Death of a Red Heroine

bear paws, but the chef’s special was Tiger-Dragon Battle. According to the waitress, it was an enormous platter of assorted snake and cat meats. At Ouyang’s request, she started listing the wonderful effects of the snake. “The snake is good for blood circulation. As a medicine, it is useful in treating anemia, rheumatism, arthritis, and asthenia. Snake gall bladder proves especially effective in dissolving phlegm and improving vision.”
    Chen’s mind was not on the chef’s special. Holding the menu in his hands, he was having second thoughts about the trip. A wild goose chase? But Xie was the only lead. Giving up on her might well mean giving up the whole investigation.
    Ouyang put a spoonful of the snake soup onto Chen’s plate, saying, “It’s definitely a must. The Tiger-Dragon Battle.”
    The waitress brought a bottle of wine for their inspection.
    “Maotai,” she said, turning it so that they could see the label.
    Ouyang sipped the sample, and nodded to indicate that it was drinkable. The liquor was strong. Chen, too, drained his in one sip.
    As a man of the world, Ouyang must have noticed Chen’s mood, but he did not ask about it directly. It was not until after a few cups that Ouyang started to talk about his own business in Guangzhou. “Believe it or not, you’re my lucky star, Literature Star. I’ve just received a huge purchase order. So this is a celebration.”
    And it was a wonderful meal. The Tiger-Dragon Battle proved to be as fantastic as its name. Between the “dragon” and the “tiger” was a boiled egg—symbolic of a huge pearl.
    “By the way, what’s your business here, I mean, apart from poetry?” Ouyang asked as he placed the cat meat in Chen’s saucer with his chopsticks. “If there is something you want to do in Guangzhou, I may be able to help.”
    “Well, nothing particular—” Chen hesitated before drinking another cup. The fourth or the fifth—it was unlike him.
    “You can trust me,” Ouyang said.
    “Well, it’s just something small, but maybe you can help me— with your local connections.”
    “I will do my best,” Ouyang promised, putting down his chopsticks.
    “I’ve come here to collect some material for my poetry,” Chen said, “but a professor from my college years also wants me to find some information about her daughter. The daughter came to Guangzhou several months ago, but has not contacted her home to give her address and phone number here. The old professor is worried. So I promised I would try my best to find her. And here is the daughter’s picture.”
    “Let me have a look.”
    “Her name is Xie Rong. When she came here about three months ago, she stayed in a hotel called the Lucky Inn for a couple of days but left without a forwarding address.”
    Chen was not sure that Ouyang believed his story. It was not a total invention, but he was obliged to keep the investigation confidential.
    “Let me have a try,” Ouyang said. “I know several madams around here.”
    “Madams?”
    “It’s an open secret. I’ve dealt with a number of them. Business necessities; one cannot help it. They’re well informed about new girls.”
    Chen was more than astonished. According to regulations, he should report the madams, and even report Ouyang’s connection to them. He chose not to do so. The success of his mission depended on Ouyang’s help, a kind of help that was not readily available from the local authorities.
    And as Ouyang promised, the snake feast was the most exotic meal Chief Inspector Chen had ever had.

Chapter 23
    D etective Yu hesitated before pressing on the owl-shaped door bell as he stood on the landing overlooking an upper-class neighborhood just a few blocks north of Hongkou Park. The front door was locked, so he had come up an iron back staircase.
    He was not comfortable with his share of the division of labor. Yu was to visit Jiang Wehe, an emerging artist, while Chen was away in Guangzhou. It was not that Yu had wanted to go to Guangzhou, which was most likely to be a tough trip—a wild goose chase. It was just that Detective Yu had never dealt with an artist before.
    And Jiang Weihe happened to be a well-known one, and avant-garde enough to pose nude for Wu Xiaoming.
    Before he placed his finger on the bell, a woman opened the door, and stared inquiringly at him. She was in her early thirties, tall, well-built, with a long graceful neck, a narrow waist and terrific legs. A nice-looking woman, with a sensual mouth,