Hou could not help casting a glance at Jin. She was dressed in a purple sweater and white pants, barefoot in the hotel slippers, and with a towel draped over her shoulder. She looked like a college student coming out of a communal bathroom. Carrying two plastic shopping bags in her hand, she appeared to be at ease, as if she was at home.

  ‘So you’re back, Jin. Anything new to discuss with your director?’

  ‘Nothing new. After I delivered the barbeque buns to his mother, I did some housework for her. She’s all alone, very fragile, but her mind is still clear. I promised that I would visit her again soon.

  ‘Then I did some shopping on the way back. A French press for Director Chen’s coffee. The instant coffee in the hotel is not strong enough for him, I know. And a haircut kit. I need to trim his hair. It’s not a good idea for him to go out and be in close contact with a barber or other customers. At home, I have cut my father’s hair for years. I’m quite experienced.’

  ‘Director Chen could not have a more capable and more considerate secretary.’

  ‘When the world may come to an end for you tomorrow, you still have to take care of today.’

  ‘Yes, we’re all under a lot of stress,’ Hou said. ‘I’ll go in there with you for a minute.’

  ‘Oh, Jin – and Hou,’ Chen said, opening the door. He must have heard them talking in the corridor.

  ‘I’ve delivered the shopping to your mother. She looks quite spirited for her age – surprisingly clear-minded, too.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Jin.’

  ‘She wanted me to say thank you to you, Chief Hou, and to wish you success in your important work. And she wants me to take good care of you, Director Chen. One complaint she made was about your frequent forgetting to cut your hair. So I’m following her instructions to the letter. The virus is fast spreading in the city, and you’d better not step out unless absolutely necessary. Let me cut your hair instead this afternoon. I’m quite an experienced barber. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Jin is right,’ Hou said, losing no time cutting in. ‘She also bought you a French press for your coffee. She is taking wonderful care of you. Indeed, from heel to hair.’

  ‘Samson complex,’ Chen said.

  ‘What do you mean, Director Chen?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Chief Hou,’ Jin said with a giggle. ‘Our poet/director cannot help quoting from Chinese and Western literature all the time.’

  ‘Yes, that’s just like him. Give me the receipt, Jin,’ Hou said with a chuckle, too, ‘and I’ll reimburse you for the French press and haircut kit. It’s a necessary expense for our special investigation during the Covid crisis.’

  But before they could step into his room, Chen said unexpectedly with a pallid face. ‘Sorry, I’m feeling a bit sick right now.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Director Chen?’ Jin asked. ‘Shall I take you to the hospital?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing serious. I slept little last night, and then drank too much coffee just before your return. So it may just be a sort of coffee sickness.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave the kit and the French press in your room. I will do my Samson job later.’

  ‘Yes, Director Chen has been working too hard,’ Hou said. ‘Let’s leave him.’

  Chen thought he could still hear fragments of the talk between Hou and Jin out in the corridor.

  He chose to lie down on his bed for a short while, thinking with his eyes closed, as if still suffering a wave of coffee sickness as he had told the other two.

  Down on bad luck, what can I do?

  Before daring to turn, I hit my head.

  Two lines came to him from Lu Xun, one of the few modern Chinese writers he had admired. He failed to recall the last two lines of the poem exactly, possibly something like:

  Hiding in the attic, I find my unified world,

  caring not about the season change outside.

  The question was, however, where could the former chief inspector hide himself – with the omnipotent and omnipresent surveillance system, enhanced with advanced technology?

  He managed to get up, his legs still wobbly, acting like a conscientious cop still trying to work hard on his convalescent leave.

  There could have been a reason that Jin had left her things in his room. He moved over to the desk, removed the kit to the bottom level of a wooden shelf, unobservable from the perspective of a hidden camera. Although he had searched the room with a camera detector without finding anything, it would not hurt to be extra cautious.

  Sure enough, his fingers touched on a tiny memory stick hidden in the haircut kit. Moving back to the desk, he inserted the memory stick into the laptop. It was a conversation between Mr Gu and Jin. At the start of the recording, Jin said a couple of sentences by way of explanation.

