Hold Your Breath, China Read online

  For today’s talk with Zhao, Chen thought he had to pick and choose each and every word with utmost caution.

  An unexpected lurch of the subway train nearly made a young girl standing beside him fall against him, her high heel stamping on his foot. She was listening to the music from her smartphone through the earplugs, her eyes half-closed above a large mask, and her hips swaying to the rhythm, unaware of anything else happening around her.

  Still, the subway made a reliable alternative for him, though Chen had got lost on several occasions in the maze of crisscrossing lines. In a city constantly suffering traffic congestion, cars could literally crawl along the road, and he could not afford to be late for Zhao.

  In less than half an hour, he found himself moving out of Lujiazui Station.

  Looking up to the street sign, he thought of the body of the third victim, a young girl named Yan discovered in the area, perhaps close to the station. It was a surreal, ominous coincidence.

  He was trying to shake off the premonition under the surrounding high-rises, coughing with a hand covering his mouth, when his phone started to ring.

  It was Detective Yu.

  ‘Is it OK to talk to you now?’

  ‘It’s OK. I’m just walking out of the subway station. The meeting finished?’

  ‘The meeting was stopped because of you. After you left, they saw no point discussing too much with me.’

  ‘You don’t have to say that, Yu. You’re the one in practical charge of our squad, they all know that. They were simply upset with my leaving in the middle of the meeting. Did Qin tell you something more about the fourth victim?’

  ‘Not that much. But he did give me the file about the first three victims. It may be true that he himself has learned little about the fourth from Internal Security.’

  ‘But why Internal Security? There are too many journalists in the city for them. Has she written anything that politically sensitive?’

  ‘No, Qin did not say anything about that. But he said he had heard something about her husband, who’s the current head of Wenxin Group, or something like that, having recently retired from the position of first vice mayor – he’s more than thirty years older than Xiang. That’s her name, by the way.’

  ‘Vice Mayor Geng? So it was him that got rushed into the hospital. Internal Security must have seen that as an attack against a senior Party cadre. A political case indeed.’

  ‘But the file sent by Qin alerted them to the possibility of her being just another victim in the serial murder case. So they compared notes. The closer examination of her head wound indicates that the blow could have been afflicted with the same weapon – a hammer.’

  ‘That’s why our Party secretary called for the meeting this morning.’

  ‘There might have been something more. More in the murky background. Qin hemmed and hawed. At least that’s the impression I got.’

  ‘They have come to us under the pressure,’ Chen said. ‘Now I’m moving into the hotel. Zhao is waiting upstairs. I’ll call you later.’

  Inspector Chen found himself sitting, literally on pins and needles, by the window of the grand river-view suite on the thirty-ninth floor of the Hyatt Hotel in Pudong, in the company of Comrade Secretary Zhao, the retired yet still powerful first secretary of the Party Central Discipline Committee from the Forbidden City.

  The bird’s-eye view outside the hotel window should have been a breathtaking one, with colorful vessels sailing along the Huangpu River outlined by majestic high-rises on both sides, but for the moment there was hardly any view to speak about.

  All around, the hotel seemed to be mantled with an immense pale shroud instead.

  ‘Like everywhere else, Shanghai has changed such a lot in China’s unprecedented economic reform,’ Zhao said, with a suggestion of pleasant nostalgia. ‘East of the river, it used to be nothing but farmland around here, I still remember so clearly. Now, with all these skyscrapers jostling against one another, it is truly the financial center of Asia, and soon, I believe, of the whole world too.’

  For a man of his powerful position in the Party system, Zhao did not speak exactly in an official manner – at least not in front of Chen, who listened attentively, sitting stiffly, nodding respectfully, trying to focus on the talk, though his mind kept wandering back to the case he had been discussing in the bureau.

  It was admittedly a true statement, that prelude delivered by Zhao. The dramatic transformation of the city landscape in recent years seemed so unbelievable, even to a native Shanghainese like Chen. Particularly for the area of Pudong east of the Huangpu River.

