Death of a Red Heroine

distance. At least he didn’t have to overhear the other passengers’ negative comments. There was no way to prevent people from making such comments about one.
    Guan, a national model worker, was by no means an exception. Not so far as her neighbors’ comments went.
Who can control stories, the stories after one’s life?
The whole village is jumping at the romantic tale of General Cai.
    In this poem by Lu You, the “romantic tale” refers to a totally fictitious romance between General Cai and Zhao Wuniang of the late Han dynasty. The village audience would have been interested in hearing the story, regardless of its historical authenticity.
    There is no helping what other people will say, Chief Inspector Chen thought.

Chapter 9
    I t was Wednesday, five days after the formation of the special case group, and there had been hardly any progress. Chief Inspector Chen arrived at the bureau, greeted his colleagues, and repeated polite but meaningless words. The case weighed heavily on his mind.
    At the insistence of Commissar Zhang, Chen had extended his investigation into Guan’s neighborhood by enlisting assistance from the local police branch office and the neighborhood committee. They came up with tons of information about possible suspects, assuming this was a political case. Chen was red-eyed from poring over all the material, pursuing the leads provided by the committee about some ex-counter revolutionaries with “deep hatred against the socialist society.” All this was routine, and Chen did it diligently, but there was a persistent doubt in his mind about the direction of the investigation.
    In fact, the choice of their number-one suspect exemplified Commissar Zhang’s ossified way of thinking. This suspect was a distant relative of Guan’s with a long-standing personal grudge, which had originated from Guan’s refusal to acknowledge him, a black Rightist, during the Cultural Revolution. The rehabilitated Rightist had said that he would never forgive her, but was too busy writing a book about his wasted years to be aware of her death. Chief Inspector Chen ruled him out even before he went to interview him.
    It was not a political case. Yet he was expecting another of Commissar Zhang’s morning lectures about “carrying out the investigation by relying on the people.” That morning, however, he had a pleasant surprise.
    “This is for you, Comrade Chief Inspector,” Detective Yu said standing at the door, holding a fax he had picked up in the main office.
    It was from Wang Feng, with a cover page bearing the Wenhui Daily letterhead. Her neat handwriting said “Congratulations,” on the margin of a photocopied section of the newspaper, in which his poem “Miracle” appeared. The poem was in a conspicuous position, with the editor’s note underneath saying, “The poet is a young chief inspector, Shanghai Police Bureau.”
    The comment made sense since the poem was about a young policewoman providing relief to storm-damaged homes in the pouring rain. Still holding the fax in his hand, he received his first call from Party Secretary Li.
    “Congratulations, Comrade Chief Inspector. A poem published in the Wenhui Daily . Quite an achievement.”
    “Thank you,” he said. “It’s just a poem about our police work.”
    “It’s a good one. Politically, I mean,” Li said. “Next time, if there’s something in such an influential newspaper, tell us beforehand.”
    “Okay, but why?”
    “There are a lot of people reading your work.”
    “Don’t worry, Party Secretary Li, I’ll make sure that it is politically correct.”
    “Yes, that’s the spirit. You are not an ordinary police officer, you know,” Li said. “Now, anything new in the investigation?”
    “We’re going all out. But unfortunately there’s not much progress.”
    “Don’t worry. Just try your best,” Li said before putting down the phone, “And don’t forget your seminar in Beijing.”
    Then Dr. Xia called. “This one is not that bad, this ‘Miracle’ of yours.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Xia,” he said, “your approval always means such a lot to me.”
    “I especially like the beginning—’ The rain has soaked the hair / Falling to your shoulders / Light green in your policewoman’s / Uniform, like the spring / White blossom bursting / From your arms reaching / Into the gaping windows— / ‘Here you are!’”
    “It’s a true experience. She persisted in sending out relief to the victims, despite the