Three hundred numbers, but Qibao continued to elude him. Dunhuang surveyed his drawerful of used phone cards, gritted his teeth, and continued dialing. He thought of it as buying Bao Ding a drink. One afternoon, while Dunhuang was selling DVDs by Hangtian Bridge, he saw a boy of roughly ten walking on top of the bridge, bobbing down every few steps. He was pasting advertisements on the ground. Dunhuang followed him onto the bridge, and saw they were new numbers. He peeled one off the ground and called. It was a woman’s voice that answered.
“Is that Qibao? It’s Crow!”
“Crow? Haven’t heard of you.”
“Do you know Qibao?”
“Who are you, really?”
“Do you know Qibao, really?”
“I do.”
“Great! I’m Dunhuang, can you tell me where she is?”
“Who the fuck are you, really?”
“Dunhuang. I’m Dunhuang. Bao Ding asked me to find Qibao.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so? That’s me.”
“Where are you?”
“In bed.”
She lived nearby, in Huayuancun, and had just woken up. Dunhuang suggested they have dinner together, and Qibao said, “Great, I wasn’t in the mood to cook.” They arranged to meet by a pedestrian overpass near Huayuancun, and Dunhuang sat on the bottom step of the bridge, smoking and rubbing his hands in excitement. Finally, goddamn it, he’d found her. He could stop feeling quite so guilty about Bao Ding. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to see a fairly tall, full-figured girl, quite young and pretty. She had long hair in curls, and wore a cardigan, an impractical shawl, and a skirt. The cardigan was open low in front, revealing deep cleavage. Dunhuang wasn’t sure if he should think of her as a woman or a girl.
“Qibao?”
“Dunhuang?”
Dunhuang grinned, then stood and circled behind her: there they were, that back and ass he’d been looking for. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Dunhuang quickly replied, “I’ll treat you to dinner. Bao Ding gave specific instructions to take care of you.”
“So where is he? I never heard from him. He promised to take me to the Great Wall and the Ming Tombs.”
“Don’t you know? He’s in jail. I just got out myself.”
“Fuck. . I should have guessed. He’s really an okay guy.” Qibao rummaged around in her pockets and finally said, “Do you have a cigarette?”
Dunhuang passed her one and lit it. “You smoke, huh?”
“I’d die of boredom otherwise,” she said. “Today was extra dull, no business. I fell asleep in front of the TV.”
They headed toward a Sichuanese restaurant.
“No business, but you hired a kid to paste ads?”
“You saw him, did you? Can’t do it myself, can I? I’d be a laughingstock. What treasures have you got in that bag?”
“DVDs. I sell them.”
They reached the restaurant. The place was tiny, but when Dunhuang flipped open the menu the prices nearly made him choke. Eighteen kuai for Kungpao chicken — it was shameless. Dunhuang pushed the menu toward Qibao, steeled himself, and said, “You order.”
Qibao said, “This place is good, I suggest it anytime a friend offers to treat.” She ordered oil-poached fish, buckwheat noodles with chicken slivers, Dongpo pork leg, crockpot greens, and Sichuanese pickled vegetables. It’ll be no worse than being tricked twice by fake policemen, thought Dunhuang.
“How’d you end up selling pirated DVDs?” asked Qibao. “No more fake IDs?”
“After I got out I couldn’t connect with anyone, so I started selling DVDs in the meantime. Now I think it’s pretty good work, and I don’t want to go back.”
“You got to like it, huh?”
“More or less. You don’t earn much, but there’s less to worry about, and you can watch films in your spare time. Life is pretty good.”
“You must have gotten culture in jail,” said Qibao. “Did the two of you go in together?”
“Yeah. Actually, Bao Ding went in because of me.”
“You can cut that bullshit out. In this line of work, people go in because of themselves.”
Dunhuang smiled at her gratefully. “How old are you?”
“Fuck, don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a woman’s age?”
“Sorry. If I’m not supposed to ask, I won’t ask.”
“Guess.”
“Twenty-two.”
“You’re even slicker than Bao Ding.” Qibao took another cigarette from him. “Twenty-three. I can barely remember what that jerk Bao Ding looks like.”
“He remembers you.”
“Fuck, plenty of men remember me. Wouldn’t you remember me?”
“Yes.”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “Enough crap. What do you think of the food?”
“Pretty damn good.” He meant it.
After dinner Dunhuang visited Qibao’s place, so he’d know where it was. A two-bedroom apartment, Qibao in one room, another girl in the other. The apartment was small but nicely arranged, with a mattress, a television, a DVD player, speakers, and a little carpet. The blankets weren’t folded. “It’s messy,” she said. “Don’t look at the bed.” He liked her directness. He looked at the bed, but didn’t see anything in particular. He sized her up and thought that Qibao was just Bao Ding’s style, no wonder he was worried about her. She made him a cup of instant coffee. The aroma of the coffee mixed with the smell of a woman’s apartment made Dunhuang a little dizzy.
“The rent must be high,” he said.
“It’s okay. When you’re alone in this city there’s no one to spoil you, so you’ve got to spoil yourself.”
Girls knew how to make the most out of life. He, on the other hand, had become a cheapskate. He consoled himself by saying that he had to be a cheapskate if he was ever going to get Bao Ding out of prison.
“Don’t waste your time on rescue fantasies,” she said when he mentioned this. “He’ll be out in a year or two. He’s getting three square meals, it won’t kill him.”
“That’s not the point,” Dunhuang said. “It’s something I need to do, he went in because of me.”
“Wow, so loyal!”
Before he’d finished the coffee, Qibao’s phone rang. She looked at him, and he said, “No problem, I should be getting back anyway, I’ve got to pick up more movies.”
Qibao said into the phone, Okay, I’ll be there soon. Dunhuang said that if she wanted any DVDs she should help herself, and she picked out five, saying she’d return them after she’d watched them. She visited Zhongguancun often.
12
They met again two days later. Dunhuang was selling DVDs at Capital Normal University, and gave her a call — she was at home. They ate together, and this time Qibao treated. She returned the DVDs she’d borrowed and chose five new ones. Two people trying to get a foothold in Beijing had plenty to talk about. “Bao Ding told me to take care of you,” joked Dunhuang. “Do you have any grunt work you need help with?”
“Grunt work is probably all you’re good for,” she said, “but it’s not going to happen yet.”
“I’ll wait,” he said. “Just call me when you want me.” She reached out and patted him on both cheeks.
“Careful Bao Ding doesn’t squash you when he gets out.” They both laughed. They met next when Qibao came to Haidian to make a delivery and swung by Dunhuang’s place to return the DVDs. It was nearing dusk, and Dunhuang had just gotten back. Huang, the student, wanted both the new and original versions of Spring in a Small Town, and Dunhuang was waiting for his call. Bored senseless, he was watching Japanese porn. When Qibao called his cellphone she was already at the west gate of Peking University. Dunhuang quickly shut off the DVD player and went to meet her.