do whatever he likes and get away with it, like in the days of the Cultural Revolution He’s simply lost in his spring-and-autumn dream! Our society is a legal society now.”
It was Party Secretary Li, however, who decided against prosecuting Wan. “Enough is enough. We have had so many stories about the Cultural Revolution. There is no point bringing Wan into troubled water, too. People have to move on. Let the old man alone.”
Politically, it was not a good idea to harp on the disastrous aftermath of the Cultural Revolution, or even to remind people of it. This was the very card Chen had played, though Li did not say this in so many words. Anyway, Wan’s case was not to be interpreted politically, so Yu did not have to say anything. Outraged as Old Liang might be, Party Secretary Li had the last word regarding Wan’s fate.
Still, the unsolved mystery of Wan’s confession kept intruding itself into Yu’s thoughts.
Stubbing out his cigarette, Yu got up and carried his phone into the kitchen area.
Peiqin was busy cooking, moving about in a maze of pots and pans. There was hardly enough space for the two of them.
She was genuinely pleased with the outcome of the investigation and with the part she had played. “So everything is finished,” she said, turning to him with a bright smile, her hands still stuffing tofu with ground pork.
“There is still a lot to do to wrap it all up.”
“Imagine I-imagine both of us-having done something for Yang,” she said. “Yin was his only comfort in his last days. Now her murderer has been caught. In heaven, if there is a heaven, Yang must be pleased.”
“Yes, the conclusion…” Yu found it hard to complete his sentence-that his grandnephew killed the woman he loved.
“Can you take out his poetry collection for me? It is in the second drawer of the chest.”
“Of course. But why?”
“I think I have just gained a new understanding of Yang’s poetry while I was busy cooking,” she said. “Sorry, my hands are not clean. But when you bring the book here, I have something to tell you that is related to the case.”
Yu came back with the poetry book in his hand.
“Please find the poem titled ‘A Cat of the Cultural Revolution,’” she said. “Can you read it to me?”
He started reading in a low voice, still totally mystified. At times, Peiqin could be too wrapped up in books, just like Chief Inspector Chen. Fortunately, she did not have too many idols like Yang. And there was no one else in the kitchen area just then.
My fantasy came true / with the Cultural Revolution / of being a cat, jumping / through the attic window, stalking / on the dark roof, staring / down into the rooms now peopled / with the strangers wearing / the armbands of “Red Guards.” / They had told me “Go away, / bastard, you hear!” I heard, / only too glad to come / to the roof, where I found, / for the first time, that starlight / could shine so long in solitude, / and that Mother had changed / beside the Red Guards, her neck / bent by a blackboard like / a zoological label. I couldn’t tell / the words written on it, but I knew / she’s in no position to stop / my leaping into the dark night.
Morning brought me down / brandishing a slate, Mother sprang back / at the sight, as if the slate too / were designed for her swollen neck. / I couldn’t help shouting / in a voice I had learned overnight, / “Go, and fetch a bowl of rice / for me, you hear!” Away she / scampered. A mouse scuttled / in the debris of a night’s “cultural revolution.” And / I decided, not being human enough / to be a Red Guard, to be / felinely ferocious. Back / from a visit to the dentist / one day, I caught her squealing, “No, / your teeth are sharp.” “Alas, / she was born under the star of the mouse,” a blind / fortune-teller said, sighing / by her deathbed. “It was / predestined, according / to the Chinese horoscope.” / I ran out wild. There were / nine lives to lose, and I jumped / into the jungle.
I see a paw-print / on this white paper.
“Yes, it’s about the Cultural Revolution,” Yu said, after reading the long poem aloud.
“Now that I have learned more about his life,” Peiqin said, “I’m sure the narrator must have been based on Hong, the child of a ‘black’ family. Her family was persecuted by the Red Guards. Those kids suffered terrible discrimination. They were regarded as ‘politically untrustworthy,’ with no future in socialist China. Some of them could not help seeing themselves as less than human because they could never become Red Guards.”
