Red Mandarin Dress

were no one else in the world.
    Chen ordered another cup of coffee.
    How could Xiuxiu bear to take away Cui’s life? Chen turned back a few pages, to the part about Cui and Xiuxiu running into each other on the night of the fire.
    “Do you remember the night when we were enjoying the moon on the terrace?” Xiuxiu said to Cui Ning. “I was betrothed to you and you just kept on thanking the prince. Do you remember or not?”
    Cui Ning clasped his hands and could only respond with “Yah.”
    “That night, all the people were congratulating you, saying ‘What a wonderful couple!’ How come you’ve forgotten all about it?”
    Cui Ning again could only respond with “Yah.”
    Rather than continuing to wait, why don’t we become husband and wife tonight? What do you think?”
    “How would I dare?”
    “You dare not? What if I shout and ruin your reputation? You can never explain why you brought me home. I shall report you to the prince tomorrow.”
    Chen was now beginning to see Xiuxiu “seducing” Cui. Cunning and calculating, she actually dragged Cui into it.
    There were still questions left unanswered in the story, but Chen believed he had found something in common with the other stories. He would be able to wrap up the paper, even though it was not as ambitious a project as he had hoped.
    Draining the coffee, he flipped open his phone. There were quite a few messages, including one from White Cloud. He called her back first. She reported to him like a cop, about the lack of progress in her computer research, but toward the end, she made a suggestion like a “little secretary.”
    “Give yourself a break, Chief. Go to a nightclub. There you can experience the environment of the victims firsthand, and get to relax a little too. And you can always have my company, you know. You have too much on your mind and I’m worried. Your nerves won’t stand the strain.”
    Whether that was intended as a hint, he didn’t know. As an ex–singing girl herself, though, she knew about the business, and it might be helpful to the investigation.
    “Thank you, White Cloud. That might be a good idea, after I finish my paper in a couple of days.”
    He then made a phone call to Professor Bian, who was at home, picking up on the first ring.
    “How is your paper coming, Chief Inspector Chen?”
    “I’ve been working on another story,” Chen said. “Do you think an analysis of three stories will be enough for the paper?”
    “Yes, three should be enough.”
    “They share a common movement: each of them contains something that contradicts the love theme generally taken for granted, with the heroine unexpectedly turning into a demon or a disaster. The turns come through a tiny detail: a medical term, an ambiguous poem, or a phrase thrown in at random. Once those are examined closely, the romantic motif undergoes a dramatic reversal.”
    “You have an original point. But you have to prove what’s behind it, I think.”
    “What’s behind it?” Chen said, echoing Bian’s comment. No coincidences, just as in police work. Or as in psychoanalysis. There had to be an explanation for it. “You’re right, Professor Bian.”
    “The stories were written during different dynasties, and the writers came from different social backgrounds—”
    “So you mean something that is always there behind the scenes, going on through the different dynasties, whether those writers were aware of it or not.”
    “If you want to see it that way. Something deep within the Chinese culture. So your project may not be an easy one.”
    “I’ll think about it. Thank you so much, Professor Bian.”
    Indeed, that was thought-provoking. As Chen put down the phone, the first thought that came to him was about Confucianism, the ruling ideology for two thousand years in China, something hardly ever challenged until the beginning of the twentieth century.
    However, Confucius said nothing about romantic love, as far as Chen could recall.
    But he still felt excited, as if standing on the threshold of a breakthrough. He had borrowed several Confucian canons, which he hadn’t had the time to read. Now he should be able to work out a conclusion for the paper. Ideas came crowding into his mind when the phone rang again. It was Director Zhong.
    “I’ve been looking for you all morning, Chief Inspector Chen.”
    “Sorry, I’d forgotten to turn my phone on,” Chen said. “Anything new in the housing development case?”
    “The trial date has been