That was the drawback of their jargon communication. Chen must have a reason for it. Yu went over the short conversation in his mind. It was not about any fish, but who was the K man? He tried to recall all the people he had contacted, one by one, during the past week. The effort was not successful. He refocused on the people who had given him something. Then Gu and the laptop came to mind. With karaoke girls commonly called K girls, it would make sense to call Gu a K man, even though there was no such term in current circulation.

Skipping his lunch, he hurried out of the bureau, heading home.

Sure enough, he had mail from Chen on the computer that Gu had loaned him. It took him a while to download the attachment with Xing’s phone transcript. Yu didn’t know how Chen had gotten it, but he knew Chen wanted him to study it carefully.

Reading through the phone transcript, he didn’t succeed in producing a comprehensible picture. Something had been going on between Xing and his associates in China, particularly in the last few days, that Yu could tell. Many calls had been made, only most of the details were couched in triad jargon. There were names he had seen or heard before, some of them Chen had given him earlier, including Jiang and Dong. The context surrounding their names remained far from clear, except that they still had contact with Xing one way or another.

Then Yu got the call from China Airline. Jiang’s name didn’t appear on the list. It wasn’t exactly high season yet; people could get a ticket one or two days beforehand.

Lighting a cigarette, he read the transcript more closely. All of a sudden, he alighted on a name: Weici.

Weici was an extremely rare family name. Yu had heard of it only once, in a Tang dynasty story. He had not met anyone with such a family name. But at Apricot Blossom Village, the club to which An’s phone calls had led him, the general manager was surnamed Weici. So he reread the part containing the name, which happened to be in connection with Ming. He found the name of Weici was mentioned on three occasions.

“I have just learned, Xing. Weici is a man. Your little brother should be fine there,” someone said to Xing, possibly in response to his inquiry about the whereabouts of the “little boy.”

“If you persist on going with me,” Yu said reluctantly, “you have to let me do the talking there.”

“That will be fine. In a Suzhou opera, one plays the red face, and the other plays the white face. I am quite content with a white face role. It’s settled. Let us go.”

“I’ll call Little Zhou first. He’s reliable,” Yu said. “In the meantime, let’s finish the tea and discuss our tactics.”

Little Zhou, a driver at the Shanghai police bureau, soon came over to the teahouse, leaving his car parked outside.

“Both you and I are Chief Inspector Chen’s men,” Little Zhou declared at once. “You have never used my car. You say it’s for Chen this afternoon. And you don’t have to say more. It is a Mercedes, the best car of our bureau. No one knows I am here.”

They arrived at the club around three o’clock.

A hostess walked over to them. Yu recognized her as the one he had met. Handing his business card to her, he said, “Take us to your general manager Weici.”

They were led into a spacious office. Weici was a stout man in his mid-fifties, with success and confidence written on his face in spite of the heavy bags sagging under his eyes. He was taken aback by Detective Yu’s visit.

“So tell us where Ming is,” Yu said, having made clear the purpose of the visit, and produced the authorization on the Party Discipline Committee letterhead. “As you can clearly see, it is an investigation under the committee.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Officer Yu,” Weici said, taking a glance at the document. “I don’t know anything about Xing’s smuggling business, nor anything about Ming. It’s the first time that I’ve heard that he is Xing’s half brother. Before their sudden disappearance, they had a couple of parties at my club. At the time, however, they were ordinary customers like so many others. I wish I knew the whereabouts of Ming. They still owe me a large amount.”

“You are a clever man, Mr. Weici. It’s a highly sensitive case and there’s no point in getting negative publicity for your club because of an official investigation,” Yu said, producing the phone transcript. “Now, let me show you something else. The dates and the contents are all underlined in the transcript. The calls are from Xing in the United States. Undeniable evidence. Chief Inspector Chen is coming back with more.”

“What’s that?” Wei studied the lines in the transcript. “You call that evidence, Officer Yu? You must be kidding. Xing has many little brothers, if that is what “little boy” means. One of them might have visited the club. As for the calls to my office, for all I know, it could be about the money he owes me.”

“You can go on talking like that, Mr. Weici, but then we’ll have to move you to our bureau to continue the conversation,” Yu said. “It will be reported in newspapers tomorrow, I’ll make sure of it. I don’t think too many people will come to a place involved in China ’s number-one corruption case. It’s going to be a long and thorough investigation under the Party Discipline Committee.”

“Don’t think you can bluff me like that. I know your Party Secretary Li Guohua. When he comes to my place, he, too, has to show proper respect to me.”

“Calm down, both of you,” Old Hunter said, cutting in for the first time. “The club is a nice place. Why can’t we talk here? General Manager Weici is a man of the world. He’ll understand.”

“This is…” Weici said, studying the old man for the first time.

“I am an advisor to the bureau.” Old Hunter handed over a business card, which presented him as a senior advisor to the City Traffic Control, commonly considered part of the police bureau. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.

“Oh, Advisor Gu. I am honored that you are here today,” Weici said. “As an old cadre, you have to say something for me. I am a law-abiding businessman. How could I have been involved in the Xing case?”

Advisor was an honorable position, usually filled by high-ranking retired cadres like Comrade Zhao. Weici apparently showed some respect to the title in the business card. But Old Hunter’s case was totally different. While serving as temporary head of the City Traffic Control, Chen had created the position for the sake of the “advisor subsidy,” which meant more than anything else to the retired cop on a meager pension. Weici couldn’t have known that. Yu didn’t know about that impressive business card, either.

“There are so many customers here. As a general manager, Mr. Weici may not know whether Ming has come here or not. We have to take that into consideration, Detective Yu,” Old Hunter said, squeezing a smile out of all the wrinkles on his face. “It’s not easy to run a place with such a golf course. In fact, there’s not a single one in the old cadre centers.”

“Really!” Weici feigned surprise.

“Yes, I have a passion for golf. Only the membership fee here must be expensive. I don’t think I can afford it.”

Yu was amazed by the way the old man talked. The part about the membership fee came as an unmistakable hint. But the son had never worked with the father before, so he decided to say nothing.

“It’s not that expensive,” Weici said with an equally obliging smile, “not unimaginable for an old cadre like you.”

“That would be fantastic,” Old Hunter said, taking up a cigarette from a shining silver case on the desk. “Oh, Panda. The super premium brand, unavailable on the market. Manufactured only for the top leaders in Beijing.”

“Yes, top leaders come to our place too,” Weici said, lighting the cigarette for the old man. “Look at those pictures on the walls.”

Yu had noticed those pictures upon entering the office. Several politburo members stood with Weici on the green meadow stretching dreamlike toward the horizon. In another picture, a city government leader put his hand on Weici’s shoulder like a buddy.