“No, I will never give it away, Comrade Zhao. It is special for me. I’ll hang it on the wall.”

Chen was no judge of Chinese calligraphy, but he liked the poem. A silk scroll in Zhao’s handwriting with his red chop seal on it would be spectacular on Chen’s wall. He appreciated the gesture made by the old man.

“Let me add one line,” Zhao said, standing up and writing with his brush, “To Comrade Chen Cao, a loyal anticorruption soldier.”

Was the poem also a subtle hint?

A hint about the necessity of climbing higher to see further. It could be just another reference to the political catch phrase daju weizhong-to take into consideration the interest of the situation in general. Or to the necessity of approaching the investigation from a different perspective.

There would be no point in pressing Zhao for an explicit explanation. The old man had said all that could be said, as well as the unsaid, as in a classical Chinese poem. Politics could be like poetry. A figure of speech whose meaning Chen had never considered before.

“I have one more question, Comrade Zhao,” Chen said, pushing a little again. “So far I have made no real breakthrough, but there are some leads that should be followed, I think, during my visit abroad.”

“Well, you’re in charge of the investigation. Do whatever you think necessary.”

“Thank you.” That was better than he had expected. “Comrade Detective Yu Guangming has worked with me for years. A capable and loyal comrade. During this period, can he act on my behalf if need be?”

“Of course. If need be, he can also come to me. I think I’ve heard of his name.” Zhao added, “Any special idea or target?”

“No, it’s just that the case can be complicated. Anything could happen in two weeks, I’m afraid. And I’ll keep in close contact with you, Comrade Zhao,” Chen said, rising, “while in the United States.”

“It may not be so easy to make phone calls there. An old Chinese saying puts it well: When a general is fighting along the borders, he does not have to listen to every order given to him by the emperor far away in the capital.”

That had to be a hint, Chen concluded.

And he was going to think a great deal about it. He left the hotel, carrying the scroll. After a while, he put it on his shoulder, like an imperial sword.

There was a flash of light in the tree-a hummingbird flapping up toward the sun.

On his way home, Chen called Peiqin, the wife of Detective Yu.

“Tomorrow morning, I would like to have breakfast with Yu.”

“Come to our restaurant,” Peiqin said. “Our new chef is good.”

“ Old Half Place is closer,” Chen said. “Yu has become a loyal noodle eater there, you have told me.”

“Then he will be there.” She added, “Second floor, there are nice private rooms there. I’ll make a reservation for you.”

Peiqin was a smart woman. Chen didn’t have to say more. She must have guessed why he had chosen to call her. In one of their previous investigations, he had also contacted her when he had to take extra precautions.

THE FIRST FLOOR OF Old Half Place was as crowded as Detective Yu had anticipated, and even more noisy than he had remembered.

The restaurant was known for its noodles with the legendary xiao pork, and perhaps more for its exquisite taste at a relatively inexpensive price. So it attracted a large number of not-so-well-to-do gourmets.

Looking around, Yu couldn’t help shaking his head as he moved upstairs. There was a huge price difference between the first and the second floor. Peiqin had reserved a private room upstairs-for him and Chen. There were hardly any customers visible there. Such a luxurious room was unnecessary. She could make much ado about his work, especially with Chief Inspector Chen in the background.

A waitress led him into an elegant room with antiquelike table and chairs. He was impressed by silk scrolls hanging on the walls and fresh flower blossoms in the vases. There was also a spell of southern bamboo instrument music wafting through the air. The mahogany chair, however, was not that comfortable. Sitting there, he felt out of place, picking up the menu.

It was not the expense that Yu worried about. Chen wouldn’t have asked him out simply for breakfast. Not on the morning of his visit to the United States. He knew his boss too well.

In the bureau, Chen’s new appointment was a topic much discussed. Something could have gone terribly wrong.

The waitress put four tiny dishes on the table. Pickled garlic, fried peanuts, sliced ginger, and sugar-covered dry plums. After having poured a cup of tea for him, she stepped back and remained standing behind him, like part of the room-silent, still, and almost contemplative.

When Chen finally walked into the room, Yu was reading through the menu for a second time and feeling that he’d been waiting there for a long while.

“Nice to see you here, boss,” Yu said. “Peiqin has chosen the private room for us.”

“It’s a nice place,” Chen said, taking the tea from the waitress. “Elegant atmosphere and service.”

“Most of the customers for the restaurant are gray-haired retirees. They have few coins jingling in their pockets. Three or four yuan is about all they can afford-on the first floor. It’s far more expensive on the second floor, let alone a private room.”

Yu then handed the menu to Chen.

“Today you choose,” Chen said with a smile. “Peiqin says you’re a regular customer here.”

“Don’t listen to her. Mr. Ren insisted on treating us a couple of times after the shikumen case. That’s all about it.”

Yu chose his noodles with dried shrimp and green onion; Chen had his with deep-fried rice-paddy eel. In addition, they ordered a small bamboo steamer of pork-and-crab soup buns with the lotus leaf-covered bottom. And two side dishes of the famous xiao pork.

Handing the menu back to the waitress, Yu said, “You may leave now. We want to discuss business. If we need anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Business expense, of course, on the Central Discipline Committee,” Chen said as the waitress turned to leave.

“Don’t worry about it. That much I can pay,” Yu said, draining his tea in one gulp. “Something serious, boss?”

“Not that serious. I’m going to the United States for a couple of weeks. It’s a great opportunity, as most people will say, only it comes in the middle of the investigation.”

“Yes, the timing. Why do they want you out at such a juncture?”

“I don’t know. They of course have their reasons. Official reasons.”

“Xing is in the States, isn’t he? So now you’re going there too, I think.”

“I wish that could be the reason, but no, they didn’t say anything to me about it,” Chen said, picking up a dried plum with his chopsticks. Yu’s instinctive response was sharp. Chen hadn’t been aware of such a possibility until at Zhao’s hotel. “For the last few days, I haven’t really discussed the case with you. Not because of any confidential regulations or considerations, but because of little progress-”

“You don’t have to talk like this, Chief. It’s a case under the Party Discipline Committee, I understand.”

“Now I want to discuss with you some new developments. Have you heard about the death of An Jiayi, the TV anchorwoman?”

“Yes, I’ve heard. Found naked and strangled at home. Sort of a celebrity, but not that well known-not politically. So the case went to the homicide squad. Kuang is working on it. Was she involved in your investigation?”

“She was. I’m not sure if her death was also involved, but the timing was suspicious-it was shortly after I interviewed her, and before she gave me some crucial information.”