A Case of Two Cities

know it’s an impossible job,” Yu said.
     
    Yu must have his reason to be so worried, Chen suspected. The pork skin no longer tasted crisp, but smoked carp head still made a palatable dish for the wine. He put a large piece of the fish cheek meat on top of Yu’s rice.
     
    “We have done difficult and dangerous cases together before, Detective Yu, and you have never encouraged me to quit. What do you know?”
     
    “There is one thing I have to tell you,” Yu said. “Hua Ting, a veteran cop in Fuzhou, died in a most mysterious way a couple of days ago— within a week after he had taken over the Xing case, a mission similar to yours.”
     
    “Any foul play suspected?”
     
    “As foul as you could imagine. His naked body was found in a prostitute’s room. An overdose of Chinese Viagra—according to the whore’s statement. Stories with such sordid details run like wildfire in tabloid newspapers there. My father, Old Hunter, does not believe it. He knew Hua for years. A family man, and an honest cop, Hua would have never done anything like that.”
     
    “That’s the worst ending possible for a cop. His name tarnished, and he will never rest in peace.”
     
    “Old Hunter discussed it with me and he wanted me to talk to you. You know what? He calls those crooked officials ‘red rats,’ with the barn of the Chinese society under their control.”
     
    “That’s a superb metaphor.” But Chen did not want to push on. He refused to see the system as a barn run by and for red rats. “It reminds me of a fable written by Liu Zhongyuan, a Tang dynasty poet, about such a rat-ravaged barn. For a short period of time, people gave it up, so the rats relieved it was a world of their own. Then one man broke in, and all the rats, so fattened that they could hardly run, were killed in no time.”
     
    “It’s a fable, Chief.”
     
    “Old Hunter and you want me to think more carefully about accepting the job, I understand,” Chen said. “But I really have no choice.”
     
    “Yes, Chief Inspector Chen?”
     
    “You may well call me impossibly bookish or romantic, but when someone like Comrade Zhao says he considers me one of the few Beijing can trust in a difficult situation—as an emperor’s special envoy—what can I say? As Confucius said, ‘If people treat me as the man of the state, I have to live up to the expectation.’”
     
    “I have not read the book.”
     
    “But I will be careful. You may be right about it being possibly a show, and there’s no point in jumping headlong into the muddy river.”
     
    “I didn’t think I could change your mind,” Yu said somberly, “but I had to tell you all that. Having said so, I am still your partner. If you want to work on the case, you have to count me in.”
     
    “Thanks. I know I can always count on you,” Chen said. “But at this stage, it would be better for you to stay in the background.”
     
    “How are you going to proceed?”
     
    “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll talk to the people on the list, I think.”
     
    “It’s like touching the tiger’s tail,” Yu said, draining his cup.
     
    And the tiger could bite.
     
    * * * *
     

3
     
     
    A
    FTER HIS TALK WITH Detective Yu, Chief Inspector Chen decided to restudy his investigation plan.
     
    Chen took out the folder again. There was one point made by several sources. Xing had made frequent trips to Shanghai, it was said, because of his mother. It was common knowledge in Fujian that Xing was a most dutiful son. His father had passed away when he was only three, and his mother had brought him up all by herself. About two years ago, Xing had bought her a mansion in Shanghai. Several months before fleeing overseas, he had moved her out to the United States. No one seemed to know, however, why, before that, the old woman had chosen to stay in Shanghai, with Xing being kept so busy in Fujian most of the time.
     
    There was no ruling out the possibility of Xing having come here, Chen contemplated, for clandestine business under the pretext of filial piety. Shanghai had been transforming itself into one of the fastest-developing cities in the world. Xing could not have helped putting his capitalist fingers into the socialist pie.
     
    The people Xing had contacted in Shanghai could be classified in two groups. Those with official positions, and those without. A majority were those met at parties and public activities. It was Xing’s style to have lavish receptions and banquets,