The Mao Case

a novice, so he could in fact learn something from Diao.
    “Your book was a huge success,” Chen went on. “Please tell me how you came to write it?”
    “I was a middle school teacher all my life. As a rule, I would start my class by quoting proverbs. Now, for a proverb to be
     passed on from generation to generation, there must be something in it — something in our culture. One day, I quoted a proverb —
hongyan baoming
— a beauty’s fate is so thin. When my students pressed me for an example, I thought about the tragic fate of Shang. Eventually,
     I started contemplating a book project, but I hesitated to focus on Shang, for the reasons you might guess. In the process
     of researching it, I learned about the equally tragic fate of her daughter, Qian. Something clicked in my mind. That’s how
     I came to write it.”
    “That’s fantastic,” Chen said. “You must have done a lot of research on Shang.”
    “Some, but not a lot.”
    “It’s like a book behind a book. In the lines about the daughter, people may read the story of the mother.”
    “Readers read from their own perspectives, but it’s a book about Qian.”
    “So tell me more about the story behind the story. I’m fascinated by the real details.”
    “What cannot be said must pass over in silence,” Diao responded guardedly. “What’s true and what’s not? You like the
Dream of the Red Chamber
, so you must remember the famous couplet on the arch gate of the Grand Illusion — ‘When the true is false, the false is true.
     / Where there is nothing, there is everything.’ ”
    As Chen anticipated, Diao wasn’t willing to speak freely to a stranger, not even to just admit that it was a true story, despite
     the lunch at Fangshan.

    “People of my generation have heard all sorts of stories from those years,” Diao went on, taking a sip at the tea. “As long
     as the official archive remains sealed to the public, we may never be able to tell whether a story is true or not.”
    “But you must have gathered more information than you used in the book.”
    “I put in only what I considered reliable.”
    “Still, you must have interviewed a lot of people.”
    Diao didn’t respond. A speaker outside started playing a song from the popular TV series
Romance of Three Kingdoms. “How many times, the sinking sun red, / a white-haired man angles, alone, in the river / rippling
     with stories from time immemorial …
” The TV series was based on the historic novel about the vicissitudes of the emperors and would-be-emperors in the third
     century, and the author ended the novel with a poem from the perspective of an old fisherman.
    “Remember the poem titled ‘Snow’ by Mao?” Diao asked instead.
    “Yes, particularly the second stanza.
‘The rivers and mountains so enchanting / made countless heroes bow in homage. / Alas, the First Emperor of the Qin and the
     Emperor Wu of the Han / were lacking in literary grace; / Emperor Tai of the Tang, and the Emperor Tai of the Song / had not
     enough poetry at heart; / Genghis Khan, / the proud son of Heaven for his generation, / knew only shooting eagle, bow outstretched.
     / All are past and gone! / To look for the really heroic, / you have to count on today.’
”
    The return of the waitress interrupted their talk. She placed a large platter on the table. “The live fish from the Central
     South Sea.”
    “I had to distinguish between what would be publishable, and what wouldn’t,” Diao resumed after helping himself to a large
     fish filet.
    “Tell me about your background research then.”
    “What’s the point? It’s nothing but knocking upon one door after another. Let’s enjoy our meal. To be honest with you, I’m
     a budget gourmet.”
    “Come on. The meal is nothing for a bestselling author like you. That’s why I decided to quit my business.”

    “You keep talking about my book as a bestseller. A lot were sold, that’s true, but I got very little for myself.”
    “That’s unbelievable, Mr. Diao.”
    “Don’t dream of making money by writing books. For that, you’d better stick to your business. If it would help, I might as
     well tell you how much I’ve made. Less than five thousand yuan. According to the editor, he took a great risk with an initial
     printing of five thousand copies.”
    “But what about the second and third printing? There must have been more than ten printings for your book.”
    “There is never even a second printing. As soon as