“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.
Qiu Xiaolong