  Next to the Hyatt Hotel, another new building in construction – the Shanghai Trade Center, that would reportedly be even higher than all the others, with its construction to be completed in the near future – appeared to be rising up like the genie out of the bottle. Mysterious masked workers could be seen welding high up here and there, perching precariously on the cloud-wrapped steel scaffolding, shooting out bright sparks into the grayness around them.

  ‘Yes, people nowadays call Shanghai a “magic city” on the Internet.’ Chen did not go on to say that the netizens did not use the term ‘magic’ always in the positive sense. There’s no point discussing anything without ‘positive energy’ to the senior Party leader, though Zhao was sometimes described as a relatively moderate one in the Forbidden City.

  ‘Guess why I have come to Shanghai this time?’ Zhao went on, as if in response to Chen’s unasked question about the unannounced visit. ‘“It’s an old comrade’s research tour”, as reported in the newspapers. But between you and me, I’ve just had enough of the Beijing “smog” air, as it is called on the Internet – a new word in the Chinese vocabulary.’

  ‘Well it’s certainly not fog, which comes up just in the morning. Smog won’t disperse, and it remains indissoluble all day long. And so unhealthy too, full of tiny toxic particles.’

  ‘Whatever the name, the air quality is bad in the capital. I have to wear a mask going outside. So it’s a much-needed change for an old man like me, a short vacation for fresh air in the south. I think I’ll stay here for a week or so, and then go to Suzhou and Hangzhou.’

  ‘But here …’ Chen did not finish the sentence saying that the air quality is pretty bad too.

  Compared with things in Beijing, it might not be that unbearable in Shanghai. For several days in a row, a considerable number of flights had been canceled or delayed, Chen had read, because of the extreme poor visibility caused by impenetrable smog surrounding the Beijing airport.

  ‘Yes, that’s a very good idea, Comrade Secretary Zhao. A lot of people are talking about “fresh air vacations” or “smog vacations”, traveling to seaside cities for a whiff of freshening air, or to other countries for a short “lung cleansing period—”’

  A low purring sound came from somewhere in the grand suite, abruptly, like a contented sigh produced by a whimsical cat after a satisfactory nap, rubbing its back against the windowpane. Chen looked around in surprise. For such a high-end hotel, the air conditioning should not have made any noise.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Chen. It’s the latest imported fresh air machine system the hotel management has installed prior to my arrival here,’ Zhao said, with a subtle touch of self-satire. ‘Supposedly more effective than the ordinary air purifier. It’s capable of circulating the filtered naturally fresh air back into the hotel room.’

  How the ‘filtered’ and the ‘naturally fresh’ could possibly co-exist in one single breath was way beyond him, but Chen knew better than to raise the question. After all, senior Party leaders like Zhao were supposed to enjoy those privileges unimaginable to ordinary people.

  Whether discussing this was truly the reason behind such a ‘chitchat’ during Zhao’s vacation to Shanghai, however, Chen still hadn’t the slightest idea.

  He had heard of a fierce new struggle unfolding at the pinnacle of power inside the Forbidden City, with Zhao’s name mentioned in the background. At such a
critical juncture, it did not make sense for someone like Zhao to take a ‘fresh air vacation’ out of Beijing.

  Nor was it so likely that upon arrival in Shanghai, Zhao would have chosen to summon Chen over to the hotel for a chitchat.

  ‘Unfortunately, the air quality here in Shanghai is not that good either, I know,’ Zhao went on, sipping at his tea reflectively. ‘I’ve recently read an Internet joke about a starved bird falling from the sky to the rice paddy in Qingpu County, Shanghai, because there’s no food visible at all through the darkly murky air.’

  ‘It is a problem.’ Chen felt compelled to say something earnest in response. ‘For several days, school children here are not supposed to go to school, or to step out in the open. The air pollution warning applies particularly to the sick or old people, as announced in the Wenhui Daily.’

