A Loyal Character Dancer

was a tango. White Cloud, kneeling with a cup for him in her hand, looked up at him. There was a small bloodstain on her bare sole. Maybe it was blood from the big king snake. He felt tempted to have another dance with her.
     
    He was not drunk—not as drunk as Li Bai, beneath the Tang dynasty moon, who had written about dancing with his own shadow. In a lonely moment, Li Bai must have enjoyed his intoxicated departure from humdrum existence. Escape, though no more than momentary, seemed to be desirable tonight at the Dynasty.
     
    At the sight of Meiling checking her watch, Chief Inspector Chen thought about asking her to go home now, on her own. However, he rose to leave instead.

Chapter 22
     
     
    D
    etective Yu was wakened by a hoarse, long-drawn-out sound.
     
    As he roused himself from the dream, blinking in the half-light of the room, the sound was repeated several times in the distance. Still disoriented, he had a feeling that the eerie sound came from another world. Was it the cry of a white owl? It was probably not unusual in this area. He reached for his watch. Twenty to six. Gray daylight was starting to filter through the plastic blinds.
     
    An owl’s hoot was supposed to be ominous, according to folklore, especially when it was heard first thing in the morning.
     
    In Yunnan, he and Peiqin had sometimes awakened amid nameless birds’ twittering. Different days. Different birds, too. After a night’s wind and rain, the slope outside their window would be covered with fallen petals. He was missing Peiqin again.
     
    Rubbing his eyes, he made an effort to shake off the feeling the owl’s cry had induced. There was no reason to suspect that it was going to be a bad day.
     
    Chief Inspector Chen had discussed with him the likelihood that the Flying Axes would take desperate measures. It was alarming, but understandable. Considering the huge profit in human smuggling, the gang would make every attempt to get hold of Wen, on its own or through connections, to prevent her husband from testifying.
     
    His phone started ringing. The number on the LCD display was a local one. The call came from Manager Pan, the first time they’d spoken since the food poisoning accident.
     
    “Is everything all right, Pan?”
     
    “I’m fine. I entertained a customer last night in a bathhouse in Tingjiang Village. And I saw Zheng Shiming playing mah-jongg there with several good-for-nothing guys.”
     
    “Who is Zheng Shiming?”
     
    “A Flying Ax. He did some business with Wen’s husband Feng two or three years ago.”                           
     
    “That’s a piece of news. You should have called me last night.”
     
    “I’m not a cop. I did not associate Zheng with your investigation there and then,” Pan said. “But it may not be too late. A mah-jongg game can last all the night. If you go over right now, I bet you’ll still find him there. He has a red motorcycle. A Honda.”
     
    “I’m on my way,” Yu said. “Anything else about Zheng?”
     
    “Last year Zheng was in jail for gambling. He’s just out on probation for medical treatment. Playing mah-jongg is way out of line.” Pan added after a short pause, “Oh, I have also heard stories about Zheng and Merry Widow Shou, the owner of the bathhouse. She loves to have her legs entwined with Zheng’s.”
     
    “I see.” That was why Pan called him so early in the morning. A sly dog. After a night of mah-jongg, a six-thirty visit was well-calculated to catch them off guard.
     
    “Oh, you didn’t hear anything from me, Detective Yu.”
     
    “Of course not. Thanks.”
     
    “Thanks to you. If you hadn’t saved me, I would have died of food poisoning at your hotel.”
     
    Detective Yu was past the stage of feeling disappointed with the local police for withholding information from him. A person like Zheng could not have been overlooked. He decided to go to Tingjiang Village without notifying Sergeant Zhao. After a second’s thought, Yu also took his pistol with him.
     
    The village was no more than fifteen minutes’ walk away. It was difficult to believe that there was a public bathhouse there. Indeed, the wheel of change turned nonstop in the world of red dust—that of the common people—both forward and backward. The renewed prosperity of the bathhouse business in the nineties owed less to old people’s nostalgia than to its new service. For the newly rich, it was a place where they were able to