“Yes, that’s why she denounced her parents, I was told.”
“I can really relate, because I had a similar experience and harbored secret resentment against my parents,” she said in a trembling voice before she controlled herself. “What a poem! It represents the dehumanization of the Cultural Revolution from a child’s perspective.”
“Yes, the Cultural Revolution caused many tragedies. Even today, there are people who have not been able to move out of its shadow, including Hong, and perhaps Bao too.”
“Yang left a novel manuscript, didn’t he?”
“It’s in English. According to Chief Inspector Chen, it is a novel like Doctor Zhivago, about the life of a Chinese intellectual in Mao’s years, but Internal Security has already snatched it.”
“You could have made a copy.”
“We didn’t have time. The minute we entered the bureau, Internal Security was there. They already seemed to know about it. And Party Secretary Li was on their side, of course. Chen had read only several pages in the restaurant downstairs-”
“What?”
“He insisted that I conduct the questioning of Bao all by myself- since it was my case-while he read the book in a small restaurant on the first floor. He did not come back until the interrogation was over. I suppose he could have made a copy without my knowledge.”
“Has he mentioned anything about the manuscript?”
“No, he hasn’t said a word about it.”
“He must have his reasons. I am not sure whether you should ask him about it,” Peiqin said thoughtfully. “Chen is a clever man. He may try to do something that could be risky.”
“You mean he doesn’t want to involve me in some risky business-with Internal Security lurking in the background.”
“Possibly. I cannot really tell,” she said, and changed the subject abruptly. “Oh, we will have a wonderful dinner tonight!” She was mincing shrimp for the tofu stuffing now.
“You don’t have to prepare so many dishes. We have no guests today.”
“You have proven to the bureau what a capable cop you are. It’s an occasion for celebration.”
“In fact, I was thinking about quitting the job, Peiqin, that morning at Old Half Place,” Yu said. “All these years, I’ve brought so little home. And you have had to work so hard, at the restaurant and at home. I might earn more for the family, I thought, if I could start some small business like Geng, or like LI Dong.”
“Come on, my husband. You have done such a great job as a cop. I’m proud of you,” Peiqin said. “Money is something, but not everything. How could you ever have had such an idea?”
“Thank you,” he said, without going on to say, but you once suggested it to me.
“Now I’m going to fry the ribs. The oil will splash all around. So go back to the courtyard. I’ll call you when the dinner is ready.”
There was another surprise in store for Yu-an unexpected visitor.
It was Cai, the cricket gambler, who had been released through Yu’s intervention. He stood on the threshold, carrying a bottle of Maotai in one hand and a huge live soft-shell turtle in the other. When he learned that Qinqin had to study for his test, Cai insisted on accompanying Yu out into the courtyard. “Your son is busy with his homework. That’s great. That’s the most important thing under the sun. If I had had a good education, my business would not have collapsed. Let us talk outside,” Cai said, leaving the presents with Peiqin before he clasped his fingers in a gesture of profound gratitude. “Comrade Detective Yu, I thank you.”
“I only did what a policeman should do. You do not have to thank me, and you should not have brought me those presents.”
“For such a great favor, it’s almost meaningless for me to say thanks,” Cai said sincerely. “The blue mountain and the green river will long, long remain and I will be forever in your debt.”
“Don’t overwhelm me with your triad jargon. I’m the policeman responsible for Yin’s case. You have nothing to do with the case, so why should you be kept inside?”
“If there were more cops like you, instead of like Old Liang, there would be much less trouble in the world.”
“Now that you are out, do something meaningful with your life, Cai. You cannot fight crickets forever. You have to think about your family. Your wife, Xiuzhen, has never wavered in proclaiming your innocence.”
“I’ll change as thoroughly as if I had washed my heart and replaced my bones. Yes, Xiuzhen is very good to me. She could have dumped me, but she did not. She came to me every day, bringing food made especially for me. I was wrong in believing that she had married me for my money.”
