Death of a Red Heroine

Yu’s feet, the same sound she’d heard on those nights long ago. Yu was wearing a black suit, a floral-patterned tie, a pair of tan-colored glasses, and a mustache. He caught sight of her, too, smiling. She was about to greet him when she saw that he was not looking in her direction. In fact, he took a seat at the other end of the hall.
    She understood. He did not want to be seen in her company in case he was recognized by somebody else. She felt closer to him than ever. For it was his integrity that had tied him to the case, and tied her to him.
    The music started. Yu pushed his way through to a table by the bar. He was going to buy a drink, she thought. But instead, he was making a gesture of invitation to a girl, who rose up with an air of indifference, pressing her tall body against him on the dance floor.
    Yu was not a gifted dancer. That much Peiqin could see from her seat. He had attended a dancing seminar as part of the required professional curriculum, but he had never been eager to practice. The girl was almost as tall as Yu. She wore a black shift and black slippers, and danced languidly as if she had just emerged from her bedroom. In spite of his clumsiness, she fitted her body easily against his, whispering something to him, rubbing her breasts up against him. He nodded. And she began to snap her fingers and swing her hips.
    “Wanton, shameless hussy,” Peiqin cursed under her breath. She did not blame Yu, who could not afford to rouse suspicion by remaining idle, but it was nonetheless unpleasant for her to watch.
    On the bamboo stage, somebody switched the cassette tape. Through concealed speakers came wild jungle music—all drums and flutes—and more people flocked to the floor.
    At the short break before the next number, Peiqin went to fetch a drink at the bar for herself. Yu was leaning over the table, talking to the tall girl, who smiled at him seductively, crossing her long legs, revealing a flash of her glaring white thighs.
    Peiqin stood just a few steps away, staring at them. She was being childish, she knew, but she felt uncomfortable—unreasonably so.
    Unexpectedly, a young man with brownish whiskers came to her out of nowhere. Bowing, muttering something like an invitation, he grabbed at her hand before she could say anything. In a nervous flurry, she followed him to the floor, moving with him, turning mechanically in time to the beat of the music, while trying to keep a distance between them.
    Her partner was in his mid-twenties, tall, muscular, tanned, wearing a Polo shirt and a pair of Lee jeans, sporting a thick gold chain bracelet. Not bad looking or tough. Why would such a young man want to dance with a middle-aged woman? Peiqin was bewildered.
    She could smell beer on his breath.
    “It’s the first time for me,” she said. “I’ve never danced before.”
    “Come, there’s nothing to it,” he said, his hand sliding down her waist. “Just keep moving. Let your body sway with the music.”
    She stepped on his feet in confusion.
    “You forgot to mention what to do with my feet,” she said apologetically.
    “You’re doing fine for the first time,” he said patronizingly.
    As he swung her around at an increasingly quick tempo, she began to relax. In one glimpse she had over his shoulder, she saw the tall girl wrapping her bare arms around Yu’s neck, like snakes.
    “You’re a dancer.” The young man flashed a broad grin at her as the music came to a stop. “Just relax. You’re doing great.” He went to fetch some more drinks. She was relieved to see a girl approach him at the counter and pull at his gold bracelet.
    Peiqin picked her way through the crowd back to her table, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, though it would not prevent her from seeing Yu in the company of another woman.
    It was at that moment she saw Chief Inspector Chen arriving with an American couple.
    All of a sudden, she pictured herself as if she were in a movie she had seen years ago—Daojin, the young heroine, walking under the cover of night, posting revolutionary slogans for Lu Jiachuan, a Communist she loved. A silent alley, dogs barking all around, and sirens sounding in the distance. On that night Daojin did not understand what she was doing; neither did Peiqin this night. But it was enough to know that she was doing it for her husband, and she was doing the right thing.
    The American couple were also moving onto the floor. In spite of their age, they started to