At the Shanghai Railway Station, Chen took out his special cell phone and dialed Old Hunter, who picked up at the first ring.
“Oh, where I am? I’m in Zhangjiang, Pudong, with an important client this morning. I’m quite a distance from you. Go ahead to the noodle restaurant by yourself. The place you call the Shanghai Number One, the one that serves the noodles mixed with scallion oil, peanut butter, and fried shrimp. It’s so tasty. There will be another real surprise for you there, and after you’re done, you can call me.”
“Another real surprise there!”
Old Hunter was speaking guardedly, possibly in the presence of a client. But Chen understood. Shanghai Number One meant Peiqin’s new restaurant. Peiqin made a point of using traditional recipes and ingredients, and the noodle dishes were popular among Shanghai’s budget diners.
Chen was heading over to the long line at the taxi stand when he caught sight of a subway sign. The number 2 line. It had a stop at the intersection of Nanjing and He’nan Roads, and he could walk to the restaurant from there. Given the invariable traffic jam that was in Shanghai, the subway was a more reliable alternative.
Thirty minutes later, he stepped into the restaurant. Looking around without seeing a familiar face, he chose a table in the corner.
An elderly waiter shuffled over to the table, clutching a mop in his hand. “What do you want?”
“I’m a friend of Peiqin’s. Can you tell her I’m here?”
It was common for customers to mention it if they knew someone who worked at the restaurant. Sometimes it was for the sake of saying hi, and sometimes in hopes of getting special treatment.
“Peiqin, you have a friend waiting for you,” the waiter called up the stairs.
When Chen was last there, Peiqin hadn’t introduced him to her colleagues-at least, she hadn’t mentioned his official position. She didn’t like to show off her connections.
Peiqin hurried down from her attic office. To his surprise, she extended her hand rather formally.
“Welcome to our restaurant.”
He took her hand in a similar manner and felt something in his palm. Without speaking a word, he clasped it-a small square object.
“It’s been a long time, Mr. Chen. I hope you enjoy your meal today.” She smiled and then looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Please enjoy double toppings for China’s number one noodles. They are the best. And on the house.”
“Thank you,” Chen said, playing along.
“It’s now the number one dish in the noodle category on the Mass Review Web site. That’s very significant, because it reflects the genuine opinion of real customers. Our small restaurant couldn’t afford to simply hire people to vote for it online.”
“The dish absolutely deserves the honor. Congratulations!” he said. “By the way, I took the subway here this morning. It’s very convenient, and it might be the same for you too.”
“In fact, I always take the subway-the seven fifty-one train-and it arrives at this stop at eight fifteen. From the number 3 exit, it is only a ten-minute walk to the restaurant. The subway is very reliable.”
To anyone who happened to overhear their conversation, it would have sounded like a chat between two old acquaintances who hadn’t crossed paths in a while.
But Peiqin seemed to be trying to pass on a subtle tip. If he needed, he should be able to get catch her at that particular time and at that particular subway exit.
“Shanghai Number One has a truly authentic Shanghai flavor, which is so different from that of Suzhou. My mother likes it too. I brought a box of noodles to her place one time, and she finished all of them in less than ten minutes.”
“Sorry, I have been too busy to visit your mother lately. She doesn’t live very far from here. Do you want to bring a box to her today?”
“Well, I’m really supposed to be in Suzhou today.”
“I see-”
“Peiqin, you have a phone call from the Apricot Blossom Group CEO,” another waitress said in a loud voice.
“The Apricot Blossom Group is named after the restaurant on Fuzhou Road. I still have my state job there,” she said, by way of explanation. “I have to take this call.”
“Of course, you take the call. I, too, have to leave.”
Ten minutes later, he headed out of the restaurant without seeing Peiqin again. It might be just as well. The couldn’t really talk openly in the restaurant.
He pulled out the envelope she had passed him, which contained a mini cassette tape. Peiqin had taken great care to make sure no one saw her hand it over.
Around the corner, he saw an electronics store, where he bought a player and a headphone set. He then kept on walking, going several blocks before he saw a shabby café with a bohemian ambiance. There were old worn-out chairs and tables both inside and outside. A young girl in a white T-shirt and threadbare jeans sat at an outside table, seemingly totally absorbed in a music player, her eyes half closed, her bare foot beating on the sidewalk. Chen chose a corner table inside, ordered a tall cup of black coffee, pulled out the new tape player, and put on the headphones. Drumming his fingers on the table like the girl outside, he put in the tape Peiqin passed him and started listening to it.
It started off with the conversation between Old Hunter and Tang. Chen already knew the gist of it, but some of the details might be helpful. Chen listened carefully, gulping black coffee, and taking notes.
Then came another section: the discussion between Old Hunter, Yu, and Peiqin. It was quite long, as they jumped from one topic to another over dinner. Chen listened with uninterrupted concentration. Old Hunter’s account of the ernai café was hilarious, and their speculations as to Chen’s reasons for having Old Hunter check out the café were no less intriguing. Some of the details proved to be thought-provoking, perspectives he himself wouldn’t have considered. Yu’s brief account of the missing person case was helpful too. Chen hadn’t had the time to look into it yet.
He finished his second cup of coffee before he finished listening to the speculations of “the family of cops.”
A waiter walked over and looked at him. Chen took off his headphones and asked for the menu again.
“I’d like a wedge of lemon pie,” he said to the waiter, taking out his laptop and the CD from Qian.
“So few enjoy Suzhou opera nowadays. What a pity! I have to write something that will help people appreciate it,” Chen said to the waiter.
The waiter appeared indifferent to opera. But that didn’t matter. Chen just wanted him to see Chen as a bookish opera fan, working on an article in defense of it.
Taking another sip of coffee, Chen thought he might as well take a short break and listen to the opera CD. Roughly speaking, Suzhou opera consisted of two parts: singing and narration. The singing part could be blank verse sung in the middle of the narrative, performed to musical instruments such as the sanxian and pipa, but it could also be a song performed by itself. If it was the latter, the song was usually short, four or five minutes long, and was sung as the audience arrived at the theater, a kind of prelude to the narrative episode.
The CD was composed of songs adapted from classical poems. Qian was the singer, and her passion came out in her clear voice, but the choice of the poems also spoke to her own emotions. The pieces he listened to were quiet, sentimental ones. The first was a poem written by Liu Fangping:
The sun setting against the gauze curtain, / the dusk drawing nearer, / she sheds tears, alone, / in her magnificent room. / The courtyard appears so deserted, / the spring on the decline,/ pear petals fallen, all over the ground- / too much for her / to push open the door.
The last image was subtle yet striking. She’d had no visitors-the courtyard not swept, the door not opened-for a long time.