Chapter 21

Later, Chief Inspector Chen entered the Dynasty Karaoke Club with Meiling, his former secretary in the Shanghai Metropolitan Traffic Control Bureau. Their visit to the club was prompted by a phone conversation with Mr. Ma, the old herbal doctor…

Ma had given him additional background information about Gu. Gu had been born into a middle-ranking Party member’s family. His father had served as a manager of a large state-run tire company for more than twenty years. The outbreak of the Cultural Revolution turned the veteran manager into a “capitalist roader,” wearing a huge placard around his neck, on which his name was crossed out in red. He was sent to a special cadre school to reform himself through hard labor, and he did not return home until after the Cultural Revolution, a shrunken shadow of the former Bolshevik, with a crippled leg, a total stranger to Gu, who had grown up on the streets, determined to take a different road. Gu went to Japan via a language program in the mid-eighties, where, instead of studying, he worked at all kinds of jobs. After three years, he came back with some capital, and in the new market economy, he soon became a successful entrepreneur, the class his father had spent his life fighting against. Gu then expanded into the karaoke business, and through a large donation to the Blue, the triad that controlled such activities in Shanghai; bought an honorary membership as security for his business. He rubbed elbows with various triad heads at the Dynasty.

Gu had initially gotten in touch with Mr. Ma because of his K girls, who would be reported to the city authorities if they went to state-run hospitals for treatment of their venereal diseases. Mr. Ma agreed to help, provided Gu would not allow those sick girls to give any private service until they had recovered.

“Gu is not a totally rotten egg. At least he cares about his girls. Yesterday he asked me several questions about you. I don’t know why. These people can be unpredictable and dangerous. I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Mr. Ma concluded gloomily. “Personally, I don’t believe in meeting force with force. The soft is stronger than the hard. There are not too many decent cops left today.”

Chen believed that Gu had withheld information. If he squeezed harder, more might be extracted. Meiling’s position in the Traffic Control Office might make a difference. She agreed to accompany him without asking a single question, a truly understanding secretary. So at the shadowy back door of the Shanghai Writers’ Association, he met Meiling and walked with her to the splendidly lit club.

He was pleased to see her wearing contacts for the evening. Without her silver-rimmed glasses, she appeared more feminine. She also wore a new dress, sharply nipped in at the waist, accentuating her fine figure. The old saying was right. ‘A clay Buddha image must be magnificently gilded, and a woman must be beautifully dressed.’ She merged into the fashionable crowd effortlessly, unlike the ordinary business-first secretary, but she carried her business cards, handing one to Gu when they were introduced.

“Oh, you overwhelm me,” Gu exclaimed. “I never guessed both of you would come tonight.”

“Meiling is always so busy,” Chen explained. It was not the moment for him to worry about what Gu might think of him, first bringing an American girl, and now his Chinese former secretary, to the club. Actually, this might help to convince Gu that the chief inspector was someone he could make a friend of. “She happened to have some time tonight, so I brought her over to meet you.”

“Director Chen is giving his personal attention to your parking lot,” Meiling said.

“I really appreciate it, Chief Inspector Chen.”

As they arrived at a sumptuous room on the fifth floor, a line of K girls in black slips and black slippers appeared, welcoming Chen like the imperial maids at a palace entrance. Their white shoulders flashed against the saffron walls.

Apparently, Gu no longer minded Chen’s seeing the other side of his business. The large karaoke room was furnished more elegantly than the one Chen had visited the previous day, and there was a master bedroom adjoining it.

“The suite is not for business, but for my friends,” Gu said. “Give me a call any time, and this suite will be reserved for you. Come with your friend or by yourself.”

It was a hint. Chen noticed a sly smile playing over Meiling’s lips. She understood, though she sat demurely on the huge sectional sofa.

At Gu’s nod, a slim girl came into the room. “Let’s start with an appetizer,” Gu said. “Her name is White Cloud. The best singer in our club. And a Fudan University student. She performs only for the most special guests here. Choose any song you would like to hear, Chief Inspector Chen.”

White Cloud had a piece of dudou-like red silk, no larger than a handkerchief, wrapped around her breasts, tied with the thinnest straps at her back. Her gauzy pants were semi^: transparent. With the microphone in her hand, she bowed to Chen.

Chen chose a song entitled “Sea Rhythm.”

White Cloud had a beautiful voice enriched by a singular nasal effect. Kicking off her slippers, she began to dance to the song, swaying voluptuously to the ebbing and flowing of the music. At the beginning of the second song, “Weeping Sand,” she extended her hands to Chen. When he hesitated, she leaned over to pull him up. “Won’t you dance with me?”

“Oh, I’m honored-”

She took his hand, propelling him toward the center of the room. He had taken the required dancing lessons at the bureau, but he had had little time to practice. He was amazed at how easily he could be guided around by her. She danced with a sensual, effortless grace, her bare feet gliding along the hardwood floor.

“Your clothes are like clouds, and your face is like a flower.” He tried to pay her a compliment, but he regretted it as soon as he uttered it. His hand was on her bare back-”jade-smooth”-another quotation, but any reference to her clothes sounded like a joke.

“Thank you for comparing me with Imperial Concubine Yang.”

So she knew the origin of the lines. Indeed, a Fudan university student. He tried to hold her at some distance, but she pressed her body against him, melting into his arms. She made no effort to conceal her ardor. He felt her pointed breasts through the light material.

He did not know when the microphone had come into Meiling’s hand. She was singing as captions appeared on the screen. It was a sentimental piece:

“You like to say you are a grain of sand, / occasionally fallen into my eyes, in mischief. / You would rather have me weep by myself / than to have me love you, / and then you disappear in the wind / like the grain of sand…”

White Cloud also quoted a couplet from Li Shangyin, the bard of star-crossed lovers, whispering in his ear, “It is difficult to meet, and to part, too. / The east wind languid, and the flowers fallen …” She said it to evocative effect as the song was coming to a stop, her hand lingering in his.

He chose to comment on the poem, “A brilliant juxtaposition of an image with a statement, creating a third dimension of poetic association.”

“Isn’t that called Xing in the Book of Songs?”

“Yes. Xing does not specify the relationship between the image and the statement, leaving more room for a reader’s imagination,” he expounded. He had no problem talking to her about poetry.

“Thank you. You’re really special.”

“Thank you. You’re marvelous,” he echoed in his best dancing-school manner, bowing before he moved back to the sofa.

At Gu’s insistence, a bottle of mao tai was opened. Several cold dishes appeared on the coffee table. The liquor was strong, suffusing Chen with a new warmth.