Death of a Red Heroine

directly above Guan’s. The door was opened by a white-haired man, probably in his mid-sixties, who had an intelligent face with shrewd eyes and deep-cut furrows around his mouth. Looking at the card Chen handed him, he said, “Comrade Chief Inspector, come in. My name is Qian Yizhi.”
    The door opened into a narrow strip of corridor, in which there were a gas stove and a cement sink, and then to another inner door. It was an improvement over his neighbors’ apartments. Entering, Chen was surprised to see an impressive array of magazine photos of Hong Kong and of Taiwanese pop singers like Liu Dehua, Li Min, Zhang Xueyou, and Wang Fei on the walls.
    “All my stepdaughter’s favorite pictures,” Qian said, removing a stack of newspapers from a decent-looking armchair. “Please sit down.”
    “I’m investigating Guan Hongying’s case,” Chen said. “Any information you can give about her will be appreciated.”
    “Not much, I’m afraid,” Qian said. “As a neighbor, she hardly talked to me at all.”
    “Yes, I’ve spoken to her neighbors downstairs, and they also considered her too much of a big shot to talk to them.”
    “Some of her neighbors believed she put on airs, trying to appear head and shoulders above others, but I don’t think that is true.”
    “Why?”
    “Well, I’m retired now, but I’ve also been a model teacher for over twenty years. Of course, my model status was only at the district level, by no means as high as hers, but I know what it’s like,” Qian said, stroking his well-shaved chin. “Once you’re a role model, you’re model-shaped.”
    “That’s a very original point,” Chen said.
    “People said, for instance, I was all patience with my students, but I was not—not all the time. But once you’re a model teacher, you have to be.”
    “So it is like a magical mask. When you wear the mask, the mask becomes you.”
    “Exactly,” Qian said, “except it’s not necessarily a magic one.”
    “Still, she was supposed to be a model neighbor in the dorm, wasn’t she?”
    “Yes, but it can be so exhausting to live with your mask on all the time. No one can wear a mask all the time. You want to have a break. Back in the dorm, why should she continue to play her role and serve her neighbors the way she served her customers? She was just too tired to mix with her neighbors, I believe. That could have caused her unpopularity.”
    “That is very insightful,” Chen said. “I was puzzled why her neighbors downstairs seemed so biased against her.”
    “They do not really have anything against her. They are just not in a good mood. And there’s another important factor. Guan had a room for herself, while theirs was for the whole family.”
    “Yes, you’re right again,” he said. “But you have a room for yourself too.”
    “No, not really,” Qian said. “My stepdaughter lives with her parents, but she has an eye on this room. That’s why she put up all the Hong Kong star pictures.”
    “I see.”
    “People living in a dorm are a different lot. In theory, we are staying here just for a short transitional period. So we are not really concerned about relationships with our neighbors. We do not call this home .”
    “Yes, it must be so different, living in a dorm.”
    “Take the public bathroom for example. Each floor shares one. But if people believe they are going to move away tomorrow, who’s going to take care of it?”
    “You’re really putting things into perspective for me, Comrade Qian.”
    “It has not been easy for Guan,” Qian said. “A single young woman. Meetings and conferences all day, and back home alone at night—and not to someplace she could really call home.”
    “Can you be a bit more specific here?” Chen said. “Is there something particular you have noticed?”
    “Well, it was several months ago. I was unable to fall asleep that night, so I got up and practiced my calligraphy for a couple of hours. But I remained wide awake afterward. Lying on my bed, I heard a strange sound coming from downstairs. The old dorm is hardly soundproof, and you can hear a lot. I listened more closely. It was Guan sobbing—heart-breakingly—at three A.M.. She was weeping inconsolably, alone.”
    “Alone?”
    “I thought so,” Qian said, “I did not hear another voice. She wept for more than half an hour.”
    “Did you observe anything else?”
    “Not that I can think of—except that she was probably like me, and didn’t sleep too well.