As the long-vanished green benches in the park had been, our offices would also be close. After all these years, we had so much to catch up on …

  It might not be too late to start again. For a moment, other considerations came crowding in, but I was no longer that young, naive girl in the park, reading romantic poems under the weeping willow.

  A blue jay’s wings flashed once more in the fading light.

  I produced my phone and texted my driver to pick me up before I rose to take leave of the people in front of the lane, bowing first to Yingchang and then to Old Root.

  “Thank you for telling me all these things about him, Yingchang, and thank you, Uncle Old Root, for speaking so highly of him. That really means a lot to me. And thanks to all of you here, for your help and support to him.”

  Turning around the corner of Fujian Road, on my way to meet my driver, I looked back over my shoulder to the scene of the dust-covered lane in the glowing dusk. Red Dust. I found my eyes moist as the sound of a siren came afar from the river.

  Around twenty to nine in the morning, Jin stepped into Red Dust Lane, wearing a light blue face mask.

  She passed one boarded window after another as she walked along the lane. From a distance, it seemed as if each and every window was telling its own unique story, the meaning known only to the room’s former inhabitants, though open to interpretation in others’ imaginations.

  The last time she had visited the lane was during the Covid pandemic, wearing a red face mask with five stars embroidered in the corner. It had been called a patriotic face mask back then. She’d thought she’d better wear it, as a show of political correctness, while she’d been there in Chen’s company during the investigation of a serial murder case connected with Red Dust Lane.

  It was true that Chen had a mysterious connection with the lane. She had heard him mention it quite a number of times, though without telling her anything really significant.

  Halfway along the lane, she came to an abrupt stop.

  A gray-haired, bespectacled old man appeared out of nowhere from a corner. He was bending low to feed a famished black cat with steamed bun crumbs he was holding out with tremulous fingers. She whipped out her cell phone and retrieved a picture Chen had forwarded to her.

  Four-eyed Zhang!

  She recognized him from the photo. It was him, no question about it. Not at all. Seeing him like this was providential.

  Jin took a furtive glance around. There was no one else visible in the section of the lane. She approached Zhang soft-footedly and introduced herself as someone who worked in Chen’s office. She then relayed the message Chen had instructed her to tell Zhang—that Chen trusted her.

  “Oh, you are such a pretty young girl, Jin,” Zhang said in haste. “Truly you are the one for him. And you are so lucky to work with a great boss like Chief Inspector Chen.”

  “I, too, consider myself really lucky to work with such a great boss as Director Chen. Today I’m here for a job he has assigned me. Can we find a place to talk in private?”

  “Come to my small, untidy room, then—that is, if you don’t mind that it is dust-covered because of the demolition happening in the lane. I have to apologize to you about it.”

  Zhang had warned her that his room was untidy, but Jin was nonetheless shocked the moment she stepped into his tiny tingzijian room. It looked more like a dingy enclave dug out under the darksome staircase, no more than ten square meters in size. And despite that, it was in total disorder, covered not just in dust, but also in cobwebs and debris. There was a suspicious smell to the room.

  Zhang must have been in his early or mid-seventies. For a lonely old man, life in such a place was hard indeed.

  Zhang removed a pile of old books and newspapers in haste from the one and only chair in the room, and signaled for her to sit on it. He himself simply perched on the edge of the unmade bed.

  “Just a couple of days ago, Director Chen talked to you about things in the lane,” Jin said. “He highlighted the final Red Dust Evening Talk, for which X served as the keynote speaker that night.”

  “Yes, we talked a lot about it. Director Chen has been conducting an important investigation concerning X, I guessed.”

  “That’s exactly what he has been doing of late. Among other things you told Director Chen, you mentioned that someone in the audience that evening took out his cell phone—possibly for the purpose of taking pictures or making a recording of X’s narration. Correct?”

  “You’re right about that. Now that you mention it, I think it’s far more likely that he took it out for the purpose of making a recording. Wenlong, the audience member in question, held the phone in his hand throughout that evening talk. More likely than not, it was as a souvenir of the disappearing tradition unique to our Red Dust Lane, I think.”

  “Can you get in touch with Wenlong?”

  “Of course I can. It would be a great honor for me to do something for Director Chen.”

  “Ask Wenlong whether he has kept the recording of that last evening talk. If he has, can he download it for you? Or you can give him my phone to transfer it on. Mind you, I need it from the beginning to the end.”

  “That should not be a problem. Wenlong is another ‘nailed-down resident’ in our lane, just like me. He is a long-standing regular attendee of the evening talks too. If it’s something urgent for Director Chen, I can go over and talk to Wenlong right now. I saw him just about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “It’s very urgent,” she said, nodding. “In fact, it’s a matter of life and death. But don’t say anything to Wenlong about Director Chen or about me, please. Not a single word.”

  “Got you, Jin. Wenlong is just around the corner from here. If you are really in a hurry, you may as well wait for me. It won’t take me too long to get back.”

  “Then I’ll wait for you here.”

  “That’s good. It won’t be too long.”

