Death of a Red Heroine

and Peiqin was assigned the restaurant accountant job. It was not what she wanted, but it proved fairly lucrative. One year after the birth of their son Qinqin, their marriage had slipped into a smooth routine. There was little he could complain about.
    Sometimes, however, he could not help missing these years in Yunnan. Those dreams of coming back to Shanghai, getting a job in a state company, starting a new career, having a family, and leading a different life. Now he had reached a stage where he could no longer afford to have impractical dreams. A low-level cop, he would probably remain one all his life. He was not giving up on himself, but he was becoming more realistic.
    The fact was, with his poor educational background, and with few connections, Detective Yu was in no position to dream of a future in the force. His father had served twenty-six years, but ended up a cop at the entry level. That would probably be his lot, too. In his day, Old Hunter had at least enjoyed a proud sense of being part of the Proletarian Dictatorship. In the nineties, the term “Proletarian Dictatorship” had disappeared from the newspapers. Yu was just an insignificant cop at the bottom, making the minimum wage, having little say at the bureau.
    This case served only to highlight his insignificance.
    “Guangming.”
    He was startled from his reveries.
    Peiqin had come back to his side, alone.
    “Where is Qinqin?”
    “He’s having a good time in the electronic game room. He won’t come looking for us until he spends all his coins.”
    “Good for him,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about him.”
    “You’ve something on your mind,” she said, perching on a slab of rock beside him.
    “No, nothing really. I have just been thinking about our days in Yunnan.”
    “Because of the garden?”
    “Yes,” he said. “Don’t you remember Xishuangbanna is also called a garden?”
    “Yes, but you don’t have to say that to me, Guangming. I’ve been your wife for all these years. Something is wrong at work, right?” she said. “I should not have dragged you here.”
    “It’s okay.” He touched her hair gently.
    She was silent for a while.
    “Are you in trouble?”
    “A difficult case, that’s all,” he said. “I’m just preoccupied.”
    “You’re good at solving difficult cases. Everybody says so.”
    “I don’t know.”
    She stretched out her hand and placed it over his.
    “I know I shouldn’t say this, but I’m going to. If you’re not happy doing what you’re doing, why not quit?”
    He stared at her in surprise.
    She did not look away.
    “Yes, but—” he did not know what else to say.
    But he would think about her question, he knew, for a long time.
    “No progress with the case?” she was changing the subject.
    “Not much.”
    Yu had mentioned the Guan case to her, although he rarely brought up police work at home. Running criminals down could be difficult and dangerous. There was no point in dwelling on it with his family. Besides, Chen had emphasized the sensitivity of the case. It wasn’t a matter of trust, but more of professionalism. But he had been so frustrated.
    “Talk to me, Guangming. As your detective father often says,” she said, “talk always helps.”
    So he started to summarize what had been puzzling him, focusing on his failure to get any information regarding Guan’s personal life. “She was like a hermit crab. Politics had formed her shell.”
    “I don’t know anything about criminal investigation, but don’t tell me an attractive woman—thirty or thirty-one, right— could have lived like that.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “She never had affairs?”
    “She was too busy with Party activities and meetings. Too difficult— in her position—for her to find someone, and difficult, too, for someone to find her.”
    “Laugh at me, Guangming, but I cannot believe it—as a woman. The thing between a man and a woman, I mean. It’s the nineties.”
    “You have a point,” he said. “But I have talked to most of Guan’s colleagues again since Chen raised the issue about the caviar, and they’ve just confirmed our earlier information. They say she was not dating anyone at the time of her death, and as far as they could remember, she had not had a boyfriend. They would have noticed it.”
    “But it’s against human nature. Like Miaoyu in The Dream of the Red Chamber .”
    “Who’s Miaoyu?” he asked.
    “Miaoyu, a beautiful young nun, lives a life devoted to