Red Mandarin Dress

there was to it—Gu wasn’t suggesting anything improper.
    After the arrangements were made, Gu and White Cloud left. Chen started packing. For a quick recovery, he knew he’d better forget about all his worries and responsibilities while on vacation. Still, if he felt better there, he might try to finish his paper. So he decided to carry with him a couple of Confucian classics for the conclusion of the paper. This was probably his last chance, he thought, to strive for a different “self-realization.” It would be too easy for him to turn back into Chief Inspector Chen.
    He put a packet of sleeping pills in his wallet, hiding them beneath the picture of White Cloud wearing that mandarin dress in the Old City God’s Temple Market. It would look natural for him to check a girl’s picture occasionally. But he needed to reassure himself that the tranquilizers were there, available through her smile.
    He was not going to carry the cell phone with him, or his vacation would come to nothing. He should be able not to be a chief inspector for a couple of days. Besides, he couldn’t do anything as a cop right now. His psychological approach was going nowhere.
    When the car Gu had sent for him honked its horn under his window, however, he stuffed in his bags the folders containing the case files, almost mechanically.
    In the Mercedes, Chen borrowed a phone from the driver to call his mother, saying that he would be out of the city for a few days. She must have taken it for one of those mysterious assignments, and she did not even ask him where he was going.
    Afterward, he contacted White Cloud, asking her to call his mother from time to time, insisting that she reveal his whereabouts to no one.
    Ahead, the fleeing clouds revealed the lines of the distant hills.

SEVENTEEN
    IN THE LATE AFTERNOON , Chen arrived at the vacation village.
    It turned out to be a large complex consisting of a hotel-like main building and a number of villas and cabins, along with a swimming pool, sauna rooms, tennis courts, and a golf course. All of them appeared embosomed in the hills, against a large lake shimmering at the back.
    He saw no point in checking into a villa, which, as a special guest of Gu, the manager offered to him. Chen chose instead a suite in the main building. The manager presented him with a booklet of coupons.
    “The coupons are for your meals and services. You don’t have to pay for anything. General Manager Pei will have a special dinner for you tonight—a bu feast, not in herbs, but in delicacies.”
    “A bu feast!” Chen said, amused.
    Bu defied translation. It could mean, among other things, a special herb and food nutritional boost to the body, a concept embedded in Chinese medical theories, particularly in terms of the yin/yang system. But how such a banquet would work, Chen had no idea. He guessed it must have been Gu’s suggestion.
    The suite assigned to him consisted of a living room, a bedroom, and a spacious walk-in closet. Chen took out the books and put them on a long desk by the window, which looked out onto the hills wrapped in the winter clouds.
    He wasn’t going to open those books today, he reminded himself.
    Instead he took a long, hot shower. Afterward, reclining on the sofa, he fell asleep in spite of himself.
    When he awoke, it was almost dinnertime. Perhaps it was a belated effect of the extra dose of sleeping pills. Or perhaps he had already begun unwinding in the vacation village.
    The restaurant was at the east end of the complex. It boasted a magnificent, Chinese-styled façade with two golden lions squatting at each side of the vermilion-painted gate. Waitresses in red jackets with shining black lapels bowed to him at the entrance. A hostess led him through a huge dining hall and into a private room partitioned with frosted glass.
    At a large banquet table, General Manager Pei, a stout man with a pair of big black-rimmed glasses and an amiable expression, was waiting for him with several other executives, including the front desk manager he had met earlier. Every one of them started paying Chen compliments, as if they had known him for years.
    “Mr. Gu keeps raving about your great achievements, Master Chen. It takes so much energy and essence to produce masterpieces like yours. So we think that a bu dinner may help a little.”
    Chen wondered how he had become a “master,” but he was grateful to Gu for not revealing his identity as a police officer and for arranging all of