When Red is Black

But it’s a fact that the novel sold so well because of him, because of her relationship with him.” She added, “What about his poetry collection, the one she edited, then?”
     
    “Poetry earns no money, as Chief Inspector Chen always says.”
     
    “But Yang’s collection sold out.” She added, “It was a large printing. In those years, a lot of people read poetry. I bought a copy too.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Afterward, at the neighborhood committee office, Yu mentioned Peiqin’s point in a phone conversation with Chief Inspector Chen.
     
    “Things have changed a lot,” Chen said. “Several years ago, the publisher would have paid just a one-time fee of about fifteen Yuan per thousand characters, or ten lines of poetry. So all in all, she would not have received much money.”
     
    “That’s what I guessed.”
     
    “But if her contract provided that she would earn royalties based on sales, it might be another story. Have you talked to the editor about it?”
     
    “No. Why?”
     
    “Well, he may tell you the amount she received,” Chen said thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Maybe you should give him a call.”
     
    A large sum could have been a motive for murder, but it seemed to Yu that since Chen was a passionate writer and Peiqin a passionate reader, they might be overemphasizing the literary aspects of the investigation. Still, Yu made a phone call to Wei, the editor of Death of a Chinese Professor at Shanghai Literature Publishing House.
     
    “About Yin again?” Wei was not very patient on the phone.
     
    “Sorry, we have to ask you some more questions,” Yu said.
     
    He could understand Wei’s impatience. Wei had gotten into trouble because of Death of a Chinese Professor. If anything politically incorrect was published, not only the author, but the editor too, was held responsible. Should the author be well-known, he would sometimes get away with little punishment, while the editor became the one to shoulder the “black pot.” Wei had been criticized for having not foreseen the political repercussions of Death of a Chinese Professor.
     
    “I have told you everything I know about Yin, Comrade Detective Yu. What a trouble-maker—even after her death.”
     
    “Well, last time, we talked about Yin’s novel, Death of a Chinese Professor. But Yang also had a book published by your house. A poetry collection.”
     
    “That’s right, but I am not the poetry editor. Jia Zijian edited the poetry collection. It came out sometime before the novel.”
     
    “Has Jia talked to you about it?”
     
    “We did not discuss it. A poetry book, you know, does not find too many readers, or make much money. Yin was involved with the book, of course. She was some character: she would not have let a single drop of fertilizer fall into anyone else’s field.”
     
    “Can I talk to Jia?”
     
    “He’s not in the office this morning. Call back in the afternoon.”
     
    This did not appear to lead anywhere. Wei, too, was sure that the poetry collection had not earned much money. For a while after their conversation, however, Yu could not shake off an uneasy feeling, as if he had missed something.
     
    Old Liang did not appear in the office in the morning. It was a silent protest, perhaps. For him, the case was finished when Wan confessed and any further investigational effort was an attack on Liang’s judgment.
     
    Because Yu had been turning the conversation with Wei over in his mind, he called Peiqin.
     
    “Wei only guesses,” Peiqin said, not ready to acknowledge that the sum involved would be so small. “You need to talk to the poetry editor.”
     
    “I don’t know why Wei reacted so negatively against a dead woman,” he said.
     
    “It beats me too. Why would he have a grudge against her?” Peiqin added abruptly, “He said she would not spare even a drop of fertilizer for anyone else. Who could he have meant?”
     
    “Somebody else who wanted to edit the collection?”
     
    “But no one could have competed with her. She alone had possession of many of Yang’s original poems.”
     
    The proverb Wei had quoted was commonly used to describe a greedy person, or a person in a given business transaction who was overreaching. “I’ll call you later.” It was Detective Yu’s turn to be abrupt. He put down the phone and then immediately picked it up again to dial the editor.
     
    “Comrade Wei, excuse me for one more question,” he said. “In our earlier talk, you used a