The Mao Case

cell phone for him to use while in Beijing. He was acquainted with some people in
     the Beijing Police Bureau, but he decided not to contact any of them.
    Nor would he let them know he was taking his “vacation” in Beijing. With Yong, there was one disadvantage — her unbridled imagination
     regarding the purpose of his trip. On the other hand, she could tell him about Ling. There were questions he might not be
     able to ask Ling herself.
    It didn’t take long for Yong to call back, saying that she had taken care of everything and that she would pick him up at
     the station.

    What surprised him, however, was the sight of Yong waiting for him with a luxurious limousine at the exit of the Beijing train
     station.
    As far as he knew, Yong was an ordinary librarian, riding an old bike to work, rain or shine.
    More to his surprise, Yong didn’t immediately start talking about Ling, as he had anticipated. A slender-built woman in her
     late thirties with short hair, a slightly swarthy complexion, and clear features, Yong usually spoke fast and loud. There
     was something mysterious about her reticence.
    After the car swerved around Dongdan and passed Lantern City Crossing, it made several more turns in quick succession before
     edging its way into a narrow, winding lane, which appeared to be in the Eastern City area. He couldn’t see clearly through
     the amber-colored windows.
    The entrance of the lane looked familiar, yet strange, lined with indescribable stuffs stacked along both sides.
    “The hotel is in a
hutong
?” he asked. In Beijing, a lane was called
hutong
, usually narrow and uneven. The limousine was literally crawling along.
    “You’ve forgotten all about it, haven’t you?” Yong said with a knowing smile. “A distinguished man can’t help forgetting things.
     We are going to my place.”
    “Oh. But why?”
    “To receive the wind, like in our old tradition. Isn’t it proper and right for me to first welcome you at home? The hotel
     is really close, at the end of the lane. It’s easy, you can walk there in only three or four minutes.”
    She could have told him on the phone. But why the limousine? Yong was of ordinary family background, not like Ling.
    He had been here before years earlier — for a date with Ling, he recalled, as the car pulled up in front of a
sihe
quadrangle house. It was an architectural style popular in the old city of Beijing, and characterized by residential rooms
     on four sides and an inner courtyard in the center.
    Stepping out, he saw an isolated house standing in a disappearing
lane — most of the houses there were already gone or half gone, the ground littered with debris and ruins.
    “The local government has a new housing project planned to be built here, but we aren’t moving. Not until we are properly
     compensated. It’s our property.”
    “Are you still living here?”
    “No, we have another apartment near New Street.”
    So they were another “nail family,” hanging in until pulled out by force. There were stories about this type of problem in
     the development of the city.
    In the courtyard, he noticed that all the rooms were dark except Yong’s.
    As she led him into the room, he wasn’t too surprised to see Ling sitting there, leaning against the paper window. He looked
     over her with an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.
    In the limousine, he had suspected some sort of arrangement by Yong. Ling, however, appeared to be genuinely surprised, and
     she stood up. She could have come over from some business activity, wearing a purple satin mandarin dress, with a purse of
     the same color and material, apparently custom-made, like in a page torn from a high-class fashion magazine.
    There was no “wind-receiving” banquet on the table, not as Yong had promised. There was only a cup of tea for Ling. Yong hastened
     to pour a cup for Chen and gestured both of them to sit down.
    “My humble abode is brightened by two distinguished guests tonight,” Yong said. “Ling, CEO of several large companies in
     Beijing, and Chen, chief inspector of the Shanghai Police Bureau. So my ‘nail family’ has existed for a good reason.”
    “You should have told me,” Ling said to her.
    That was what he also wanted to say, but he said instead to Ling, “I’m so pleased to see you, Ling.”
    “Now, I have to hurry back to my new place,” Yong said. “My man works the night shift and I have to take care of my little
     daughter.”
    It was too obvious an