‘But I think I need to go to the Apricot Blossom Pavilion now,’ Jin said, taking another bite and licking her slender fingers, ‘to purchase barbeque buns for Director Chen’s mother. I’ve just heard that people are rushing into all the stores in the city, grabbing whatever they can still lay their hands on.’

  ‘They don’t have to do that,’ Hou said, shaking his head like a rattle drum.

  ‘But with the bitter lessons from Wuhan,’ Jin said, not without a suggestion of sarcasm, ‘the ordinary people are simply scared out of their wits.’

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot, Jin,’ Chen said hastily. ‘The money for your shopping today.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about it, Director Chen.’

  ‘No, you have to take it. That’s the least a faithless son like me can do.’

  He pushed over a wad of money to her and pressed her hand, as if insisting.

  She touched the money, felt something small wrapped inside, and whisked it into the pocket of her white down jacket.

  Hou was still standing beside them.

  ‘So you’re doing the shopping for Chen’s mother this morning?’ Hou asked, taking out his phone. ‘That’s a splendid idea, Jin. I, too, have prepared a shopping list for you. I’m sending it to your phone right now. It’s also for Director Chen’s mother. Don’t worry about the expense. It’s covered in our budget. Nothing but a token of the team’s gratitude for his help.’

  ‘You do not have to do that,’ Chen said. ‘It’s my responsibility. I cannot accept it.’

  ‘Let’s not argue about it, Director Chen. Last night, I talked to the leading comrades about your contribution to the investigation. They insisted that the city government should express its indebtedness to you. So you don’t need to stand on ceremony with me. And Jin, according to the new policy in these Covid times,’ Hou turned to her, ‘people will receive three hundred yuan per day for working away from home. I’ve sent the form to your mailbox. You just need to fill it out. And you may as well do the same for Director Chen.’

  ‘That is so considerate of you, Chief Hou,’ Jin said.

  ‘Oh, and don’t forget to wear two medical masks while you shop, Jin,’ Hou added in haste.

  ‘Thank you. I will. I’d better leave now,’ Jin said. Then she asked rhetorically, ‘How many subways will be closed today?’

  Watching Jin’s retreating figure, Hou said that he would like to smoke a cigarette and moved aside. It was then that Pang inexpertly sent another message to Chen.

  ‘I’ve just placed a post on WeChat. You may still be able to see it.’

  ‘You are doing so many things. I wish I could be with you in Wuhan,’ Chen replied.

  ‘It’s nothing. If only it could reach more people.’

  ‘Why should it not? What you saw, heard, and did these Covid days. Your first-hand perspective. That’s exactly what people want to read.’

  ‘I posted several pieces online, as you know, but most of them get blocked immediately. Like this morning’s post; I tried again, but you won’t be able to find it this afternoon, let alone tonight.’

  ‘I’ll download it and save it to another file. Don’t worry about it—’

  But Hou was coming back.

  The day began smoothly for Jin.

  Standing in a line at Apricot Blossom Pavilion’s barbeque bun counter, she was marveling at the large bamboo steamers full of soft white buns when she got another text message from Molong.

  ‘Tell him I’ve just had another discussion with his friend in Wuhan. It will not be too difficult to find a way for at least parts of The Wuhan File to get posted online in Chinese. They should remain visible for three or four days.’

  ‘You’re so resourceful, but you must be extra cautious for your own sake, Molong,’ she replied. ‘People have been put into jail for merely using VPNs or things like that. It’s another instance of the so-called thoughtcrimes, fashionable and profitable among the Netcops. They are said to get a bonus for the number of thought criminals they put into jail.’

  ‘It’s not a problem for me, Jin. Chief Inspector Chen may not have told you about my experience in this field. But the problem remains: a book like this would never get published in China. No Chinese publisher would consider it. The CCP censorship – you must have heard of it. Not unless it’s printed outside of China, and in another language. But for it to appear outside of China, I don’t think Google translate can do the job.’

