A Case of Two Cities

to go there. The old man would not be too displeased with his unscheduled visit. While he did not think Zhao would make any change regarding his delegation appointment, he might be able to find out something behind the sudden decision.
     
    The Western Suburb Hotel, located not far from Hongqiao Airport, was a high-class hotel not yet open to the public. The hotel consisted of a group of villas with woods and lakes enclosed in high surrounding walls. In its facilities, the hotel was perhaps on a par with those new, five-star American hotels in Shanghai, but it remained for the exclusive use of senior Party leaders during their visits here. In the last few years, when there were no important guests staying there, it would occasionally open its restaurant to outside business. The hotel itself remained enveloped in mystery.
     
    At the hotel entrance, Chen showed his identification to an armed sentry. A chief inspector’s rank meant nothing here. He had to wait for the “leading comrade” to signal approval. Comrade Zhao must have said something to the sentry, who saluted Chen on a suddenly respectful note, saying, “Yes, please come in, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. Comrade Zhao is waiting for you. He stays in Building B, close to the end of the complex.”
     
    It was an independent, two-storied, white colonial building shaded in green foliage. A young maid in her pink uniform opened the door for Chen. “Comrade Zhao is in the living room.”
     
    Chen saw a long mahogany desk in the center of a spacious living room, which was furnished in a traditional Chinese way, with long silk scrolls of painting and calligraphy hung on the walls. The desk was covered with white xuan papers, ink stone, ink stick, and books. There was a curl of smoke rising from a small tiger-shaped bronze incense burner on a mahogany corner table.
     
    “Welcome, Chief Inspector Chen,” Zhao said, coming out from behind a mahogany bookshelf, carrying a large book in his hand.
     
    Zhao was a man in his early or mid-seventies, white-haired and browed with a ruddy complexion. Dressed in a silk Tang costume, he looked well preserved and spirited for his age. He showed Chen to a sofa and seated himself opposite in a hardback mahogany chair.
     
    “I apologize for not having called for an appointment, Comrade Zhao. Chairman Huang of the Writers’ Association told me that you had come to Shanghai,” Chen said. “I tried to call you, but without success. I have to leave for the United States tomorrow.”
     
    “I have heard about your upcoming trip,” Zhao said. “I was thinking of calling you too. Phone calls have kept coming in.”
     
    “You are on vacation here, I understand, but I have to report my work to you.”
     
    “You have made your reports,” Zhao said, handing a cup of tea over to him. “A leading comrade in Beijing has discussed your work with me. I have said to him, I think, what you are probably going to say to me. So we may spare some repetitions.”
     
    “Oh, a leading comrade in Beijing.” Chen was disturbed by the appearance of an unidentified “leading comrade in Beijing.” Whoever it might be, the discussion and decision must have been made at a higher level than the Writers’ Association.
     
    “While we’re well aware of the urgency of your investigation, he did not think it would matter for you to be away for a couple of weeks.”
     
    “It’s only a couple of weeks, but in the middle of an anticorruption case under the Party Discipline Committee—under you?” Chen said. “There are so many writers qualified for the position.”
     
    “That is for the Writers’ Association to decide,” Zhao said with a smile, producing a folder out of the desk drawer. “As for the battle against corruption, it will be a long one. Let me show you something I have been working on.”
     
    It was a draft on ethical regulations for Party officials. Zhao started by giving a comprehensive definition of corruption. The regulations forbade Party cadres from using their position to obtain improper benefit, to conduct business on their own account, to convert public property into private, to use their powers or influence to help others, to receive above-standard official treatment, to convert public facilities for private use . . .
     
    “Corruption, especially within the Party cadres, is one of the most serious problems facing China today,” Comrade Zhao said, his silver hair shining like a dream in the sunlight.