  ‘Mr Gu seemed to be very enthusiastic about the idea, eager to do something for you even before I told him many of the details. I think I can guess why he told me a story about himself. You may listen to it at your leisure.’

  Chen started listening to Mr Gu’s narration without waiting.

  ‘As in the old Chinese saying, a dead pig does not fear boiling water. Let me give you a recent example, Jin. In the pandemic panic, people rushed out to the supermarkets and stores, trying to grab whatever was available. In the event of a whole-city lockdown as in Wuhan, they would not be able to go out at all, not even for necessary shopping. The Party government did not keep its promise that all necessary food products would be delivered to the quarantined areas. What they delivered was nothing but a show staged by the Party cadres and journalists, who took pictures of the ample grocery supply for political propaganda. In reality, most of the groceries were immediately snatched back at the end of the show, and what was left there exhibited an unbelievable price tag.

  ‘So the locked-up residents or netizens complained and protested online. They mentioned, among other things, that the Hippos, a national chain of supermarkets under my name, with a number of stores in Wuhan, too, still managed to supply a fairly large variety of foods with the prices unchanged.

  ‘I can show you several pictures posted on WeChat. Like lists of comparative supply and price studies with sarcastic comments left by netizens.’

  ‘That’s unbelievable, Mr Gu.’

  ‘The government was so upset, however, with the business practice of Hippos. It was like a slap in the face to them. For me, my policy was not intended as a criticism of the CCP practice. It was the least I thought I could have done for the Wuhan people during these hard times. I’m not capable of helping them in any substantial way, but it was worth trying to send them those items they needed at a fair price.

  ‘Guess what the government did to punish me? They sent food hygiene inspectors to Hippos. It’s like trying to pick bones out of an egg. What was the accusation those inspectors made against Hippos? You won’t believe it. They claimed that the eggs on the shelves were not washed clean, so the supermarkets had to close down with a heavy fine.’

  ‘That’s absurd, Mr Gu. It’s common knowledge that eggs cannot be washed, or they’ll go bad quickly.’

  ‘Whatever they say is law, Jin, and whatever you say is against the law. They even reported Hippos’ punishment in the official newspaper, saying it was done in accordance with government laws and regulations. It caused an angry uproar on the Internet, though. Netizens argued that it was scandalous, when people were starving, that the state-run stores were not punished for their failure to deliver, but the stores like Hippos that delivered were actually punished. That made the government even more furious. And thinking about the next steps they could take literally sent a chill down my spine …’

  Afterward, Chen called Jin through the hotel phone line. ‘I’m much better now, Jin. It was nothing but a wave of coffee sickness. You may come over now for your Delilah job. You are still keen to do it, right?’

  ‘Spare me, Director Chen. You know I will never be your unfaithful Delilah.’

  Their joke on the hotel phone line could have been tapped. It sounded like a Party official making jokes with his pretty little secretary. It was common.

  And why not?

  Let others think he was just like other Party officials, who were used to indulging themselves in the company of sexy little secretaries – or little ‘sextaries’ – in luxurious hotel rooms. They could indulge in their fantasies about what the former chief inspector got up to in Jin’s company … except that it was in a not-so-fancy hotel room.

  There was a knock at the door. Jin stepped in, still wearing the purple sweater, white pants, and barefoot in the hotel slippers. She picked up the plastic bag containing the scissors and clippers.

  ‘It’s hard for people to have their hair cut outside, Chen. Most of the barber shops in the city are closed. Not to mention the serious consequence of potential close contact. I’ve just read a joke online. In the Covid camps for the possibly positive, someone capable of haircutting made a small fortune out of it. He did not want to leave, even after his test turned negative!’

  So saying, she tied the plastic apron around his neck deftly, and the clipper in her hand started buzzing.

  She noticed his hand slipped into his pant pocket under the plastic apron, and he moved as if to withdraw something from it.

