He shouldn’t have said anything about his work. One fib, however well meant, inevitably led to another.
“Like the PIs you read about in those translated novels, I work for my clients. Unlike them, however, the profession isn’t legally licensed in China. It’s still a sort of gray area.”
“So you work like a cop-” she said, with a sudden glint in her eyes, “but for the client, not for the government.”
“That’s a good way to put it. There’s another difference. A Chinese PI has to stay away from anything involving high-ranking officials and politics. It’s just as hopeless as pitting eggs against rocks.”
“That’s so true. And so sad.”
The car swerved and pulled onto the main road. Almost instantly, the traffic became heavier, and the car was caught in a traffic jam. They slowed down to a dead stop. Chen looked out the windshield. A long line of unmoving vehicles stretched as far as he could see.
“I can’t even see the end of the line,” she said apologetically.
“I’m so, so sorry. You wouldn’t even be on this road if it weren’t for me.”
“No, it’s like this everywhere right now. It’s just after lunchtime, and, particularly around Qingming, there are a lot of people like you, who are hurrying back to the railway station.”
“Yes, the traditional lunch in Suzhou. A lot of Shanghainese like to do that after finishing their duty at the cemetery. Well, I’m in no rush. There are a number of trains to Shanghai leaving in the late afternoon and evening. I can take any one of them.”
“Then how about having lunch here?” she said, casting a glance at a side road. “I know a couple of good local restaurants, not too far away. The traffic might be better when we’re done.”
It was another surprising invitation from this young woman, but this one made sense. It was no fun being trapped in unmoving traffic. And there was nothing urgent waiting for him back in Shanghai.
Chen again looked out the window. It was still raining, though not as heavily as earlier. Off to the side of the road, he saw a black dog loitering under a pear tree, uninterested in the line of vehicles standing stock-still. It was reaching out a paw in tentative exploration of a pool of rain water, where white petals fell in occasional flurries.
“Good idea. But I insist that it be my treat. You are giving me a lift in the rain, and now you’re taking me to a Suzhou restaurant. That’s two favors, and the least I can do is to pay for lunch.”
“You’re such a gentleman. I agree to your terms. Do you have a favorite place in mind?”
“It’s your city, but in Shanghai, the best-known Suzhou-style noodle place is called Changlang Pavilion. It would be fantastic to eat at the original here.”
“The original Changlang Pavilion? I’ve been to that restaurant in Shanghai, but curiously enough, I don’t know of one here in Suzhou. But there’s a Changlang Pavilion garden in Suzhou, so perhaps there’s someplace nearby named after the garden. Let’s go there and ask the locals. Someone there will be able to help us.”
“Only if it doesn’t take up too much of your time.”
“I don’t have any other plans-not at the moment, anyway. If we can’t find the restaurant we’re looking for, I’ll take you to another one. It’s not as well known, but it’s quite good.”
She maneuvered onto the side road, then onto another even narrower side road. An experienced driver, familiar with the back roads of Suzhou, she cut through a maze of secluded streets lined with old, dilapidated houses. They encountered very little traffic along the way, and it was less than ten minutes before they were in sight of the Changlang Pavilion garden.
They asked several locals about restaurants in the vicinity, but all shook their heads. They circled the area one more time, searching for a noodle restaurant, but without any success.
“Okay, let’s just go to another one,” Chen said. “Any one you recommend.”
They drove over to a quaint street lined with ancient-looking boutiques and eateries. Qian pulled up in front of a tiny restaurant decorated in the unmistakable Suzhou style.
They picked a table with a view of a pleasant lotus leaf-covered pond.
“An ancient pond,” she said gazing at it with a wistful smile, “as old as the city of Suzhou, still reflecting the Song dynasty cloud and the Tang dynasty moon.”
“What?” Chen asked. He was surprised at her comment, even though he himself was inclined to speak in quotations.
“Oh, that was just something from Suzhou opera.”
Her wistful smile reminded him of the plum blossom folding into a paper fan as tall weeds swayed, as if to an inaudible tune. It was a fleeting memory, a touch of déjà vu. He shook himself out of the strange reverie and began to study the menu.
“In Suzhou,” she said, “you really can’t go far wrong with noodles.”
Chen settled on the special of the day-crispy fried green onions and shredded pork. Qian ordered plain noodles with peeled shrimp fried with Dragon Well tea leaves, in across-the-bridge style.
“The local live shrimp are very fresh-caught just this morning,” the waiter recommended. “Every one of them is still jumping in the kitchen.”
They decided to split a special platter of river shrimp in saltwater, along with a couple of cold side dishes and a pot of fresh jasmine tea.
“I know a good restaurant near the Southern Garden Hotel,” she said, pouring a cup of tea for him. “On Ten Perfections Street.”
“Southern Garden?” The hotel name sounded familiar. He wondered whether he’d stayed there.
“The restaurant is also near a club that I’ve been to quite a few times. The owner is an eccentric man. A native of Suzhou, he made a fortune in real estate, and then he quit to run the restaurant. Loyal to his childhood memory of Suzhou noodles, he tries to maintain the standards of those old days. It’s open only for breakfast and lunch, so it’s closed now. You should try it next time you’re here.”
“It sounds wonderful. Thank you for telling me about it.”
Their noodles came along with the extra dish of shrimp, which was placed on the table between them. Chen’s choice proved to be not disappointing. The crisped fried green onion and shredded pork on top of the noodles was delicious, though perhaps not as exquisite as it had been in his childhood memories.
“So you’re living in Shanghai,” she said, once the meal was under way. “I have a proposal for you.”
“A proposal?”
“You said that you’re a cop for hire. I’d like to hire you for something.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” he said, in a rush. “But I’ve only recently started doing this kind of work. You can easily find a more experienced private investigator.”
“Well, since you’re such a filial son, I’m sure you’ll be a conscientious private investigator.”
She was sharp and practical. It was even possible that she had picked him up with this conversation in mind.
“On your last assignment, you mentioned that the pay wasn’t bad,” she went on. “How about ten thousand as a guarantee? For the job, I’d be willing to pay you eighty yuan an hour plus any necessary expenses. If, after a couple of days, your progress is satisfactory to both of us, then we can discuss the hourly rate again.”
It probably wasn’t a bad offer for a PI-which Chen wasn’t. If he took the job, and the Party found out that he was “moonlighting,” it could mean even more trouble for him.
“But I’m in Shanghai-”
“Actually, you’re going to investigate in Shanghai, not in Suzhou.”
“But I might have to travel here frequently over the next two weeks-you know, for the renovation of my father’s tomb.”
“Why do you keep coming up with one excuse after another to say no? The job I have for you is not one that is to be done in a hurry. And if you need to make frequent trips to Suzhou, well, that may even help. We can discuss your progress while you’re here in Suzhou, and, of course, we can talk about your rate as well.”