The Mao Case

the bushes were untrimmed, withered, black
     in color as if burnt. To their left, a winding trail overrun with rank weeds led to an open pergola, which was dust-covered,
     seemingly deserted for a long time. Apparently, Xie couldn’t afford professional help, and as a rather feeble man in his sixties,
     Xie himself could do little about gardening.
    Lieutenant Song had a point, Chen reflected. Without any regular income all these years, Xie had to be in dire need of money.
     What he got from his paintings was barely enough to keep up the appearance of the building — just enough for utilities and basic
     maintenance. The air conditioning alone, though never on very high, had to run up a huge electricity bill. Not to mention
     all the drinks and snacks at the parties. Those Old Dicks, more often than not, arrived empty-handed. In fact, all the other
     rooms in the building, according to Mr. Zhou, were barely furnished, and except the bedroom upstairs, not used at all. So
     people never got to see beyond the living room. As for the fees from his students, they were symbolic at best.
    There was one thing that Chen was pretty sure of. Xie’s ex-wife had left him because of the financial strains, what with his
     refusal to find a regular job or to sell off the old house or anything in it. The Old Dicks lost no time telling Chen that
     account. So the scenario suggested by Internal Security about Xie’s need to act as an agent for Jiao was not totally without
     basis.

    “Let’s sit here under the pear tree,” Xie said. “It used to be my grandfather’s favorite spot.”
    They seated themselves on two plastic deck chairs. Half reclining, Chen thought of what Huan Daoji, an Eastern Jing-dynasty
     general, said at the sight of a large tree: “The tree has grown like this, how about the man?”
    Chen was surprised to see a squirrel scurrying across the lawn, something he had never seen elsewhere in the city. There was
     an air of melancholy, and the two men did not start talking for two or three minutes. Then, Xie sighed, crossing and uncrossing
     his legs.
    “You have something on your mind, Mr. Xie?”
    “Well, East Wind Property Company has come again, making an offer on the house. They want to pull it down and build a high-end
     apartment complex here.”
    “You don’t have to sell it to them,” Chen said, moving his chair closer. “In today’s market, it’s worth a huge fortune.”
    “Their offer is ridiculous — and a capped offer too, but that’s irrelevant. I won’t sell. I’m nothing without the house. But
     the buyer has connections — in both black and white ways.”
    It might not have been the first time that Xie had received an offer for his house, but the combination of the “black,” in
     reference to the Triad gangsters, and the “white,” to the government officials, was proving more than he could handle. Chen
     had heard of stories about these powerful developers.
    “Such a buyer is capable of anything,” Xie concluded.
    “Your house is of historical significance,” Chen said contemplatively, “and should be preserved as such. Officially, I mean.
     That way no one could snatch it from you so easily, no matter what their black or white connections. I happen to know someone
     in the city government. If you think it’s okay, I can make a couple of phone calls on your behalf.”
    “What a resourceful man you are!” Xie said, his face lighting up. “As I said to you when we first met, Mr. Shen has never
     recommended someone so highly. I happened to call him yesterday, and he said that
you are not just well-connected, you are simply a modern Menshang — generous in your help to people. You must have helped him
     too, I bet.”
    “Modern Menshang — come on. Don’t take his words too seriously. Shen’s an impossible poet.”
    “I am not a man of the world, you know what I mean, Mr. Chen. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough. If there’s anything
     I can do, for your book project, please tell me.”
    “There is no need for that. It is such a pleasure for me to come to your party and class, or to sit in the garden like today.
     There is no place like it in the city, and coming here helps my book project greatly. Let’s just chat a little more here,”
     Chen said, smiling. “I’m from an ordinary family. My father was a schoolteacher. It’s quite an experience for me to mix with
     people from good old families. Jiao in particular. The first day I came here,