It was easy to say that poverty was no excuse for what people chose to do with their lives. It was not easy, however, for a young girl to follow the Party’s principles of a simple life and hard work. In fact, few Party members, as far as he knew, still adhered to those principles.
He parted with her before a ramshackle one-story shelter and started back toward the taxi. A minute later, he turned to see her still standing by the door. The hut appeared stunted, its roof looming merely inches above her hair. In the dark night, he was surprised to make out a small pot of flowers blossoming on top of the roof tiles, placed there as a decoration.
As the taxi started winding out of the slum area, he had a weird feeling, as if the city had suddenly turned into two disparate halves. The first city was made up of old shikumen houses, narrow lanes, and slum alleys like the one he was leaving, in which people still had a hard time making ends meet. The second city was composed of trendy places like the bars on Henshan Road, the new high-end apartment complex in Hongqiao, and the would-be New World.
When Gu had first approached him about his ambitious business project, Chen had almost considered the New World and its like as myths, but he was wrong. A myth would not survive if it was not rooted in present realities.
There was also an untold part of that myth, of course: the suffering of the people shut out of it; that was the part familiar to Chief Inspector Chen from his elementary-school textbooks. At that time, all the glitter and glory were represented as decadent, evil, sustained at the cost of the working class. The emphasis was then on what was in back of the glamour, an emphasis that had justified the Communist Revolution.
It had been true to some extent. What had changed was the emphasis. Now it was on the facade, the glitter and glory, an emphasis that justified the reversal of the Communist Revolution, although the Party authorities would have never acknowledged this.
Chen was momentarily confused. History in textbooks was like colored balls in a juggler’s hands.
If truth could not be found in textbooks, then where else could one look?
But what could he do? He was just a cop. He had once beleaguered himself with those questions. He had long since given that up.
Even as a cop, Chief Inspector Chen wondered, when he started thinking about his conversation with Zhuang earlier in the evening, whether he had done a decent job.
Chapter 18
Yu awoke early on Saturday morning. He decided not to get up immediately. This was a decision reached from necessity. In his family’s small room, if one got out of bed, the others had to follow.
Qinqin had stayed up late last night studying. Nowadays, middle-school students worked like crazy, and Peiqin pushed him like crazy too, insisting that Qinqin had to enter a first-class college at all costs. “He must never end up like us.”
She might not have meant anything by it, but this statement did not sound pleasant to Yu, especially as he was unable to do anything to assist Qinqin. Peiqin was the one responsible for helping with their son’s homework; it had already proven too much for Yu.
Qinqin was still sound asleep on the fold-out sofa, his feet hanging over the edge. He had grown into a lean, tall boy. The sofa bed was no longer long enough for him.
Normally, Peiqin would have been up and about by this time, but it was a weekend. She had stayed up late with Qinqin, going over math problems with him. In the morning light, her face looked pale, tired.
Lying awake, Detective Yu could not help becoming increasingly upset by the latest developments in the Yin investigation. He was aware of the pressure being brought to bear on the bureau, pressure that was especially maddening to Party Secretary Li. The news of Yin’s tragic death had caused wild speculation not only in China, but overseas as well. The case had been reported in several foreign newspapers, which added fuel to the fire back in Shanghai. In addition, Yin’s novel had now been reprinted by underground publishers, and it was selling like hotcakes in private bookstores. Fei Weijin, the Propaganda Minister of Shanghai, was so concerned that he had visited the Shanghai Police Bureau in person to declare that the longer the case remained unsolved, the greater would be the damage to the new image of China.
As a result, Party Secretary Li was anxious for the immediate conviction of Wan for murder in spite of Yu’s arguments. All Yu’s efforts to persuade Li that they had to look further were like eggs thrown against a concrete wall.
Yu tried to recall how Chen had worked his way through the jungle of bureau politics, though he was not too pleased with Chen either. Last night, he was sure he had heard a girl’s whisper and some music in the background of their phone conversation. What Chen had been up to was none of his business. Perhaps the chief inspector could afford to enjoy himself, with his position, with his “lucrative project,” with his promising career, and with a free “little secretary” too. Still, Yu felt uncomfortable at the thought.
At the same time, he was amazed by Chen’s suggestions. He had no idea how, in the midst of working on a rush translation, Chen had managed to come up with those theories. Still, they were no more than hypotheses, with nothing substantial to support them. Yu himself had made tentative forays in these directions without result.
Peiqin stirred beside him-still dreaming, perhaps.
Suddenly he felt sorry for himself, but more so for Peiqin and Qinqin. All these years, they had been together, squeezed into this tiny shikumen room, in this shabby lane. Working on one homicide case after another, he was more often than not away even on weekends, and he earned so little. Why was he doing it?
Perhaps it was time for him to rethink his future career, as Peiqin had suggested.
When Yu had first entered the police force, his objective was a clear-cut one: to do better than his father, Old Hunter, who, though a capable policeman, never rose higher than sergeant in rank. It was from him that Yu had inherited the job in the Shanghai Police Bureau. In terms of rank, Yu had already achieved his objective. As a detective, he was one notch higher, but he did not feel nearly as good as Old Hunter used to feel-in the years of the proletarian dictatorship. In those years, people were not that different from one another, each had the same paycheck, the same housing, and believed in the same Party doctrine of “hard work and a simple life.” A cop was just one of the people, and he might take extra pride in being the tool of the proletarian dictatorship.
But to be a policeman nowadays was not that rewarding. In an increasingly materialistic society, a cop was nobody. Take Chief Inspector Chen, for example. Though a much more successful cop, Chen still had to take a vacation to earn some extra money for himself.
And then there were stories about corrupt cops, true stories, as Yu knew. What was the point being a cop at all?
As he got out of bed, he announced a decision, which was a surprise even to himself.
“Let’s go out to Old Half Place for breakfast.”
“Why?” Qinqin asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Our family deserves to enjoy a good weekend.”
“It’s a great idea. I’ve heard of the restaurant,” Peiqin agreed sleepily, looking startled, for it was not like Yu to take the family out for breakfast in the midst of an investigation.
“So early, for breakfast?” Qinqin said, getting up reluctantly from the creaking sofa.
“ Old Half Place is well-known for noodles from the first pot of the morning,” Yu said. “I’ve read about it in a restaurant guide.” He did not want to explain how he had actually learned about the restaurant.
In half an hour, the three of them arrived at Old Half Place, which was located on Fuzhou Road. Sure enough, many customers were already sitting there waiting, most of them elderly people who held bamboo chopsticks in their hands before the noodles even appeared on the tables.