When Red is Black

Zhenming?”
     
    “Home for him is like a free hotel, and a free restaurant too. He comes whenever he wants. Now he brings another person with him as well.”
     
    “Please tell me what you know about Yin, Comrade Lindi.”
     
    “She was different.”
     
    “How?”
     
    “She had a room all for herself, whereas in our one single room there are three families. She suffered during the Cultural Revolution? Who didn’t? My husband died in the ‘armed struggle’ among worker organizations, believing he was fighting for Chairman Mao to the last drop of his blood. After his death, there was not even a memorial service for him.” She went on after a pause. “One of the reasons Xiuzhen married Cai was not because of his money—he did not have such a lot to begin with—but because she had lost her father when she was only four years old.”
     
    “I see,” Yu said. He was surprised by her thoughtful analysis of her daughter’s reason for marrying the much older Cai.
     
    “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you much about Yin. The Cultural Revolution has left so many tragedies in its wake. Yin was a writer, and had published a book about it, but she was not willing to talk about it to us.”
     
    Detective Yu thanked her at the end of the conversation. As he moved downstairs, he felt totally depressed. People here still seemed to be covered with the dust of the past, just like the shikumen building itself. To be more exact, they were still living in the shadow of the Cultural Revolution. The government called on the people to look forward, never turning their head heads back, but this was extremely hard for some, including Yin, Lindi, Wan, almost everyone he had interviewed here except Mr. Ren. Now Yu wondered whether Mr. Ren really could forget, drowning his memories in a bowl of steaming noodles.
     
    As he walked out of the shikumen building, he caught sight of Lei’s booth at the front lane entrance. Detective Yu was not in a great hurry to interview Lei. Looking at his watch, he decided to buy a lunch box for himself. There was a line of customers stretching toward the booth, and he stood in it patiently. He watched. In spite of the help he had recently hired, Lei himself was busy, constantly stirring the contents of a heavy wok. Several rough, unpainted wooden tables and benches stood clustered around the lane entrance. Some customers walked away with lunchboxes in their hands, but some chose to eat there. Yu also took a seat.
     
    The meal was quite good. A large portion of rice paddy eel slice fried with green onion and sesame oil on top of steamed white rice, plus a soup of pickled vegetable and shredded pork, for only five Yuan.
     
    Afterwards, he phoned Peiqin with a question. “Do you think we can rely on Yu’s tax form?”
     
    “No, I don’t think so,” Peiqin replied. “Private restaurants make lots of money by not paying tax. It’s an open secret. All business is done for cash. No one asks for a receipt for four or five Yuan. His tax form is not something you can trust. Nor does he put all his money in the bank either. This is a common practice among restaurant owners.”
     
    “That’s true,” Yu said. “I did not ask for a receipt this afternoon.”
     
    “I have done some spreadsheets for Geng. I know what I am talking about.”
     
    Yu believed Peiqin.
     
    * * * *
     

Chapter 11
     
     
    S
    itting in her cubicle at the Four Seas restaurant, Peiqin finished the accounting work for the month. It was hardly the middle of February. Still, she would come to her so-called office every day to sit with the books and papers spread out on the long desk, even though there was no work left to do. Originally a tingzijian, it was not much of a room, but it served as an office separated from the business downstairs. She shared the office with Hua Shan, the restaurant manager, who had an all-day-long meeting somewhere else. Slipping off her shoes, she placed her feet on a chair, then put them down again. There were two small holes in her socks.
     
    “Peiqin, it’s time for lunch,” Luo, the new chef shouted from the kitchen located below the office. His voice boomed up through the cracks of the old worn floor, the air was filled with swirling dust making weird patterns in the light. “We’ll have fish-head soup with red pepper today.”
     
    “Great. I’ll come as soon as I finish here.”
     
    In the first year she had worked there, Peiqin had occasionally come downstairs to help. Soon