  ‘Yes, the problem is serious,’ Zhao said, sort of echoing. ‘In Beijing, the AQI index is read as unhealthy for more than six months in a year, and occasionally, even more dangerous. Far more smoggy and smoky than here, unsuitable for any activities in the open. It’s quite understandable that people are complaining about it, and about the corruption too, but …’

  There was always a ‘but’ in Zhao’s talk; Chen knew that only too well. Zhao paused, taking a leisured sip at a cup of tea again – Before-the-Rain tea – before continuing, and lighting a Panda cigarette for himself. For once, Zhao did not offer one to Chen.

  ‘But the situation should not be politicized. The current problem is a result of complicated, historical factors, in spite of the strenuous anti-pollution efforts made by our Party. It takes time to tackle the problem, you know, especially for a still fast-developing country like China. Having said that, people’s concerns under the smog-smothered sky are not that unjustified, which we have to acknowledge. In short, it’s an issue that needs to be addressed at a higher level, a different level.’

  To Chen’s alarm, this was sounding less and less like a ‘chitchat’. Not from someone like Zhao. Chen hastened to pull himself together, trying to think in a whirl of confusing thoughts before he responded, speaking circumspectly.

  ‘If it’s more often than not, as in accordance to an article I’ve read, that our people have to breathe in foul air, drink contaminated water, and eat toxic food, how can they not complain?’ Chen went on, seeing no disapproval in Zhao’s expression. ‘Last week, I watched a “political star scholar” arguing on a TV forum for the stratagem of having “no smog in the heart as the solution to the smog in the air”, but that’s no solution.’

  ‘Well, it’s just like The Thirty-Seven Stratagems. That’s no solution, I cannot agree more with you.’

  Zhao was referring to a classic work titled The Thirty-Six Stratagems, about the art of war in ancient China, discussing each stratagem based on a real, well-known battle in the earlier history. Chen had played with the idea of translating it into English. The stratagems were supposed to be helpful not just in war.

  At least they had proven to be helpful to him in a number of difficult police investigations.

  But the thirty-seventh stratagem was non-existent, which could be meant only as a joke from Zhao.

  ‘People are trying to deal with the problem,’ Zhao went on, with a sudden serious edge to his voice. ‘In fact, a group of activists are secretly gathering in Shanghai, I’ve heard, trying to do something about it. So that will be a job for you, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. An important job, but quite a simple one to you. To find out as much as you can about what they are trying to do in secret.’

  ‘No, I’m no environmental expert. It’s a job beyond me, I’m sorry about it, Comrade Secretary Zhao.’

  It came out as an instinctive no. For one thing, an ‘important job’ from Zhao had never been simple. What’s more, Chen could not conscientiously bring himself to spy on the people who were trying to tackle air pollution – whether in secret or not.

  Taking a deep breath to make a more elaborate argument about his inadequacy for this clandestine assignment, Chen ended up, to his embarrassment, breaking into a fit of uncontrollable coughing.

  ‘Sorry, some throat problem because of the irritation of the polluted air, I believe.’

  ‘That’s the very reason you should take the job, Chief Inspector Chen. Now, the leader of the group I’ve just mentioned is an attractive woman named Yuan Jing, who has recently come back from a visit to the United States.’

  A visit to the United States sounded even more portentous to Chen. Whatever she was doing in Shanghai could be easily interpreted as her working in the American interest. Chen had had his share of ‘sensitive details’ in such political cases.

  To be fair to Zhao and the people like him in Beijing, the environmental crisis was not what they would have liked to see. Whatever official propagandas or interpretations, it was happening under the rule of the ‘great and glorious Chinese Communist Party’. They, too, were anxious to solve the problem.

  But at the same time, it was inconceivable and intolerable for any anti-pollution attempt to be made at the possible expense of economic development, which turned out to be the one and only legitimacy for the one-Party regime. As Comrade Deng Xiaoping had put it at the very beginning of China’s reform, ‘The development is the one and only true argument’ – the unquestionable meta-narrative for China.