  So saying, Zhang rose and headed out of the tiny room, his steps seemingly energetic all of a sudden.

  DAY 5

  Noon

  “A Scene of Jinling”

  Wei Zhuang (836–910)

  The rain falling in the river,

  reeds overgrowing everywhere,

  six dynasties gone as in a dream—

  the birds keep twittering for nothing.

  Uncaring, the willows lined

  along the City of Tai cover

  the ten-mile-long bank, as

  before, in the green mist.

  Jinling, the present-day Najing, is a city that was China’s capital for six dynasties prior to the Tang dynasty.

  “Justification”

  Chen Cao

  A withered tree turns out to be

  ideal for the termites, which

  legitimate the continuous noise

  of a philosopher-billed woodpecker

  deep in the woods, where

  a henpecked hunter skulks

  around in dread of his wife,

  half-heartedly raising

  his gun.

  Once, a comrade lectured me

  on politics and logic, her

  bare shoulder rippling

  under my palm: “Do

  whatever you want, and

  you’ll always find reasons

  later.” An apple rolled

  out of her picnic hamper. Snatches

  of a pipa melody drifted

  from a blue boat. I lost myself

  in her cascading hair

  smelling of barbecued ribs.

  Written after the Tian’anmen Square tragedy of June 4th, 1989 in Beijing.

  About three hours later, another light knock came on Chen’s apartment door. He opened the door to see Jin there, carrying another plastic box in her hand.

  “Brown-sugared sticky rice cake,” she said as she stepped inside, holding the box high. “I remember you once told me that it was your favorite snack when you were a child, but it disappeared in recent years. I happened to discover it today in a small snack store called Old Shanghainese.”

  This was not the true reason for her visit, Chen could tell. While some people above could suspect there was something more between Chen and Jin, he was not too alarmed by it. From the official perspective of those high above him, it would not be a big issue for the two of them to fall into a romantic entanglement. It was the same logic as the romance between General Cai and Little Phoenix Fairy, seen from the perspective of the would-be Emperor Yuan.

  Indeed, as in the movie Music Understanding, the façade of an amorous relationship between them could help convince “the Big Brother watching” that Chen was not mixing himself up in dangerous political investigations these days—he had simply lost himself in Jin’s youthful arms.

  Ironically, the same thing had given General Cai the chance to slip away from the Forbidden City, where the would-be emperor was still dreaming his spring and autumn dream of mounting the gold throne.

  “If you want to listen to something intriguing, you would do well to check out my phone. In the meantime,” she said, turning toward the kitchen, “I’m going to fry these brown-sugared sticky rice cakes on a flat pan for you.”

  “So—” Chen did not finish the sentence.

  He had pretty much guessed what she wanted him to listen to—the recording of X’s narration during the last evening talk in Red Dust Lane.

  “Thank you so much for your discovery, Jin.”

  He was amazed how she had carried out the job so quickly and effectively for him.

  Jin was putting on the hyacinth-embroidered apron around her slender waist again, flashing a smile like the blossoming flower in the sunlight. She was about to move into the kitchen when she stopped, turning to pour him a cup of black tea mixed with honey and place it on his desk.

  “It may take time for me to fry the rice cake, Director Chen. Here is a pair of earbuds for you.” Then she added as if as an afterthought, “I’ve heard that honey tea may be helpful for your throat. You have smoked too much in the past.”

  She was thoughtful. Chen took a sip of the tea as Jin headed back to the kitchen.

  In one version of the long-ago romance, General Cai passed away because of a severe throat sickness. Chen hastened to push away, however, the ominous association. Then he found the file that contained the recording of the evening in question, and pressed play.

  X’s voice flowed out of Jin’s phone.

  “I’m sorry I have never participated in the Red Dust Evening Talk before. This is for reasons I hope you may understand. But now as this is the last ever evening talk, let me tell you this romantic story as a sort of belated contribution to the lane’s unique tradition. I’m also telling it as a belated tribute to Old Root. What a wise, insightful, kind-hearted old man!

  “The story of the romance between General Cai and Little Phoenix Fairy is based on a true episode in China’s history. It’s a very touching one, especially when examined in light of the historical background. General Cai came to the fore in the heroic uprising of 1911, fighting with his troops in Yunnan Province in rebellion against the Qing dynasty’s last emperor. With an unwavering belief in the new Republic of China, he fought hard, and brilliantly, against great odds. After having won several major battles, he was celebrated as an invincible general. His successes on battlefields all over China greatly contributed to the overthrow of the Qing dynasty and the subsequent founding of the Republic of China.

  “But something totally unexpected ensued. Hardly had the first President Yuan Shikai of the Republic of China come into power when Yuan started dreaming a spring and autumn dream of turning the clock back and making himself a new Chinese emperor sitting on the splendid gold throne within the Forbidden City. Alas, for the most wanton, shameless, incorrigible emperor complex in the history of China!

  “The would-be Emperor Yuan soon started to change the newly founded Republic’s constitution, which unmistakably pointed toward his shameless goal to restore the monarchy system. Yuan knew only too well that General Cai could either provide a great contribution or be an insurmountable obstruction to this process.

