Red Mandarin Dress

against the hard ground. He thought about going out to help, but he hesitated. He was just married, and his jealous wife could have reacted like a tigress to the sight of Zhang together with a naked woman. He thought better of it and closed the door.
    “No one came to her side until a couple of hours later. She died that day without regaining consciousness.
    “The boy was sick for a week, delirious with a high fever. Some sympathetic neighbors managed to put him in a hospital. When he recovered, he found himself back in the empty attic room, facing his mother’s picture in a black frame. It was hard for him to understand what had happened, but he understood it was useless for him to ask.”
    “Did the neighborhood or local police station try to look into the circumstances of her death?” Chen interrupted again.
    “No, it was nothing for a woman of her black family background to die those days. An accident, the neighborhood committee concluded. I tried to talk to the boy, but he wouldn’t say anything.”
    Comrade Fan sighed, breaking the last piece of mo , putting them all back into the bowl, and rubbing his hands.
    It was a more detailed account about the circumstances of her death, but it didn’t provide anything really new or substantial.
    Chen had a feeling that Fan had something left unsaid. An old, experienced cop like Fan, however, knew what he should and shouldn’t say, and there was little Chen could do about it.
    Was it possible that Fan, too, had been a secret admirer? Chen made no immediate comment, finishing his part of the mo -breaking. The waiter took their two bowls to the kitchen. An old woman passed by their table, waving a string of beads toward them.
    “I’ve heard that she was a stunner in her day,” Chen said. “Did she have some admirer or lover?”
    “It’s an interesting question,” Fan said. “But in those days, it was unimaginable for a woman of her black family background to have a secret lover. Even husbands and wives were divorced because of political considerations. ‘A couple are like two birds; when in a disaster, one flies to the east, one to the west.’ ”
    “It’s a quote from the Dream of the Red Chamber ,” Chen said. “You have read a lot.”
    “Well, what can a retired old cop do? I read books while babysitting my grandson.”
    “Now can you tell me something about her son, Comrade Fan?”
    “He moved out of the neighborhood to stay with a relative. After the Cultural Revolution, he studied at a college and got a good job, I heard. That’s about all I know.”
    Chen hesitated to talk about the possibility he had been contemplating. He had nothing to support such a wild scenario. At least he should check some documents first.
    “What a tragic story,” he said. “Sometimes you can hardly believe that these things happened during the Cultural Revolution.”
    “How many things have happened, true or false, past or present, and you talk about them over a cup of wine,” Fan said. “The tea here is not too bad.”
    It was like an echo from another classic novel.
    Then Chen’s cell phone rang. It was Detective Yu.
    “Did you call me last night, Chief?”
    “Yes, but it was late. So I was going to give you a call this morning.”
    “What’s it all about, Chief? Where have you been? I looked everywhere for you. And where are you—”
    “I know, and I’ll explain later. Right now I’m in the company of Comrade Fan, a retired neighborhood cop of the Henshan Road Area. He is helping me.”
    “A neighborhood cop of Henshan Road?”
    “Yes. Whatever you are doing at this moment, drop it. Go to Tian’s steel mill and gather as much information as possible about him, particularly about his activity as a member of the Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Team. Call me with anything you get—”
    “Hold on, Chief. Party Secretary Li is having another emergency meeting this morning. It’s Thursday morning.”
    “Forget about Party Secretary Li and his political meeting. If he says anything, tell him it’s my order.”
    “I’ll do that,” Yu said. “Anything else?”
    “Oh, ask Old Hunter to give me a call.” He added, “It’s important. As you have said, it’s Thursday.”
    The waiter brought them a small dish of peeled garlic, a sort of appetizer for the mo in the mutton soup.
    “Oh, do you know Old Hunter?” Fan asked as Chen turned off his phone.
    “Yes, his son Yu Guangming is my longtime partner. Old comrades like you, like Old Hunter,