The Mao Case

Secretary Li.” The water began boiling and the kettle hissing. Li, at one time a mentor for
     Chen in bureau politics, had come to regard him as a rival. “I hardly know anything about it, not yet. It’s just that I cannot
     refuse the assignment.”
    “The minister told me that you are to have access to all the available resources of the bureau. So simply tell me what you
     need.”
    “Well, first, don’t tell anyone about the assignment. Instead, say I’m taking a leave for personal reasons.” He added, “Detective
     Yu should take over the work of the Special Case Squad.”
    “I’ll announce his temporary appointment tomorrow. I know that you trust Detective Yu. Are you going to tell him anything?”
    “No, not about the assignment.”
    “I’ll take care of everything at the bureau. Call me whenever you need anything.”
    “I will, Party Secretary Li.”
    Putting down the phone, Chen paced about the room for a minute or two before he went over to the boiling kettle, only to discover
     that the tea box was empty. Rummaging through the drawer, he failed to find any tea. No coffee either, which didn’t matter,
     as the coffee maker had been broken for weeks.
    He leaned back, stroking his chin. He had cut himself shaving this morning. It had been a rotten day from the beginning.
    Suddenly there was a knock at the door. To his surprise, it turned
out to be a special delivery package containing the Jiao files from Internal Security. He wasn’t expecting to get it so quickly.
    He sat down at the table with a cup of hot water, and an impressive file spread over several manila folders. Internal Security
     had done a comprehensive job. The file contained not only information about Jiao, but about Qian and Shang as well, covering
     all three generations.
    Chen decided to start with Shang. He lit a cigarette and took a sip of water. The water quality was terrible, and it tasted
     strange without tea leaves.
    Shang had come from a “good family” in the thirties. While still in college, she was named the college “queen,” nicknamed
     a “phoenix,” before being discovered by a movie director. Soon she came to prominence as a young, graceful actress. After
     1949, because of her family background and her husband’s political trouble, her career suffered. It was said that her career’s
     decline also had something to do with her pre-1949 image. She was known mostly for playing upper-class ladies, elegant in
     their magnificent houses and stylish dresses, and those roles had practically disappeared from the movie screens of socialist
     China. Mao had declared that literature and art should serve workers, farmers, and soldiers through representation of them
     on stages and screens. Suddenly, however, her photos began to reappear in the newspapers, in articles that said Chairman Mao
     was encouraging Shang and her colleagues to make new, revolutionary films. She then starred in several movies, playing workers
     or farmers, and she won major awards for the roles. Her resurgent career was cut short by the outbreak of the Cultural Revolution.
     Like other well-known artists, she was subjected to mass criticism and persecution. What’s more, a special team was sent by
     the Cultural Revolution Group of the Central Committee of the Communist Party to interrogate her. Shortly afterward, Shang
     committed suicide, leaving her daughter Qian alone.
    A sad story, but not uncommon in those years, Chen reflected, rising and rummaging through the drawer again. This time he
     uncovered a tiny ginseng tea bag. How long it had been lying there, he had no idea. He tossed it into the cup, hoping it could
     somehow boost up his
energy. He had practically skipped his dinner, thanks to the phone call from Beijing.
    Sipping at the ginseng tea, he settled back down to the file and began reading the part about the second generation, Qian,
     the heroine of the best seller
Cloud and Rain in Shanghai.
    An orphan after Shang’s death, Qian had a hard time adjusting to her drastically changed life. Shang’s problem shadowed her — Qian
     was forcibly exposed to what the file referred to as Shang’s “shameless sex saga” — and the daughter grew up to be a “shameless
     slut.” In those years, a girl of black — politically questionable — family background was supposed to behave with extra care,
     but Qian abandoned herself to youthful passion. She fell in love with a young man named Tan, also of black family