A Loyal Character Dancer

reasons, for doing or not doing something. His reaction to Feng’s phone call was also understandable. To Li, it seemed to be much more important to place responsibility on the Americans than to find the missing woman. The Party Secretary was a politician, not a policeman.
     
    After he finished his talk with Li, Chen hurried out of the bureau to a meeting with Old Hunter, Yu’s father.
     
    Earlier in the morning, the old man had phoned him, suggesting they have tea together. Not in the Mid-Lake Teahouse in the City God Temple Market where they had met on several occasions, but in another one called Moon Breeze, closer to the area where the old man performed his daily activities as an honorary advisor for the Traffic Control Office, wearing a red armband. The retired cop received little in pay, but he got a great kick out of the official-sounding title, imagining himself a staunch pillar of justice whenever he stopped a bike illegally carrying a baby on the back rack or a private taxi displaying an outdated license plate.
     
    The Moon Breeze was a new teahouse. There seemed to be a revival of interest in tea among the Shanghainese. He saw a number of young people drinking with gestures made fashionable by the new movies, before he caught sight of Old Hunter slouching in a corner. Instead of southern bamboo music in the background, a waltz could be heard. Incongruously, strains of “The Blue Danube” rippled through the teahouse. Clearly this was a place for young customers who, though not yet adapted to Starbuck’s coffee, needed some space in which to sit and talk. At a neighboring table, there was a mah-jongg battle going on in full swing, with the players as well as onlookers chattering and cursing.
     
    “I have never been here before. It’s so different from the Mid-Lake,” Old Hunter said rather sadly.
     
    A young waitress came over, light-footed, in a scarlet cheongsam with high slits revealing her ivory thighs, bowing in Japanese fashion. “Do you need a private room, sir?”
     
    Chen nodded. That was one of the advantages of visiting modern teahouses, in spite of the mixture of services.
     
    “It’s the bureau’s expense,” he said as they entered the room. It would be out of the question for the retired cop to pay for the room out of his meager pension. Being a chief inspector with a special budget had its advantages.
     
    Most of the furniture in the private room was in classical style, but there were soft, comfortable cushions placed on the mahogany armchairs, and a dark purple leather sofa matching the color scheme of the room.
     
    Putting the menu on the table, the waitress introduced the house special, “We have the special bubble tea.”
     
    “What kind of tea?”
     
    “It’s very popular in Hong Kong. You’ll like it, sir,” she said with a hint of mystery.
     
    “Fine, bubble tea for me and Mountain Mist tea for him,” Chen said. After she left, he asked, “How are things with you, Uncle Yu?”
     
    “Like other old men. I’m just trying to make myself useful to society, like a piece of coal that still burns, giving off its last remaining heat.”
     
    Chen smiled. The simile was familiar; he remembered hearing it in a movie in the seventies. Times had changed, but not the old man’s mind.
     
    “Don’t overwork, Uncle Yu.”
     
    Old Hunter started with one of his customary rhetorical questions. “You know why I wanted to meet you today, Chief Inspector Chen? I gave Yu a thorough dressing down before he left for Fujian.”
     
    “Why?” Chen was aware of the old man’s other nickname, Suzhou Opera Singer. It was a reference to a southern dialect opera known for its performers’ tactics of producing drama out of the air, prolonging the tale through endless digressions, and pouring on classical references like black pepper.
     
    “He had reservations about the job, and I said to him, ‘In normal circumstances, I would advise you to avoid investigating those gangsters like the plague, but if Chief Inspector Chen wants to fight this battle, follow him through water and through fire. He has more to lose than you, hasn’t he? It is a crying shame for us that a corpse killed by triad gangsters has turned up in Bund Park. With a few more honest Party cadres like him, things would not have gotten into such a mess.’”
     
    “Yu and I are good friends. He is the more practical, down-to-earth one. I really depend on him. Now that he’s in Fujian, I have a hard