“Well, I remember another proverb you like to quote: ‘A desperately sick man will try any drastic medical procedures.’”

  Besides, given the numerous scandals and crises constantly breaking out in socialist China, people would probably soon forget about someone like him. It was not unthinkable that Chen would soon sink into oblivion.

  “How is the PI business?” Chen asked again, after taking a leisurely sip from the cup. The tea was quite drinkable, but they were not there for the enjoyment of the tea.

  “There are fewer and fewer customers in our office nowadays. So I could afford the time to read a pile of mystery novels in there. You translated one of them, I discovered. Those private investigators in fiction, such as Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot, they have real, exciting cases waiting for them. But in socialist China, the PI profession itself exists only in a gray area. It’s not legally permitted here. As the People’s Daily would say, ‘If you have any problems, you should go to the people’s police. They will surely take care of them for you.’ The logic is simple. If your problems are something you can’t let the government know about, and therefore can’t go to the police for help with, then you truly have serious problems.”

  “You’re just a walking encyclopedia of proverbs and maxims, Old Hunter. The last sentence really sums it up so well.”

  “It also means that we cannot try to do anything if there’s an ongoing police investigation—as long as the official media says there’s an ongoing governmental investigation.”

  “Well, Confucius says, there are things a man will do, and things a man will not do. So there are things a PI can do—like change one or two words in the name of your agency to keep it open—and things a PI can’t do. But how can your agency manage to do any business properly when it’s overwhelmed with such a long ‘can’t-do’ list?”

  “Exactly, Director Chen. It’s tough, but it’s not my agency. As no more than a part-time helper, I don’t think I have to worry too much—” Old Hunter seemed to catch himself abruptly, as if seeing no point going into details.

  “Things are hard, I know. It’s just like in Li Bai’s poem titled ‘The Hard Road’:

  The road is hard for people to travel,

  so hard for people to travel indeed.

  Among the turns of the road ahead,

  which one should I choose to take?”

  “As you may know, Director Chen, most of the PI industry is kept afloat by a lucrative niche market—catching cheaters. With that market, you might not have a customer for three weeks, but then one super-rich client might allow the agency to earn enough to keep it going for three months.

  “In other words, catching cheaters has been the main business for our agency. Chinese socialism doesn’t acknowledge the existence of concubines or ernai, little secretaries, three accompanying girls, foot-massage sisters, and whatnot. Nor does it acknowledge them with any legitimate status. That’s one of the reasons the police sometimes choose not to get involved too much in those cases. Especially those investigations where the cheaters happen to be officials or have an official background.

  “To put it simply, the cops work for the Party system, and the private investigators work for their clients. That’s why even the term ‘PI’ is still taboo in the official media. That’s why it was necessary for our agency to start operating under a different name. The sign at the office still says, ‘Consulting and Investigating.’ Consulting really covers a broad range of activities.

  “But what’s in a name? It’s just like the names of those sex-service operations. You may call it a hair salon, a karaoke club, a foot-washing resort, or whatever you like, as long as it’s nothing about what the people in those places are really up to.”

  “You surely have a point,” Chen said, waiting patiently for the old man to finally come to it.

  “Seven or eight years ago, I had planned to attend a PI convention in Hangzhou, but at the last minute, the convention had to change its name and cancel most of the sessions. I heard that Internal Security was going to be there, and so I immediately canceled the trip. I knew better than to ask for trouble. Of course, I don’t have to tell you about Internal Security, Director Chen. It is an important guideline for our office that we do not accept any cases involving government policies or crimes committed by Party officials. No matter what evidence we come up with, the authorities will never accept it, and Internal Security might come knocking on our door the very next day. The old proverb put it well: ‘All the ravens are equally black under the sun, and all the officials protect and shield one another.’

  “As for how the cheater-catching niche market works, I don’t want to tantalize you like a Suzhou Opera singer. Simply put, it’s most lucrative when the cheaters are Big Bucks—or higher-ranking officials. From time to time, those rich or super-rich clients come knocking on our door. Taking these cases is not without risks, needless to say. Usually, our clients are the wives of Party officials or business tycoons. They’re willing to pay incredible sums. For them, the stakes are very high. As another ancient proverb goes, ‘When you’re luxuriously fed and clad, you can’t help but dream lustfully.’”

  Old Hunter took a long, deliberate sip at the tea and started chewing a green tea leaf before going on. “No need for me to deliver a long lecture about the ‘national moral collapse.’ Our former premier used the expression more than a decade ago. So what? Nowadays, you cannot use the expression in the open. Like a proverb in the Dream of the Red Chamber, ‘What cats are not keen on stealing fish?’ Their wives would spare no expense to save their marriages—or, failing that, to extract the maximum alimony in the event of divorce. Hence their willingness to pay a handsome fee for the much-needed evidence. Needless to say, we have to conduct a careful risk assessment before taking on a job. The fee may not be worth the trouble.”

  Old Hunter kept digressing. Chen did not want to push him, though. The retired cop deserved to indulge himself in memories of some of the glorious moments of his PI career.

