The Mao Case

believe some aspects of this case. But if Mao did that to Kaihui, he
     could have easily treated other women similarly.” After a pause, Chen resumed earnestly, “At this stage, I can tell you little
     about it, because that’s about all I know.”
    “I understand,” Old Hunter said. “As for what Mao was capable of doing to his women, you may have heard about what happened
     to Zizhen. According to the official version, she had to be treated at a Moscow mental hospital, leaving Mao alone in Yan’an,
     so they sort of ‘naturally separated.’ Then Jiang Qing sneaked in and became Madam Mao. But mind you — Mao was separated, not
     divorced. Mao made Zizhen stay at the Moscow hospital for years, all alone, speaking no Russian, having no Chinese rice, while
     he wallowed in his imperial lust for Madam Mao — a sexy B-movie actress.”
    “If he acted like that to his wives, first to Yang, then to Zizhen, I have no doubt that he could have done the same to Shang.”
    “Shang — do you mean the movie star?”
    It was Chen’s turn to summarize his Mao case, which the chief inspector did briefly. Old Hunter listened, understanding now
     why Chen had come to him instead of his son, Detective Yu. Chen’s summary might have skipped over the details, but there was
     no point to pushing for them.

    “You definitely need help, Chief Inspector Chen. There is no way you could you manage to cover it all on your own. I’m a retired
     busy-body, as everybody knows. If I ask a question or two about things from those years, no one will take it seriously. As
     an advisor to the Traffic Control Office — thanks to you for this honorary position — I may choose to patrol any particular
     area, pretending it is a sort of a field study. Indeed, you couldn’t find a better assistant.”
    “You’re really experienced. You must have heard the old saying, ‘People think of a capable general at the sound of the battle
     drums,’ so I want to discuss the case with you. I don’t exactly know how to proceed, but you could help, I think, by paying
     attention to the area where Jiao lives. You have to be careful. There may be somebody else walking behind you.”
    “They may take the broad way, but I’ll cross the single-plank bridge. Don’t worry about me. People don’t call me Old Hunter
     for nothing.”
    “Also, there are a couple of men for you to check out. Tan, Qian’s first lover, who died years ago, and then Peng, her second
     one, who is still alive.” Chen wrote down their names on a scrap of paper. “Whatever single-plank bridge you choose to cross,
     never go as a cop, either active or retired. Internal Security is involved.”
    “Internal Security indeed! So the last battle may be the best. The Mao Case. Thank you, Chief Inspector Chen,” he said, rising
     slowly. “Now I’ve finally got a chance to redeem myself.”

SEVEN
    IT WAS HIS FOURTH visit to Xie Mansion in the last few days.
    Chen rang the doorbell with one hand, carrying in his other a large box of chocolate, Lindt’s, the expensive German brand
     just recently available in Shanghai for the newly rich.
    That afternoon, it took longer than usual for the host to answer the door.
    Chen thought that he was fairly well accepted by the others, who took him as simply party-chaser, one who used a book project
     as a pretense. Which might be just as well. One’s identity might always be in conjunction with or a construction of others.
    There were two or three parties there every week. As it turned out, the role of an ex-businessman interested in the old Shanghai
     was not too difficult for him to play. He was able to mix with the Old Dicks, throwing in English phrases, using business
     jargons, and showing off literary anecdotes as well as lines from old movies, all of which successfully made him out to be
     someone other than a cop.
    With a different identity, Chen found himself thinking about them.
He had come to accept these people, who were pathetic yet harmless, simply trying to hold on to an illusion, in whatever
     way possible. These old-fashioned parties happened to be one of their ways. They might be aware of their own absurdities,
     but what else could they do? If they couldn’t be Old Dicks, they were nothing.
    So it was for Chief Inspector Chen — he was aware of the absurdity of his own behavior, but if he wasn’t an investigator, what
     was he?
    There was another advantage in his calculated guise: it enabled Chen to approach Jiao