The Mao Case

glass in her hand, she appeared content with his company in
     the studio.
    “It’s a lousy crowd out there. It’s not a bad idea to take a short break here,” she said, waves of smile rippling in her large
     eyes. “According to Mr. Xie, you are a successful businessman. Why do you want to change your career?”

    It was a question he’d prepared for, but it was the first time that anyone had asked.
    “Well, I’ve been asking myself another question. People are busy making money — true, they live on money, but can they live
     in money?”
    “People make money, but money makes people too.”
    “An excellent point, Jiao. By the way, I forgot to ask about your line of business — or your illustrious family, as the people
     here have made such a point of bringing up their family background.”
    “I’m glad you didn’t. And please don’t start now. You want to write about the past, not live in the past,” she said, lifting
     the glass to her lips. Her teeth were white, slightly uneven. “But what a coincidence! I’ve made some money working at a company,
     like you, so I’m doing what I want to do — recharging myself for a short period.”
    He wasn’t too surprised at the response. She must have given the same answer many times. Only it didn’t sound convincing,
     given what he knew of her work history. The character he was playing had a company of his own and could have saved enough
     to “be a writer.” She had been a receptionist, however, working at a company for low pay.
    “In today’s society, it’s not easy for a young pretty girl like you to retreat courageously from the swift waves,” Chen said,
     paraphrasing a proverb like a would-be writer. “Mr. Xie must be a wonderful teacher.”
    “Most of his works are of the old mansions in the city. He has a passion for his subject matter, so he projects a sort of
     value in what he sees through his passionate touches. Each of the buildings in his paintings seems to have a story shimmering
     through its windows. It’s really fascinating. Of course, he has his skill as well as his perspective.”
    “That’s very interesting,” Chen said, his turn to resort to a stock response. “How long have you been taking lessons here?”
    “About half a year. He’s quite well-known in this circle.” Sipping at her wine, she changed the subject. “Tell me about what
     you’re writing, Mr. Chen.”
    “It’s about old Shanghai, in the thirties. That’s why people recommended Xie to me.”
    “Yes, there’s no better man for that purpose. No better place, either,”
she said, rising. “Now that we’ve taken a break, let’s go out and dance. It’ll be good for your book.”
    “I can hardly dance, Jiao.”
    “You’ll learn so quickly. I didn’t even know the difference between a two-step and a three-step a year ago.”
    That was probably true. At that time, she still worked at a low-end job, alone, with no social life at all.
    They went back to the party and onto the “dance floor.” She was a capable and patient partner. It was not long before he found
     himself being guided around by her, not that smoothly, but not precariously, either. Turning in her high-heeled slippers,
     she danced in an effortless way, her black hair flashing against the white walls.
    It was a summer evening. Holding her supple waist, he noticed she left the top button of her white blouse unbuttoned, revealing
     an alluring cleavage, as a dreamy ballad swelled into the soft fantasies of the mansion. She looked up at him, wisps of her
     hair brushing against his face, the lambent light burnishing her cheek with a painter’s brush. He suddenly thought of what
     he had read about Mao and Shang, in another magnificent mansion like this one, in the same city…
    In the celestial palace, which year is this year
? A fragment of a Song-dynasty poem came swirling across his mind, her hand clasping his.
    “You’re not bad at all,” she said, her soft lips close to his ear, in a mock-serious assessment of his qualities as a dancing
     partner.
    “Perfect,” Xie said, gliding by them in the arms of the middle-aged woman.
    “She’s leading me well,” Chen said. “Oh, some people are playing Monopoly over there, a fascinating game.” Xie added, “All
     in English, if you care to join.”
    A popular Western game — Chen had heard of it. Little wonder that it was being played here, but it reminded him of the lines
     by Li Shangyin about a different game, at a