Red Mandarin Dress

who couldn’t control himself. According to postmodernist criticism, people are spoken by the discourse, rather than the other way around. Once a particular discourse takes control, or, as in a Chinese expression, once the devil takes over the heart, it’s the devil that acts, in spite of the man himself. In Freudian theory, the man’s actions are dictated by something in the subconscious, or the collective unconscious. It would be easy to write the murderer off as a nut, but it would be hard, yet important, to discover what discursive system was dictating him to do the killing. And how that system had been formed for him—
    “For instance, in Plum Blossom in Golden Vase ,” Sansan went on, taking his preoccupation as being induced by her words, “Ximenqin has to die because he has too much sex with women, ending with a final image of his semen gushing nonstop into Pan Jinlian, the shameless slut who literally sucks him dry.”
    “Yes, I remember that.”
    “And in another novel, Flesh Cushion , the hero has to castrate himself in the end because he can’t resist the sexual attraction of women.”
    Apparently her work focused on the unfair representation of women. The talk was a lucky random harvest for his paper, for it indirectly supported his thesis.
    “Yes, I can think of several common expressions that support the idea,” he said. “ Hongyan huoshui , disastrous water of beauty, and meiren shexie , a snake and a spider of a pretty woman.”
    He was encouraged by this train of thought. Indeed, it could prove to be something that hadn’t been previously explored. Not specifically, anyway. An original paper, as Professor Bian had put it.
    “The expressions speak for themselves,” she said, then she changed the subject. “You quoted a line from Wang Wei. A lone stranger. So you have traveled to write your paper here?”
    “Well, the paper is part of it.” He added, “I was sort of stressed out, so I thought a vacation would do me good.”
    With that, their conversation drifted toward other topics.
    “When the only criteria for a man’s value is in terms of his money, how long can an individual hope to hide himself in something like Tang dynasty poetry? For a romantic morning, perhaps. That’s how my moneymaking husband can be so important to me.” She added, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Repression won’t do you any good.”
    It was a comment he hadn’t expected. It was almost a Freudian echo, and he was slightly uneasy about her. Not because there was something cynical about her or because she was a feminist. His glance fell on the bangle of red silk string and silver bells around her shapely ankle.
    Taking a deep breath, he dispelled the confusing ideas. He was not a scholar, perhaps not meant to be. Nor a Big Buck having his fling at a luxurious hotel—not the man in her imagination.
    He was but a police officer, incognito, on a vacation paid for by someone else.
    He noticed the pool beginning to empty. Perhaps it was time for it to close.
    “There will be a ball here this evening. Will you be attending?” Her voice came soft in the afternoon sunlight.
    “I would love to go,” he said, “but I may have to make several phone calls.”
    Was that a professional excuse or was he really a busy businessman, like her husband?
    “We’re staying in the same building, I think. My room number is 122. Thank you for the wine,” she said. “See you again soon.”
    “Bye.”
    He watched her leave, her long hair swaying across her back. At the turn of the path, she looked back and waved her hand lightly.
    “Bye,” he said one more time, and then audible only to himself, “Have fun tonight.”

TWENTY
    IT WAS THE WORST blow Yu had suffered in his career as a policeman.
    After a sleepless night first at the cemetery, then the bureau, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes and decided to go again to the Joy Gate, where a young colleague of his had been abducted and murdered while he was stationed outside, entrusted with the duty of protecting her. He could think of nothing else.
    At the Joy Gate, the police were still searching and re-searching all the rooms, hoping against hope that they might find some undiscovered evidence left behind. He didn’t think joining them would be of any help.
    He went to the front desk and asked for a list of regular customers. The criminal must be familiar with the building to be capable of having made such a plan. At his insistence, the day manager produced a