Death of a Red Heroine

back.” Leaning over to pick up his thermos bottle, Li added under his breath, “Have you found what we talked about the last time?”
    “What?”
    “After you have found it,” Li said, “come to my office.”
    Li had already turned toward the stairs, taking with him the filled thermos bottle and the last word.
    The motive.
    That was what Li had asked for the last time they met in his office. Chen had to find it. There was no point discussing anything more in the boiler room. Politics aside, justification of further investigation depended on discovery of Wu’s motive.
    Chen went over it again. If Wu had wanted to part with Guan, she was in no position to stop him. She was a third party—the other woman—a notorious person in China’s ethical system. She would have found herself in a socially condemned position. Furthermore, revelation of an extramarital affair would have been political suicide. Even if she had been desperate enough to make such a disclosure, she probably would not have got anywhere. Wu had had an affair with her, but he wanted to end it. So what? As Party Secretary Li had pointed out, an affair would not have been considered too serious a political lapse now. With his family background and connections, Wu could have gotten away with it easily.
    She could not have presented a real threat to Wu, even at a time when people were talking about Wu’s promotion.
    On the other hand, Guan was a national celebrity—not some provincial girl. Wu would have to have known that her disappearance would be investigated, which could lead to him, secret as their affair had been. Wu was too smart not to have realized this.
    So why should he have taken such a risk?
    Guan must somehow have posed a much more serious threat to him, a threat Chief Inspector Chen had not yet discovered.
    And until he did, Chen could only occupy himself in reading the latest Party documents delivered to his office. One was about the ever-increasing crime rate in the country and the Central Party Committee’s call on all Party members to take action. He also had various forms to fill out for the coming seminar of the Central Party Institute, though he doubted if he would be able to attend after all.
    In frustration, he dug out his father’s book. He had not read it since the day he had bought it. It was a difficult one, he knew. He turned to the end of the book, to an epilogue in the form of a short fable entitled, “A Jin Dynasty Goat.”
    Emperor Yan of the Jin Dynasty had many imperial concubines, and one favorite goat. At night, the emperor let the goat amble before him through a sea of bedrooms. When the goat stopped, the Emperor took it as a sign from Heaven to spend the night in the nearest room. More often than not, he found the goat halted in front of the three hundred and eleventh concubine’s pearl-curtained door. She was wrapped in white clouds, in anticipation of the coming rain. So she bore him a son who became Emperor Xing. Emperor Xing lost the country to barbarian aggressors through his thirst for a sea harbor. It was a long, complicated story, but the three hundred and eleventh concubine’s secret was simple. She sprinkled salt on her doorstep. The goat stopped there to lick the salt.
    The late professor used the fable to illustrate the contingency of history. But for a chief inspector, everything about a criminal case should be certain, logical.
    It was almost three. Chief Inspector Chen had skipped lunch, but he did not feel hungry. He heard a knock on the door.
    “Come in,” he said.
    To his surprise, Dr. Xia stood in the doorway carrying a huge plastic bag in each hand.
    “My shoes are wet.” Dr. Xia shook his head, showing no inclination to step in. “I’m bringing you a Beijing roast duck from the Yan Cloud Restaurant. Last time you generously treated me. As Confucius says, ‘It is proper and right to return other people’s kindness.’”
    “Thank you, Dr. Xia,” Chen said, standing up, “but a whole duck is too much for me. Better bring it back to your family.”
    “I have another one.” Dr. Xia lifted up the other plastic-wrapped duck. “To tell you the truth, a patient of mine is the number-one chef there. He insisted on giving them to me—free. Here is a small box of their special duck sauce. Only I don’t know how to prepare green scallions.”
    “As Confucius says, ‘It is not proper and right to decline a senior’s gift.’” Chen tried to imitate Doctor Xia’s bookish style.