A Case of Two Cities

Dynasty, he thought about calling Peiqin, but he saw no sign of a public phone booth there.
     
    Connections and corruptions, Detective Yu pondered, walking. It could be hard to draw a clear-cut line between the two. In fact, he had got the room through Chen’s help—with the inside information from Chen’s connection. Still, Chen got nothing for himself, and Yu deserved a room—even according to the official housing committee of the bureau. So Yu could say that he had done all that, like Chen, not for himself . . .
     
    He decided not to think about those things anymore.
     
    * * * *
     
    Back home, Yu started searching on the computer. The computer provided more detailed information about the people An had contacted in her last few days, yet invariably in official language. According to the government-controlled media, these officials, instead of being crooked, were actually communist models. When he gathered everything together from various sources, he was still unable to make any use of it.
     
    Then the phone rang. It was from Peiqin.
     
    “You are still at home, Yu?”
     
    “I’ve just got the money from the bank. Everything will be taken care of. I’m leaving soon.”
     
    “Don’t forget your lunch. Make a purple seaweed soup for yourself. There’s a pack of it in the kitchen cabinet.”
     
    “I won’t forget.”
     
    Peiqin had left several steamed buns at home. He warmed two up in the microwave, but they turned out to be drier, and harder too. A mistake. He should have resteamed them, remembering what Peiqin had done. He tore a sheet of the purple seaweed to pieces, poured in hot water and soy sauce, making a palatable soup with chopped green onion and sesame oil floating on the surface. He washed down the buns without much difficulty, when he realized, picking his teeth, he had forgotten to tell her the news about their unit’s value. She would not come back until the evening. He was tempted to light another cigarette, but he thought the better of it. Cigarette smoke could be bad for the computer, he recalled.
     
    Occasionally, Peiqin could be like Chen, with leaps and bounds in her thinking. Yu admitted she had helped in her way—her decision to move Chen’s mother was timely and effective. Still, he had not thought much of what she said about Apricot Blossom Village. Perhaps Yu was too used to the company of Chen, who threw poetry in his speech like pepper in a hot Sichuan soup.
     
    Now on the computer search, Yu thought of Peiqin and typed in Apricot Blossom Village. It turned out to be a new, exclusive club, not like the Dynasty, but one with elite members and expensive fees. From one of the links, he found an article about the lavish parties held there—including Xing’s parties. Xing had entertained in fancy restaurants or hotels in Shanghai. But at Apricot Blossom Village Xing held three consecutive parties where his guests included high-ranking cadres from Beijing. The article had been published before Xing had gotten into trouble.
     
    Yu continued his research about the club. The general manager was surnamed Weici, a man of mysterious background. No information about the founding of this club with exorbitant membership fees. In fact, it was the first time Yu had read about such a club. According to the introduction, people had to pay an unbelievable membership fee—fifty thousand yuan as a down payment and then a monthly fee of three thousand yuan. The monthly fee was equivalent to the combined monthly income of Peiqin and Yu. Rich people burned money.
     
    So it was a place Detective Yu should check into. Apricot Blossom Village could have a special connection to Xing, and to Ming too. If so, Bi’s quote had been a hint to An. It was a long shot, but one worth trying. With pictures of Ming in his hand, Yu might be able to ask some questions there, though not as a cop, which would only alarm people. He’d better go there like a would-be club member—with the English camp money, plus his secret nest of three hundred yuan he had saved from his pocket money by quitting smoking periodically.
     
    But another problem arose. Even with all the money, he did not look like a likely visitor there. In the club pictures, the members appeared elegantly dressed. Yu was dressed in a three-year-old shirt with a dispirited collar and faded black pants. He could even be barred from entering the place.
     
    It was out of the question for him to call Peiqin for suggestions. Those swell