  ‘Director Chen is doing something about it, but I’m not too clear exactly what that is. I’ll find out.’

  She had to talk to Chen first about how far he was willing to go. A snowy wind ruffled her hair.

  Molong also told her what he had learned through his secret access to websites outside China. A number of theories had raised questions regarding the origin of Covid. The World Health Organization sent a special team over to Wuhan for this purpose, but they were barred from getting a lot of essential information. He could make a separate file about this if Chen was interested.

  Moving along in the line while exchanging text messages, she was surprised to find herself already at the snack counter. She had no time to reply to Molong and turned to her shopping task in a hurry, following the two lists she had been given this morning, one from Chen and one from Hou.

  Back in the hotel room, Chen began reading the detailed new autopsy reports that Hou had promised to deliver into his hands, and looking at a number of high-resolution pictures attached.

  After drinking two cups of coffee and making one short phone call to his long-time partner Detective Yu in the Shanghai Police Bureau, Chen was still rubbing his eyes over the pictures. He should have another pair of glasses made, he thought.

  On the surface, each of the three victims had been killed by a heavy blunt object hitting the head. When examined more closely, however, particularly with the help of the pictures, small differences could be detected.

  For the first victim, two strikes, one near the neck and another one at the back of the skull; for the second victim, just one ferocious strike; and for the third victim, at least four or five strikes. The murder weapon for the third victim seemed lighter than the first two, possibly without the heavy hammer-like head – hence the need for four or five strikes.

  What could all this mean?

  A possible crack in the theory that this was a serial murder case, he contemplated, sighing.

  He wished Jin could have been with him at this moment, discussing his concern from her perspective. Without any investigation training in her background, she had still turned out to be a clever, cunning, clear-thinking assistant to the former chief inspector, capable of taking the initiative and pointing out the possibilities he had not thought of. Not to mention her unconcealed affection for him in the midst of these difficult errands.

  A Tang dynasty poem titled ‘Parting’ came back to his mind.

  Slender, supple, she’s so young,

  the tip of a cardamom bud

  in early spring.

  Miles and miles along Yangzhou Road,

  the spring wind keeps flapping up

  one pearl-woven curtain

  after another, behind which,

  no one matches her.

  Du Mu wrote the poem on the occasion of parting with a beautiful young girl without knowing when the two of them would be reunited. Jin had parted with him just this morning. It was absurd of him to get sentimental.

  He rose to make himself another cup of coffee, but the instant coffee failed to clear his mind.

  Another disadvantage of staying at the Wu Palace Hotel was that there were too many distractions and noises from Fuzhou Road. A sudden burst of traffic. Trucks delivering supplies to the hotel, and different trucks delivering supplies to the restaurant, not to mention the ambulances, one after another, howling past under the hotel window. Putting down the autopsy reports, Chen wondered again what role he was supposed to play in the investigation.

  The three people in the hospital had been killed in the time of Covid, when doctors and nurses were being portrayed as the most heroic and beloved of all Chinese citizens. Thinking politically, it was a matter of extreme urgency for the Shanghai government to solve the case as quickly as possible. It meant a lot, too, for the appearance of ‘social stability,’ which was the number-one political priority for the CCP regime. Not to mention that the unbearable horror of the serial murderer remaining at large was hanging over people’s heads like a sword, ready to fall at any moment.

  Because of all this, the former chief inspector had turned into a necessary choice for the people above. He might help to solve the case quickly, and bringing him on board also demonstrated to the people that the city government was doing its utmost, even inviting help from someone like Chen. And at the same time, the fact that the legendary Chief Inspector Chen was still doing his job in the Party system could serve as a sort of tranquilizer to the ordinary people.

  Hence his dilemma. He was in no mood to serve as a cop for the Party regime. With a serial murderer prowling in the Covid-devastated city, however, he could not help seeing it as his duty to solve the case and stop the murderer.