  ‘Sit tight,’ she said, like a naughty ‘little secretary’ to her man, before she leaned down, a flash of her white breast partially visible in the purple sweater, and moved to study the curve of his hairstyle from beneath in the manner of a professional.

  Her hand reached down under the cover of the plastic hair apron and met his.

  As she supposed, she touched a memory stick in his hand. She grasped his hand for a second – like an amorous ‘little secretary’ – in case she was caught by a hidden camera, before she withdrew her hand again.

  She did not think the surveillance system could detect anything suspicious in the middle of her haircutting, with the apron covering their furtive movements.

  After the haircut was finished, Chen took Jin to Hou’s room to make a proposal to him.

  ‘I took a short nap and then had a haircut, and I’m feeling much better, Hou. I would like to take a walk outside with Jin. I have an elusive hunch about the third case. Based on the pictures and descriptions in the new autopsy report, I’m inclined to the theory that Doctor Wu was killed by a different murderer. I have to examine the hospital parking lot close up. It’s a long shot, needless to say. And on the way back, I may also drop in at the Foreign Language Bookstore across the street. Of course, you can always reach me; we won’t go too far.’

  ‘Sounds like an excellent idea, Director Chen, but the Foreign Language Bookstore—’

  ‘Oh, I have not yet told you, Hou. I’ve been engaged on a poetry translation project.’

  ‘You’re working so hard!’

  ‘I happened to visit Wuhan three or four months ago, you may have heard, for a literature conference. A publisher, in association with the Wuhan Tourism Bureau, has asked me to translate a collection of classic Chinese poems about their local tourist attractions, such as Yellow Crane Tower, the Turtle and the Snake, the Yangtze River, and so on. I cannot do anything for the Wuhan people at this moment, but when the pandemic is over, international tourists will come flooding back, wondering at the ancient city’s magnificent scenes, along with the related classic Chinese poems.’

  ‘Oh, yes, it’s a wonderful project,’ Jin said. ‘Our poetic inspector.’

  ‘I’m bookish, but not that bookish. We’re working on a critical case; I know it’s my priority. As in other investigations, however, there’re moments when my mind is bogged down, stuck as if in a pail of sticky rice paste. Possibly this is because I have been sleeping badly, unable to close my eyes until after midnight. Something different and less stressful, like the translation of a short poem, may help to clear my mind.’

  ‘Really,’ Hou added in haste, ‘your coffee sickness is also caused by too much stress, I think. I’m sorry to drag you out working during your convalescent leave, Director Chen. It’s too much for you, I understand.’

  ‘I’ll accompany you to the crime scenes, Director Chen,’ Jin said, losing no time in chipping in. ‘It’s getting dark.’

  ‘That will work. I’ll leave Director Chen in your good hands, Jin. Believe it or not, the two of you walking out together may appear more natural to passers-by,’ Hou said with an ambiguous grin, though he was being accommodating in his own way. ‘A Party boss on convalescent leave strolls out with his pretty little secretary.’

  ‘A pretty little secretary’ sounded like a teasing, intentional remark. She was a bit surprised but chose not to say anything. Nor did Chen.

  As they were stepping out of the hotel, a lone sparrow was pecking in the dirty slush. All of a sudden, the bird was startled into flight, its black wings flashing against the late-afternoon light. Jin’s soft fingers rubbed Chen’s palm.

  ‘We’re now beyond the hearing of Hou and his people, I think,’ she said, looking over her shoulder before she caught a glimpse of Hou poking his head stealthily out of the hotel door.

  East of the Apricot Blossom Pavilion, a plum tree was breaking into pink blossoms over the white snow on the ground. Another ambulance tore down in their direction, sounding its siren like mad, and screeched to a halt around the corner of Fuzhou Road.

  Jin walked beside Chen in silence for half a block before she looked up at him.

  ‘Hou was making fun of us,’ she said, her dimples blushing against the silver flakes.