“Yes, when you are in trouble, you find out who really cares for you.”
“I still have some connections in today’s world. I will stage a comeback in the Eastern Mountains.”
“I have one question, Cai. When you were taken into custody, why didn’t you tell Old Liang about what you really did that morning? As I said, I’m only interested in the Yin murder case. No matter what you tell me, you don’t have to worry. It will be between the two of us.”
“I trust you, Comrade Detective. I was playing mah-jongg in a bathhouse that night, all night long. Mah-jongg is not gambling, everybody knows that. It’s just a game in which you have to put a little money down, otherwise it is no fun.
“But I was sentenced in the early seventies for gambling. So if I told Old Liang about it, he would have made a big fuss. In fact, he threatened to put me back in jail if he ever caught me betting on cricket fights in the lane.”
“I see. Mah-jongg or cricket fights, they won’t do you any good.”
“I give you my word, Comrade Detective Yu. I won’t waste this second chance. If my hand ever touches crickets or mah-jongg again, I swear to old heaven, may cancers grow all over my fingers. Believe me.”
“Okay. Then I have just one more question for you,” Yu said. “While you were in custody, Wan suddenly came forward, taking responsibility for a crime that had nothing to do with him. Do you have any idea why he did that?”
“It beats me. He may have lost his mind, for all I know or care. As a matter of fact, we had a fight not too long ago.”
“Was the fight about your family’s support?”
“Wan has no idea how much I give Xiuzhen’s family each month. And it’s none of his business either. That ugly old toad simply dreams of devouring the white swan.”
“What do you mean by that, Cai?”
“The way he looks at Lindi speaks volumes. He wants to please Lindi, but he has utterly lost his mind. He should pee on the ground and see his reflection in the pool.”
“Well-” Detective Yu remembered the scene of Wan sitting on a bamboo stool in the courtyard, doing nothing, watching while Lindi cut the spiral shells. “But I still do not see why he claimed that he was the murderer.”
“I have no clue,” Cai said.
“Mr. Cai, I have just put the turtle into the steamer,” Peiqin said in a loud voice from the kitchen area. “It took me a while to clean such a huge one. Please stay for dinner. The turtle will take just a little longer.”
“Thank you, Peiqin, but I’m afraid I have to leave. Xiuzhen will be worried if I don’t come back for dinner,” Cai said. “If there is anything I can do for you, Comrade Detective Yu, let me know. I will do my best, like a horse or a dog.”
Yu and Peiqin walked out with Cai to the lane exit.
“We have to wait a little while longer,” Peiqin told Yu. “The coal briquettes I made last week do not burn very well. It will take time to steam the turtle.” She wiped her hand on her apron, which bore fresh bloodstains.
“Oh, have you cut your hand?”
“No, those spots are turtle blood. Don’t worry.”
He didn’t know how long he would have to wait. He was a bit hungry. He phoned Mr. Ren to thank him sincerely for his tip about Wan, and then mentioned Cai’s comment regarding the ex-Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Worker Team Member.
“I’ve not heard anything about Wan and Lindi,” Mr. Ren said. “People do not talk to me that much. But there’s no ripple without a breeze: one evening several months ago, I saw Wan pushing a bulging envelope into her hands.”
“Do you think Wan confessed for the sake of Lindi?”
“Well, Cai is the main support of the whole family. If Cai were sentenced and executed, the whole family would be ruined. So it could have been an act of romantic self-sacrifice-a rather twisted notion of it,” Mr. Ren said thoughtfully. “But I am not so sure. Wan is a bitterly disappointed old man. All the changes in today’s society may be too much for him.
“I can understand. In the early fifties, when my company had been taken away, together with the shikumen house, I thought it was the end of the world. I hung on because of my children. Wan is all alone here. For him, this might have seemed to be a good opportunity to end his agony in a politically dignified way, and at the same time make a last noble gesture to Lindi.”
“Yes, that makes sense now.”