  In frustration, he put the Do not disturb sign on the door, took out The Wuhan File, and started translating one episode. It was out of the question that he could finish it all in the hotel, but some sample pages might help him feel better.

  After delivering the special snacks to Chen’s mother, Jin thought about calling Mr Gu to arrange a face-to-face talk. Because of interruptions in the hotel, she thought that a lot had not been discussed or explained between Chen and her. For that matter, between her and Mr Gu as well.

  On an impulse, she went down the subway and took the train to Madang Road.

  When fighting at the faraway border, a general does not have to listen to the emperor in the capital.

  In other words, she should take initiative again.

  She dialed Mr Gu’s number as soon as she reached her destination. ‘How are you, Mr Gu?’

  He instantly recognized her voice on the phone. ‘Where are you, Jin?’

  ‘Just stepping out of the Madang subway station.’

  ‘Oh, you’re in the neighborhood,’ Gu said with unconcealed excitement in his voice. ‘How about having a cup of coffee with me at Starbucks? It’s near New World’s south entrance. I’ll have a table reserved under a heating lamp outside.’

  ‘That’s great. I need some fresh air, and I won’t have to sit out shivering.’

  ‘No, you won’t. Not with the heating lamp and a blanket, too.’

  This morning, there were not many customers at the popular café. At least, no one else was sitting outside. A few snowflakes danced pathetically in the whistling wind. Two or three small gray birds circled around a barren tree, as if debating whether to perch on this or that withered twig, yet without settling on any of them.

  Mr Gu hurried to the café in a gray wool overcoat. ‘My office is in that tall building over there, Jin. Just a stone’s throw away.’

  ‘Wow, the headquarters of New World Group under your name. Splendid.’

  ‘What’s so splendid? A brave new world – with Big Brother watching you in the omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient surveillance and control system.’

  A waiter carried a tall heating lamp out to their table, the kind she had seen in a French movie. He also handed a soft red blanket to her. Both Gu and Jin remained silent until the waiter withdrew out of sight.

  ‘We cannot be too careful. As in the old Chinese saying, there are ears eavesdropping over the wall. Believe it or not, it keeps happening even in the very headquarters of my own company.’

  ‘Alas, what can you really say?’ Jin said, believing that was the reason why Mr Gu wanted to meet her out here for a cup of coffee. ‘It reminds me of a Chinese TV movie I saw recently. In one scene, two young lovers are sitting outside in a tiny garden in their subdivision, billing and cooing. Romantic, right? They are reaching out to kiss each other, when the young man jumps up, pulls her into his car parked nearby, and points up at a surveillance camera concealed in the boughs overhead. They laugh so blissfully.’

  ‘They have to live in today’s China. The message from the TV movie is unmistakable: privacy is nothing, and good, law-abiding people can still enjoy themselves under CCP’s surveillance system.’

  ‘By the way, how’s your communication with your family in the United States?’

  ‘Why this question, Jin?’

  ‘Are your emails or messages being checked in secret without your knowledge?’

  ‘That I don’t know, but I don’t think I’m such a big fish at present. Of course, given how things are in China, you can never really tell. The Netcops are crawling like anxious ants on a hot wok, too, desperately dealing with the angry netizens in these Covid times. Those WeChat posts protesting against the CCP politicizing the pandemic at the expense of the people are all deleted with a 404 warning in less than an hour.’

  ‘Well, you know Molong, another friend Chen trusts. His mother died because of the government politicizing the pandemic. What a horrible tragedy!’

  ‘Yes, I know. As I may have told you, Molong and I once collaborated to help Chief Inspector Chen solve a sinister political murder case.’

  ‘Molong may contact you about something. You can discuss any details with him directly.’

  ‘Can you be a bit more specific?’