  “Indeed, you’re so experienced,” Chen said. “As it says in one of your favorite proverbs, older ginger is spicier. Zhang Zhang has depended on your expertise through all these years to run his agency.”

  “Yes, but of late,” Old Hunter replied, “things have begun changing dramatically. After three years of the zero-Covid policy, with the whole country locked down so tight, breathless, as if in a gigantic coffin, the national economy collapsed. The Big Bucks became Small Bucks, and a number of officials were annihilated because of cut-throat political infighting at the top. Not to mention another fact—that many of them are getting anxious and preparing to flee China at top speed.”

  “All that must have heavily impacted your agency’s business—”

  “You bet, Director Chen. And it has led to a critical situation that I want to consult you about.”

  “Well, you never go to a temple without having something you’re praying for, Old Hunter.”

  “Ah, you have just said another favorite proverb of mine. In my younger days, the newspapers used to portray the Party cadres as good and honest, with just a few rotten eggs. People believed that then, as did I. But what about now?” Old Hunter paused, breathing into his cup, creating a series of expanding ripples on the surface of the tea, before he went on. “Like another classic saying in the Dream of the Red Chamber, ‘Except for a couple of stone lions crouching in front of the mansion, nobody inside is clean.’”

  “Having talked to you for half a day, I think I could work as a private investigator too!” Chen interjected. “It sounds a lot like those old detective movies from the 1930s. The only difference is that you don’t have to carry around a bulky camera on your chest. Now, you can take all the pictures you need with a cell phone instead.”

  “But back to the problem the agency is facing today. Zhang Zhang started talking about closing the business a short while ago. He declared that he could not afford to go on like this. For several months, we haven’t had any cases to investigate, and no potential customers have called us either.

  “But then a mysterious client approached us in person. She is a middle-aged woman surnamed Mei, but her nickname is Shanghai’s Number-One Developer. Sitting in our small office, she offered an incredible retaining fee that we could not afford to decline.”

  “That’s strange,” Chen replied. “A lot of real-estate tycoons are in deep water right now. How could she still afford to pay such a high fee for help?”

  “Yes, there is something strange about her. A couple of years ago, when the housing market was so hot, developers put all their money in—taking whatever bank loans they could lay their hands on, and issuing notes like the future belonged to them alone—but she pulled out her capital from the market. Consequently, unlike the other developers, she has hardly any unpaid loans.

  “Now, the economy has collapsed, and house prices have dropped forty or fifty percent. Still, no one wants to buy. A terrible recession is gripping China. No one could tell how she managed to escape the market crisis.”

  “Yes, it’s hard to believe. It seems as if she benefited enormously,” Chen commented with a touch of black humor in his voice, “from the predictions of a miraculous fortune teller.”

  “You must be a miraculous fortune teller yourself!” Old Hunter replied. “Mei, Shanghai’s Number-One Developer, told me that it was on the advice of a fortune teller named Xiaohui—commonly shortened to X—that she pulled her money out of real estate before the crash that crippled her competitors. Not only did his advice save her business and reputation, but apparently he’s a man she really cares for. She came to us because X has recently landed himself in big trouble. He has been disappeared from his home, and no one knows why. He helped her when she needed it; now she wishes to return the favor.

  “Needless to say, she first wanted to know whether our agency has the capability to help her discover what happened to X and help clear his name. Times are so tough right now that Zhang Zhang had no choice but to give her a detailed list of the cases our agency has solved, despite it being a politically sensitive case, and he mentioned the valuable help we have had from you all these years. And you know what? The moment your name came up, she agreed to work with us. The retainer is actually no less than twenty million yuan. It’s an offer we could not afford to refuse. Half the amount paid upfront, the other half at the conclusion of the investigation. And that’s with all the expenses covered. So Zhang Zhang hastily promised her that he would enlist your help—without having consulted with you first.”

  “So that’s why you have dragged me out for a cup of tea,” Chen said, frowning. “This case seems quite different from your usual business of catching cheaters.”

  “Yes—as I said, we do a careful risk assessment before taking on a job, as the fee may not be worth the trouble. But in this case, the amount is simply staggering. Despite the risks, we could not say no.”

  “But is the man in question her lover or husband?” Chen asked.

  “Her words were vague, but we’ve done some preliminary background research into her. The fortune teller, X, is definitely not her husband; her husband passed away twenty-five or thirty years ago. Nor does it seem likely he’s her lover, in the conventional sense of the word, although all we have to go on is some unreliable gossip and speculation.

  “As a well-preserved woman in her fifties or early sixties, she still looks elegant—not to mention all the wealth behind her. So I would not be surprised if there was a man involved in her life. We heard that someone with an important position in the city government had helped her from time to time, and the relationship between the two appeared to be ambiguous. But he now has a higher position in Beijing, so he’s possibly no longer in close contact with her.”

  “What is her relationship with X, then, if he is not her lover?” Chen asked, puzzled. “Why is she willing to spend so much money to help him?”