“I’m so pleased with outcome of your investigation, Comrade Detective Yu. The real criminal has been caught. That is what justice is about,” Mr. Ren said. “By the way, the sticky rice cake at Peiqin’s place, Four Seas, is super. I went there yesterday. You know what, I must have met her father forty years ago. Indeed, in this world of red dust, things may be predestined.”
“I’m really glad we met you.”
“Next time, I’ll bring half a pound of xiao pork to her restaurant. You keep it in the refrigerator. You don’t have to go to Old Half Place. But you need good noodles. The pork is best with noodles in hot soup.”
“Next time I’ll introduce you to my boss, Chief Inspector Chen. Another gourmet. You two will have a lot to talk about.”
There did seem to be some mysterious correspondence in this world of red dust, as Mr. Ren had said. Yu still had the phone in his hand when Chen’s call came.
“I have talked to the city housing office,” Chen said in an urgent voice, “and there is a second-hand room available in the Luwan District. Twenty-four square meters, already partitioned in two. Sure, it’s not one of those fancy new apartments, but it is a shikumen room, and it’s practically in the center of the city.”
“Really!”
Yu was confounded by Chen’s choosing to talk about a secondhand room he had found listed by the city housing committee rather than about the case. Yu had long passed the stage, however, of being surprised by anything Chief Inspector Chen chose to do.
“I have made several phone calls, and from what I’ve heard, this is not a bad room.”
“A shikumen room-” Yu was not sure whether this was an alternative he should jump at. Admittedly, it seemed to be better than the one he now lived in: it was ten square meters bigger, and already partitioned. It would offer some sort of privacy for Qinqin. And Yu would not have to share the entrance with his father, Old Hunter. But there would be no bathroom or kitchen in such a room. And if he took it, he would never be able to get a new apartment from the police bureau.
“You can choose to wait, Detective Yu. As long as I am on the housing committee, I will certainly do my best for you. Next time the bureau gets a new housing quota, you will be at the top of the list, but-”
That part of the speech Yu had heard, many times, especially “at the top of the list,” and he knew Chen’s emphasis was really on the last word, “but,” and on what was not said. No one could tell about the next time, about some “unforeseeable” twist like the events that had supposedly occurred last time. Qinqin was already a big boy. How much longer could Yu afford to wait? After all, it would be a bird in the hand, a real apartment, unlike Party Secretary Li’s empty promises.
“Who knows if there will be a next time?” Yu said.
“Exactly. Housing reform may be inevitable in China but,” Chen said, quoting a proverb, “Once you have passed this village, you may not find another hotel.”
“I’ll think about it.” Yu said. “I have to discuss it with Peiqin.”
“Yes, discuss it with her. I’m thinking of buying a small room in the same area. In my opinion, it is a super area, with a lot of potential. It will be a small room for my mother; we may be neighbors there.”
“That would be great.”
Yu knew his boss too well. Chen usually had a reason for saying or not saying something, or for saying it in a roundabout way. With his connections, the chief inspector could be full of surprises.
“Let me know your decision as soon as possible.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks, Chief.”
Yu stood in the courtyard and lit another cigarette, crumpling the empty pack, as he started thinking about the second-hand room in earnest.
After all, there was one advantage living in a shikumen house. The courtyard. If they had moved into an apartment in Tianling New Village, where could he smoke like this?
“Dinner is ready,” Peiqin said.
“I’m coming,” Yu said.
After dinner, he was going to tell her about that second-hand room. Perhaps he should repeat Chen’s comments, word for word. Sometimes Peiqin was quicker than he in reading hidden messages, as in the investigation of Yin’s case. He really should be proud of her, he kept telling himself as he opened the door. But first he would enjoy a good dinner. There was a steamed soft-shell turtle on the table.
“Turtle is especially good for a tired, middle-aged man,” she whispered in his ear.
It was a huge, monstrous turtle. With its head cut off and its shell strewn with sliced ginger and chopped scallions, it filled the small room with a dreamlike aroma.