Chen felt even more wretched about what happened to Wei and about his inability to do anything for Wei’s family. He could tell Guizhen all the things he planned to do, but it wouldn’t make any difference unless he succeeded in doing something.
Suddenly inspired, like a magician he whisked out the envelope containing his mother’s gift card and handed it to the widow.
“Something small for your family,” he said.
She didn’t open it. That wasn’t the Chinese convention. Instead, she pushed it back.
“I can’t take it from you. It would be a different story if it were from the bureau, since Wei gave his best years to the job.”
“It’s not from me,” he said, believing that honesty would be the best approach. “It’s from a Big Buck friend of mine. In fact, I had been debating whether or not to accept it. Now I can use it for a good cause, so you’re actually helping me out.”
She stared at him for several seconds, incredulously.
“I was with Wei just the day before his death, drinking coffee and reviewing the case,” he went on, pulling out the Häagen-Dazs gift card from his wallet. “For our discussion, he picked an ice cream place, mentioning that it was his son’s favorite. This one is from me. Please accept it for both of them.”
“Chief Inspector Chen…”
He rose and took his leave without waiting to hear anything else she might want to say.
But he’d barely made it to the end of the lane when he heard footsteps rushing up behind him. It was Guizhen, still clutching the envelope.
“It’s way too much.”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore. As I have said, you’re actually helping me out. The Big Buck friend gave it to me because of my position. I wouldn’t be able to live up to Wei’s trust if I took it for myself.”
“I shouldn’t-” Once again, she didn’t finish the sentence. “Oh, you asked me if there was anything unusual about Wei that morning.”
“Yes?”
“Before he left home, he examined and reexamined the picture in Wenhui Daily. The picture of Zhou and the pack of 95 Supreme Majesty, you know. He went so far as to look at it through a magnifying glass. At home, he seldom talked about his work, but that morning he showed the picture to me, asking whether I could make out the words on the cigarette pack.”
“Could you?”
“No, I couldn’t. They were too small and blurred.”
FOURTEEN
Chen’s Saturday started with something that had little to do with his responsibilities as a chief inspector.
Detective Yu had called the previous evening.
“It would be a great favor if you could come to Longhua Temple on Saturday-just for ten or fifteen minutes, no more than that. It’s the Buddhist service for Peiqin’s late parents-her father was born a hundred years ago. Peiqin says that I shouldn’t tell you about it. We know it’s not something appropriate for a Party cadre like you to attend. But one of her cousins recently held a similar service, spending money like water, and inviting as many big shots as possible. So I think-”
According to a popular Buddhist belief, the deceased, once they reached the age of one hundred, went on to another life. So on the hundredth anniversary of their birth, their children generally arranged a religious service, preferably in a temple. It was extremely important in the tradition of Buddhist reincarnation, since afterward, there were no further obligations to the dead on the part of those still living in the world of red dust.
Chen wondered whether Peiqin really held such beliefs, but that didn’t matter as long as her relatives did. Since Detective Yu never asked him for any favors, the chief inspector wasn’t in a position to say no.
Besides, it might be a nice change from the latest round of ever-depressing routine meetings. He’d had to spend most of Friday at a meeting of the Shanghai Party Committee. As a new member, he wasn’t required to say much, but all the political speeches by the leading members of the committee were not only boring but also inexplicably exhausting.
Qiangyu, First Secretary of the Committee, had made a long speech, emphasizing the great achievements in the city under the correct leadership of the Shanghai Party Committee. There might be something significant in the speech, Chen had vaguely sensed, so he had tried to read between the lines, but he soon gave up, surrendering instead to a dull yet dogged headache.
By Friday evening, Chen was glad of the chance to do something different, and something for Peiqin’s sake.
“Of course I’ll be there. I’ll stay for as long as the ceremony takes; you can count on me, Yu.”
* * *
Saturday morning, Chen was sitting in the back of a Mercedes driven by the bureau chauffeur, Skinny Wang.
“The Yus will have a lot of face at the temple today,” Skinny Wang said, “in front of their relatives.”
In the final analysis, Chen reflected, people had to believe in something-anything-in this age of spiritual vacuum. With no concepts such as the heaven or hell of Western religions, Chinese people took vague comfort in doing something like the temple service to help the dead in the next life.
The newly materialistic society was shaping many aspects of life according to its own terms-even things like this temple service. The more expense, the more face. That was a type of competition the Yus couldn’t afford, which was why Yu, a non-Buddhist, had to bring Chief Inspector Chen-supposedly a high-ranking Party official-into the scene. It was all for the sake of face. Face was an important issue to the Shanghainese.
“Here we are, Longhua Temple,” Skinny Wang declared.
Because of the ever-expanding boundaries of the city, the temple, originally located near the outskirts, was no longer considered too far away. And because of that location, it was larger than other temples nearer to the city center.
The driver parked and followed Chen as he stepped into an enormous courtyard leading to an impressive front hall lined with the gilded Buddhist statues, all of which were wreathed in spiraling incense. The wings on both sides of the main hall were rented out as service rooms and fetched large fees for the temple.
“Chen Cao, Party Secretary of the Shanghai Police Bureau, and member of Shanghai Communist Party Committee,” said Peiqin. Not exactly surprised, she introduced him loudly to people as soon as he entered. “The legendary Chief Inspector Chen, head of the Special Case Squad, you must have heard or read about him-he is Yu’s boss.”
Peiqin’s introduction included all the new official titles Chen had acquired. Chen understood.
“It’s from our Party Secretary,” Skinny Wang chimed in, putting down in front of the service table a large flower wreath with a white silk banner bearing Chen’s name and official positions.
On the table were black-framed pictures flanked by burning candles, surrounded by a variety of Shanghai snacks and fruit.
“Both Yu and Peiqin are my friends,” Chen said to the others in the room, after bowing to the photos.
Yu and Peiqin bowed back to him as a token of their gratitude.
Chen then held a bunch of tall incense in his hand, bowing respectfully three more times.
As Chen did so, all the others in the room seemed to be staring, holding their breath.
There were several chestlike cardboard boxes stacked up against the table, Chen observed as he put the incense into a container. The boxes probably contained netherworld money for the dead. Years ago, money for the dead was simply placed in large red bags. The imitation boxes with padlocks vividly painted on them represented an “improvement with time,” showing sophisticated consideration for the convenience of the dead in the other world. Chen couldn’t help wondering whether his gift of the wreath, standing alone, was out of place. Then he noticed that the wreath bore several ribbons and bows folded to look just like silk ingots.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Party Secretary Chen,” Yu said.