  “She said that she met X many years ago in the same park for a couple of months, although they never spoke to each other—and she never even knew his name. Then, after ten years or so, they met again and finally learned each other’s names. But they lost touch once more, and when they met again, well over another decade later, when she was a successful businesswoman and he was a struggling fortune teller, they almost failed to recognize each other. Time flies, and they had both changed beyond recognition. After that meeting, it seems they never saw each other again. But as to whether they were simply fortune teller and client, friends, or something more, I could not say. We could not push too hard for details of their personal lives, you know.”

  “Well, their relationship could be like the parable of two carp stranded in a dry rut, who struggle to stay alive by moistening each other with their saliva. They know it’s better to swim away and live their own lives. But it could also be that even though the two of them are swimming in different rivers and lakes these days, trying to forget each other, they’re still aware they’re under the same sun.” Chen added pensively, “The way up and the way down are one and the same.”

  “What do you mean, Poet Chen?”

  “Nothing but the paraphrase of a parable about fish from Zhaungzi, my favorite Daoist philosopher, and a paradox from Heraclitus. Yes, I was touched by something in your narration.”

  “Whatever the possible relationship between the two, X is a man worth at least twenty million yuan in her eyes. For Shanghai’s Number-One Developer, however, one of the numerous luxurious apartments under her name could be worth much more.”

  “But how could Mei have learned that X got into trouble?” Chen asked. “They have not seen each other for years, have they?”

  “Since their last meeting, she must have paid close attention to X, even though it was from afar.”

  “Anything else she mentioned about X, Old Hunter?”

  “X got into political trouble because of what happened in Beijing in the summer of 1989. He was in Shanghai at the time, but in a foreign press interview on TV, he said something vehemently condemning the Beijing government.”

  “X must have been somebody at the time, if he was interviewed by the foreign press.”

  “Yes, but because of it, he has fallen from his position, all the way down to becoming an impoverished fortune teller, hanging out in front of Red Dust Lane on the corner of Fujian and Jinling Roads.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!”

  “What, Director Chen?”

  “He tells fortunes in front of Red Dust Lane? It really takes coincidences to make up a story!”

  Old Hunter eyed Chen without making an immediate reply. Then he murmured, as if to himself, “Yes, one’s life is also made of a series of coincidences.”

  “Now, you don’t have to mince words with me. I’ve heard a lot about the lane, Old Hunter,” Chen said, smiling a self-deprecating smile. “If anything, it’s because of a fried bun stall nearby.”

  “Yes, the fried buns there are inexpensive and considered the best in the city. Crispy at the bottom, yet the pork stuffing is juicy,” Old Hunter said, picking up on Chen’s cue. “After a cup of Dragon Well Tea from this teahouse, then eating lunch at the stall across the street with my old friend Chen, I won’t have anything to complain about—except for the things at the agency.”

  “I cannot tell you right now whether I will take the case or not. You know about my own troubles, Old Hunter. If knowledge of my involvement in the investigation got out, it could bring me even more trouble. But I promise you that I will definitely take a close look into it.”

  The moment Chen returned home, he spread out on his desk the files Old Hunter had handed him before they’d parted.

  The first manila folder was about Mei. Its contents were mostly collected from official publications.

  Her career as a businesswoman had started with a tiny restaurant called Small Family, which was a converted wing room in an original shikumen house. It was registered at the time as an “individual business,” which meant it was one that the state merely tolerated, rather than considering it important to the economy. Her husband was disabled, so it was she who took care of the restaurant business. The small restaurant gradually grew into a large one, and then her husband unfortunately passed away. By that time, she was said to have established a loyal client base through her special recipes and good service, and had forged some influential connections both in and out of the city government. Not long after her husband’s death, she ventured into the real-estate market with the help of somebody in the city government.

  In the articles, she didn’t appear to be an ambitious businesswoman, though. At the height of the housing market, she withdrew a substantial amount of capital, paid off the bank loans, and shifted into rental property management and other diversified investments. Had she really done this because of a fortune teller’s warning? Whatever the reason, it meant that when the housing market started crashing two or three years later, she remained largely unscathed. Consequently, she was now known as Shanghai’s Number-One Developer, with good reason, and people simply called her “Number One” in the Shanghai housing market.

  As for the so-called fortune teller, X, not too much material appeared to be officially available. He had once been a rising young star at Shanghai University. He was the youngest professor in the philosophy department and had served as editor-in-chief of an influential series of cultural studies, Marching Toward the Twenty-First Century. No one could have anticipated X’s sudden fall into the fathomless mire. In the summer of 1989, during the Tian’anmen tragedy, he issued a passionate statement in a foreign press TV interview, supporting the students in Beijing and condemning the Party government. Afterwards, his refusal to retract the statement caused his removal by the university, and he was driven out of a three-bedroom apartment assigned to him there. He ended up moving into half a wing room in an old shikumen house in Red Dust Lane. To make a living, he became a fortune teller, plying his trade at the entrance to the lane.