  “Therefore, Yuan summoned General Cai into Beijing and gave him a high-sounding position in recognition of his heroic achievements, yet he assigned no real power or any troops to him. And this position purposely kept General Cai far, far away from his base in Yunnan Province.

  “Furthermore, Yuan put General Cai under omnipresent secret surveillance. Cai knew it was out of the question for him to leave the Forbidden City and to go back to his soldiers, who were waiting for him in Yunnan Province. He worried himself sick.

  “As it happened, General Cai then met Little Phoenix Fairy in the capital. She was a charming, celebrated young courtesan in Beijing. Some of you may still remember a popular movie made in the eighties called Music Understanding. In classical Chinese language, this phrase signifies that the people in question understand and appreciate each other. Little Phoenix Fairy, in spite of her poor background, turned out to be the one who truly understood, appreciated, and adored General Cai. She knew he was worried about the prospect of President Yuan turning into Emperor Yuan, and of the demise of the young Republic. And she shared his worries, pledging she would do anything for him.

  “So the two of them decided to put on a show in public. General Cai would pretend that, instead of still being someone determined to fight for the Republic of China, he had turned into a man lost in the sexual bliss of the red dust world. And Little Phoenix Fairy played along with this in a convincing manner. She went out of her way to put on a dramatic performance, billing and cooing beside the gallant general who appeared to have fallen head over heels in love with her, nestling against him like a resplendent oriole.

  “In short, he appeared to have forgotten his idealistic dream for the Republic of China, and lost himself in her circling, soft, sensual arms, reminiscent of watery white-jade-like lotus roots.

  “The purpose of the romantic show performed by the two of them was, of course, to make Yuan drop his guard. There’s a much earlier example of such a scheme which took place in the ancient Han dynasty during the Three Kingdom period. A similar show was enacted between General Liu Bei and Premier Cao Cao, the latter another would-be emperor. Liu pretended he had become obsessed with tending the plants in his backyard, giving the impression of now being an utterly contented man with no political ambition whatsoever left. As a result, Cao let down his guard regarding Liu, and the general eventually managed to sneak away from the capital. The sequence is portrayed vividly in the classic novel The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

  “As for the real relationship between General Cai and Little Phoenix Fairy, perhaps no one could tell for sure whether genuine affection began to blossom between the two or not. Like the celebrated couplet at the beginning of Dream of the Red Chamber, another masterpiece in classic Chinese novels:

  When the true becomes the false, the false becomes the true,

  Where there is nothing, there is everything.

  “Not too surprisingly, the would-be Emperor Yuan loosened the surveillance. Little Phoenix Fairy succeeded in arranging a secret escape route for General Cai. She took a huge risk, continuing the deception that the general was in the brothel all the time, losing himself in passionate moments with her, the cloud turning into hot rain as he entwined with her soft body, moaning and groaning loudly in bed, overwhelmed in a sexual rhapsody.

  “With her help, General Cai eventually sneaked out of the Forbidden City under the cover of night. When the would-be Emperor Yuan finally learned that Cai had vanished from the capital, it was already too late for him to pursue the general.

  “The moment General Cai got back to Yunnan Province, he gathered his soldiers around him and launched a heroic uprising against the would-be Emperor Yuan. By this time, the first imperial decree had already been issued, announcing that the Republican year had been changed into the Emperor Yuan’s year.

  “Again, it turned out to be a war against great odds, with the force of one province battling against that of the whole country. General Cai had to exert himself to the very limit, in spite of his health issues.

  “Under his courageous leadership, it did not take too long, however, for people from other parts of the country to join General Cai’s forces. It soon seemed that his troops, as well as those of his allies, would turn the tables and win the war. Devastated by the defeats on the battlefield, and betrayed by warlords who had once pledged allegiance to him, at last Yuan abdicated, giving up his dream of mounting the gold throne with the splendid crown shining on his head. He died shortly afterward in depression.

  “Worn-out by the unbelievable strenuousness of those hard battles, General Cai too fell seriously sick. He was unable to come back to Beijing in triumph, and he passed away without ever being able to see Little Phoenix Fairy again. So it was truly a heart-breaking story if you want to read it as nothing but a romantic tale.”

  The recording did not immediately stop, though. It went on with a period of questions and answers.

  “But it’s such an old story, isn’t it?” one of the audience members of the evening talk asked skeptically. “The movie was made in the eighties, as far as I can remember. The real history behind the story happened at the beginning of the Republic of China, shortly after the overthrow of the Qing dynasty. Why, all of a sudden, has it become such a hot topic online?”

  “Could you hear of such an idealistically romantic tale in today’s China?” X responded with a subdued voice. “No, our society has become so materialistic. You must have read the notorious Internet statement made by a materialistic girl: ‘I would rather choose someone super-rich to marry than someone poor. Better to weep in a luxurious sedan than smile on a broken bike.’”

  “Indeed, who cares about the so-called music understanding in today’s China?” another veteran audience cut in sarcastically. “There’s nothing left of it except so-called money understanding.”