  ‘When you called into the bureau, Comrade Secretary Zhao, I was in the middle of a case discussion with my colleagues. Possibly a serial murder case, something urgent for us with the opening session of the People’s Congress drawing nearer. Party Secretary Li of our bureau insists on solving the case as quickly as possible – before the grand event in Beijing. Otherwise people would be talking about the case rather than anything else. Since I have done similar investigations before, Li would probably not let me get away for anything else at this moment.’

  ‘You have done cases like that, I know, but a murder case and the People’s Congress are two different matters, and you don’t have to put them together. As a young emerging cadre, you should not be concerned just with these cases, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. Remember what the Tang dynasty poet Wang Zhihuan says in the poem on the Guanque Tower?’

  ‘You have to climb even higher to see further … thousands of miles away to the horizon.’

  ‘Exactly. I’ll talk to Li about it. He should understand that too.’

  Chen was not ungrateful with the way Zhao responded, apparently ready to throw in his weight to back the inspector again. Still, Chen hesitated.

  ‘But it is really out of my element.’

  ‘Don’t keep on saying no, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.’ Zhao produced a large manila envelope from the pile on the desk. ‘Take a look at the material inside. Yuan Jing used to be based in Wuxi, but she now has an office in Shanghai, too. A well-connected activist, as well as a super VIP on the Internet for her posts about environmental issues. It’s said she has millions of online followers who forward and reforward each and every post of hers. She’s quite influential.’

  ‘She’s from Wuxi?’ he asked mechanically, more like an echo than a question.

  ‘For the project she has been pursuing, some of her associates are in the city of Shanghai, including several wealthy and influential Big Bucks. You know the city and its people well, don’t you?’

  Chen took the envelope and pulled out a folder. The moment he opened it, unexpectedly, a color picture fell to the floor.

  It seemed as if – in a moment of disorientation – something like a fortune-telling bamboo slip was falling, portentously, to the flagstone-covered ground of an ancient temple in ruins.

  Chen caught himself staring at a picture of Shanshan, who was smiling back at him contemplatively.

  Realization hit home. His mind briefly wandered, trying to remember the last time he saw her.

  Yuan Jing was the micro-blogging name for Shanshan.

  So she had come to the fore for her environmental activities and writings on the Internet in the last several yea
rs, in an unbelievable transformation, of which he had not heard anything.

  Or was it simply a result of his subconscious effort to keep her out of sight, out of mind?

  He was at a loss for words.

  To his unexpected relief, Zhao’s cellphone started ringing in the hotel suite. The senior Party leader frowned at the number and started moving to the bedroom, holding the phone in one hand and gesturing for Chen to wait with the other.

  It must have been an important phone call.

  With the bedroom door shut after Zhao, Inspector Chen had the large living room to himself.

  Looking out the window, he still failed to catch a clear view of the river. Instead, his imagination began wandering with the waves in the Huangpu River, rolling, splashing and converging, for a fleeting moment, with the waves in Tai Lake, by which he had stood with Shanshan, her hand touching his …

  What cannot be cut,

  nor raveled,

  is the sadness of separation …

  It was an unbelievable coincidence that his first meeting with Shanshan had also originated, more clearly in retrospect, from an environmental disaster.

  That long-ago afternoon, Chen happened to be sitting at a roadside eatery, an impossible and impatient gourmet, eager to enjoy the local delicious specials – ‘three whites of the lake’ – when Shanshan, a young, vivacious environmental engineer at a local chemical factory, came to stop him from putting the white shrimp into his mouth. She delivered an unpleasant lecture about the lake food being seriously contaminated by the toxic water.

  So it had started as an annoying wet blanket to the Epicurean inspector incognito on vacation, but an idyllic episode soon unfolded between the two of them. He found himself more than drawn toward her, an attractive, intelligent young woman with an idealistic passion for the environmental cause. The subsequent conspiracy of the circumstances pushed the two, paradoxically, further into an intimate relationship, despite the polluted lake and the diabolic murders in the background.