  ‘I think it’s about a plan for Molong to send a document to your family in the United States,’ Jin said delicately. ‘He’ll have the document encrypted, but once it reaches the States, we will need help from your family.’

  ‘Strictly confidential; I get it. That should not be a problem. My wife also met Chief Inspector Chen a couple of times. Guess what she said to me? Honest cops are like an endangered species in today’s China, and she’s happy that I have a good friend in a cop of integrity like Chief Inspector Chen. I’ll let you know as soon as my wife gets this document.’

  ‘Perhaps we may be able to discuss the possible next steps right now. They’re in New York, right?’

  ‘Yes, in New York. My daughter is studying at New York University. Anything they can do there, let me know.’

  The waiter approached their table with a pot of freshly made hot coffee and dainty dishes of exquisite cookies and cakes.

  They waited patiently for him to withdraw out of sight.

  For a change, Chen began reading the new pieces of The Wuhan File sent over from Molong. In Pang’s haunting lines, Chen felt as if he were being placed among the moaning, panting, complaining, protesting, and starving Wuhan people.

  As reported by Pang, the number of deaths from Covid was far surpassed by the number of deaths that were collateral damage. The CCP’s zero-Covid policy insisted on repeated tests, a brutal lockdown, no admittance into hospitals without a green Covid code, no exit out of the home without a green Covid code …

  All of this was carried out in the name of China’s great battle against Covid. In the meantime, the CCP was using the Covid crisis as their much-needed justification to surveil and suppress any real or imagined challenge to their teetering totalitarian regime.

  The pandemic would eventually be over, but would these practices go on indefinitely, as in 1984?

  People had become so angry, anxious, depressed, panicky, and helpless, struggling in vain under the watchful gaze of the CCP’s cameras, like frogs in the increasingly hot water of a gigantic glass cauldron. This was not happening in Wuhan alone but in Shanghai, and in other cities, too. Or, just like a couple of days ago, when Molong had knelt weeping, uncontrollably, by the hard bench outside the emergency room.

  Would that really turn out to be the serial killer’s motive? He did not know. It had not been a strong enough motive for Molong, at least. His mother was old, fragile, and a cancer survivor. The hospital was not totally to blame for her death.

  As a common-sense approach for the special team in the hotel, they could try to focus on people like the grief-stricken family members of people who had died, but for some reason hardly known to himself, Chen was still debating whether to make such a suggestion or not. Besides, if the aim was to prevent another murder, it was an almost impossible mission for the team. So many people had been affected.

  Chen’s thoughts wandered back to Dr Wu again, so he read through the new hospital information Molong had gathered for him. An experienced senior heart specialist, the doctor had been praised as the hospital’s number-one surgeon. It was whispered that most patients had to hand him a bulging red envelope for the chance of being operated on by him. Despite sudden surges of patients with the Covid outbreak, though, he was never once called into the emergency room to help. Whatever the scenario of medical disputes, it could not have involved Dr Wu during Covid.

  Then there was the location of his murder to consider. With the pandemic running amok, the traffic became worse around the hospital area, and it was extremely difficult to find a place to park. The doctors could not afford the time to drive round and round for a parking spot. So the hospital had a makeshift parking lot constructed for the exclusive use of hospital staff …

  Chen then noticed a detail in Dr Wu’s file. Dr Wu lived in a lane on the corner of Jinling and Fujian Roads. Chen had a feeling that he might be able to find something relevant through the neighborhood committees there.

  But his train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. It sounded like a woodpecker pecking stubbornly on a hollow trunk. He opened the door to see Hou standing in the doorway, smiling, asking him to come down for lunch in the hotel canteen.

  Jin got back to the hotel in the afternoon.

  After washing her face with a towel, she stepped out of her room and headed to Chen’s. She saw Hou pacing along the corridor, smoking a cigarette with long, deliberate intakes. Smoking was not allowed in the hotel, but the special team enjoyed some special privileges. After all, they had the whole floor booked in the name of the city government.