“Sure.”

She took the fan. There was a couplet on it. The writing was difficult to read in the flickering illumination provided by the ever-changing neon lights.

Drunk. I whipped a precious horse; / I do not want to weigh down a beauty with passion.

“Your lines, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“No, Daifu’s. A confessional Chinese poet, like Robert Lowell.”

“Why the parallel between a horse and a beauty?”

“A friend of mine copied the couplet for me.”

“Why those two lines?” She waved the fan lightly.

“His favorite couplet, perhaps.”

“Or a message for you.”

He laughed.

The ringing of his phone took them by surprise.

“What’s up, Uncle Yu?” he said, one hand cupped over the phone. He then took her by the elbow, and they began to walk as he listened.

She understood why he had to resume their stroll. Wedged between people along the wall, confidential conversation was out of the question. And the use of a cell phone was still rare and attracted attention. They encountered covetous glances from the milling crowd.

There was no change of expression as he listened. He spoke little. At the end of the conversation, he said. “Thank you. It is very important, Uncle Yu.”

“What’s up?” she said.

“It was Old Hunter. Something about Gu,” he said, turning off the phone. “I asked him to keep an eye on the karaoke owner. He has been tapping Gu’s telephone lines. It seems Gu is an honorary member of the Blue. He made several phone calls after we left the Dynasty. A couple of them were about a missing Fujianese. A man. Gu used a nickname.”

“A missing Fujianese,” she repeated. “Did he mention Wen?”

“No. The Fujianese seemed to have a mission, but they were speaking in triad code. Old Hunter needs to do some research tonight.”

“Gu knew something he didn’t tell us,” she said.

“Gu spoke of a visitor from Hong Kong, not from Fujian. So why look for a missing Fujianese-”

For the first time, they were talking like partners, without guarding their words or thoughts from one another, when a white-haired peddler approached them, displaying something in his hand.

“A family heirloom. It brings good fortune to young couples. Believe me. I’m seventy years old. The state-run factory I used to work for went bankrupt last month. I cannot get a single penny of my pension, or I would not sell it for anything.”

It was a Qilin-shaped green jade charm on a red silk string.

“In Chinese culture,” she said, looking up at Chen, “jade is supposed to bring luck to its owner, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that, but it doesn’t seem to have brought luck to him.”

“The red silk string is very pretty.”

In the moonlight, the jade shone deep green against her white palm.

“How much?” Chen asked the peddler.

“Five hundred Yuan.”

“Not too expensive,” she whispered to him in English.

“Fifty Yuan.” Chen took the charm from her hand and put it back in the peddler’s.

“Come on, young man. Nothing is too expensive for your beautiful American girlfriend.”

“Take it or leave it,” Chen said, taking Catherine’s hand as if to walk away. “It looks like plastic.”

“Take a close look, young man,” the old man said with an air of indignation. “Feel it. You can tell the difference. So cool to your touch, right?”

“Fine, eighty.”

“One hundred fifty. I can give you a five-hundred-Yuan receipt from a state-run store.”

“One hundred. Forget about the receipt.”

“Deal!”

He handed over a bill to the peddler.

She listened to their bargaining with interest. ‘Ask for a price as high as the sky, but bargain it down to the earth,’ she thought, recalling another old Chinese saying. In an increasingly materialistic society, bargaining existed everywhere.

“I cannot help marveling at you, Chief Inspector Chen,” she said as the old man started shuffling away with the money in his hand. “You haggled like-like anything but a romantic poet.”

“I don’t think it’s plastic,” he said. “Maybe it’s some sort of hard stone without real value.”

“Jade, I’m positive.”

“For you.” He put the charm in her hand, imitating the old man’s tone. “For a beautiful American friend.”

“Thank you so much.”

They walked through the night breeze.

The Peace Hotel came in sight, sooner than she had expected.

She turned to him by the gate. “Let me buy you a drink in the hotel.”

“Thanks, but I cannot come in. I have to call Detective Yu.”

“It’s been a lovely night. Thank you.”

“The pleasure has been mine.”

She took the jade charm out of her pocket. “Would you put it on for me?”

She swung around, without waiting for an answer from him.

They were in front of the hotel, with the red-capped-and-clad doorman standing at the gate, smiling respectfully as always.

She could feel the soft tendrils of her hair stirring with his breath as his fingers clasped the red string round her neck, lingering for a second at her nape.

Chapter 19

Waking in the early morning with a slight suggestion of headache, Chen rubbed his eyes as he read the latest news about the go tournament between China and Japan reported in the previous evening’s newspaper. This was an escapist indulgence he had not permitted himself for several days.

That morning, he thought he had an excuse. This was the final round between the two countries’ champions. The Japanese was said to be a Zen master as well-capable of remaining detached in an intense game. Paradoxical. A go player, by definition, must be intent on winning a game, just as a cop must solve a case. And the outcome of the game was represented as politically symbolic, like the case on his hands. The ringing of the telephone, however, interrupted any further thought about the battle on the game board. It was Party Secretary Li.

“Come to my office, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“Anything new about Wen’s case?”

“We’ll talk when you get here.”

“I’ll come as soon as I have breakfast.”

It was early, not yet seven thirty. It must be urgent. Normally, Li would not arrive at his office until after nine thirty.

Chen opened his small refrigerator. There was only half a steamed bun from the bureau canteen, two or three days old, and hard as a rock. He put it in a bowl of hot water. There was little left of his month’s salary. Not all the expenses he incurred in Inspector Rohn’s company could be reimbursed. Like the purchase of the jade trinket. To maintain the image of a Chinese policeman, he had to pay a price.

The telephone rang again. This time, it was Minister Huang in Beijing. The minister, who had never before called him at home, seemed very concerned about the progress of the Wen case.

“It is a special case,” Huang said, “important to the relationship between the two countries. A successful cooperation with the Americans will help to lessen tension, you know, after the Tiananmen incident.”

“I understand, Minister Huang. We’re doing our best, but it is difficult to find someone within such a short time frame.”

“The Americans understand you’re doing a conscientious job. They are just anxious for a breakthrough. They have called us several times.”

Chen hesitated as to whether he should share his suspicions with the minister, especially about the gang’s ties to the Fujian police. He decided not to. Not directly at least. The politics behind this connection might be complicated. It would make the investigation more difficult if the minister chose to back the local police.

“Detective Yu is having a hard time in Fujian. The local police have given him no leads at all. They seem to have too many things on their hands. Yu cannot deal with those gangsters single-handedly. And I cannot dictate orders from thousands of miles away.”