  ‘Yes, Hou seems to be different than I expected. He does try to keep us in his sight as much as possible – but then not too much, lest we catch him spying. I’m having a hard time figuring him out. For survival in the political world, most Chinese officials have to be skillful in doublespeaking or doublethinking.’

  ‘Doublespeaking or doublethinking? What do you mean?’

  ‘Again, these are terms from George Orwell’s 1984. Hou knows only too well how things really are in today’s China. For a man in his position, however, he has to speak in the official language – in contradiction to his own language on non-official occasions. The same with doublethinking. Hou is not dumb, but he chooses to let the CCP’s orthodox ideas dominate his mind. It’s an instinct for survivors to do so in today’s China.’

  ‘I’ve started reading the book, but for a doublespeaker or a doublethinker, it may be hardly different from those completely brainwashed Little Red Guards.’

  ‘Little Red Guards?’ Chen asked.

  ‘Initially, the Little Red Guards were called “Little Pinkish,”’ she explained, ‘but they soon proved to be even crazier than Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution, so they’re by no means “Little.” They call others traitors in avalanches of posts on the Internet. Now they even have their comrades in arms – the “Big Whites.”’

  ‘I think I’ve heard of them, too. So are the Big Whites doctors and nurses?’

  ‘You must have been too busy with your classic Chinese poetry. The so-called Big Whites are those anti-Covid personnel dispatched all over the city. When a subdivision or a district falls under lockdown, the Big Whites represent the CCP to give orders, to carry out the lockdown regulations. They can nail up your doors or snatch you out of your home and put you in a concentration camp. You cannot argue or fight with them, or you will be marched into jail.’ She then changed the topic with a sigh, ‘Enough of the Covid disaster. It depresses me to keep talking like that.’

  ‘Back to our doublespeaking Hou. It reminds me of a poem in The Romance of Three Kingdoms.’

  ‘You may as well give me another poetry lecture, Chen.’

  ‘You remember the part about Liu pretending to be a timid man who dropped his wine cup at a sudden thunderclap, and said that all he dreamed about was to take good care of his vegetable garden?’

  ‘In spite of my history major, I cannot say I remember that particular episode,’ Jin said.

  ‘It has been fictionalized. But guess why Liu had to play such a role in Cao Cao’s company?’ Chen went on without waiting for her answer. ‘He tried to convince Cao that he was a man of no political ambition, and he succeeded in lowering the latter’s guard around him.’

  ‘So you mean that the spicy speculations about a Party boss on leave in the company of his little secretary, a scenario frequently seen in corruption investigations, may go a long way to making them believe you’re one of them? Failing that, the gossip about a dispirited Party cop indulging himself in poetry and romantic affairs could also speak volumes, so those higher up would not have to worry about him as a real troublemaker?’

  ‘Whether it will work or not, I don’t know. It won’t hurt for them to think so. Sorry about this, Jin.’

  ‘Sorry about what? Whether it works or not, it’s a role I’m willing to play. Not just in the speculation of Hou and others.’

  In the last few days, Fuzhou Road had literally turned into a street of ambulances. It was difficult for them to talk in the midst of continuous sirens.

  ‘Let us go and take another look at the crime scenes,’ he said, ‘particularly the hospital parking lot.’

  ‘Let’s go then, you and I.’

  ‘You, too, are becoming Eliotic, Jin.’

  ‘I cannot help it, being your little secretary.’

  She hooked her hand into his arm again. The big clock on top of the Custom House on the Bund was striking the hour loudly. Five or six; he did not catch it.

  By the roadside, he was surprised to see something like the half-burnt skeleton of a white rabbit lantern, a torn paper ear still trembling in the air.

  People usually burned paper lanterns after the Lantern Festival. Possibly some kids had kept the lantern after the festival, burned it belatedly, and thrown the unburnt skeleton there.

  More likely, the world had been turned upside down in the pandemic. People did not care anymore.

  ‘What are you thinking, Chen?’

  ‘A poem by the Song dynasty poet named Ouyang Xiu. But the poem “Lantern Festival” could be applied to today as well. What was, what is not.’