But what could Chen do? Obviously, for a huge project like West-Nine-Block, a number of officials were involved. It could turn into a major case with disastrous political impact. Damage control, he guessed, would probably be the assignment waiting for him.

“Yes, we think you should look into the case. Especially into the attorney, Jia Ming, who represents those residents.”

“Jia Ming?” Chen was even more puzzled. He did not know any details about the corruption case. He had heard of Jia as a successful attorney, but why should an attorney be the target? “Is he the attorney who defended the case for Hu Ping, the dissident writer?”

“That’s him.”

“Director Zhong, I am so sorry. I am afraid I cannot help with your case.” He promptly came up with an excuse, instead of saying a straightforward no. “I have just enrolled in a special MA program at Shanghai University. Classical Chinese literature. The first few weeks are for intensive studies-I’ll have no time for anything else.”

More than merely an improvised excuse, it was something he had contemplated for some time. Technically, he wasn’t yet enrolled, but he had made preliminary inquiries at the university about it.

“You are kidding, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. What about your police work? Classical Chinese literature. Not in the line of your job at all. Are you looking for a new career?”

“Literature used to be my major-English literature. To be a competent investigator in today’s society, one has to acquire as much knowledge as possible. This program includes psychology and sociology courses.”

“Well, it’s desirable to enlarge your knowledge horizon, but I just don’t think you have the time in your position.”

“It’s a sort of special arrangement,” Chen said. “Only a few weeks of intensive study-in classrooms like other students, and then nothing but papers. After that, the curriculum will be arranged in a way compatible with my work schedule.” It was not exactly true. According to the program brochure he had picked up, the intensive weeks did not have to be now.

“I was hoping I could persuade you. A leading comrade in the city government suggested I talk to you today.”

“I’ll pay close attention to the case in whatever way possible,” Chen said, meaning it as a face-saving comment for Zhong. He did not want Zhong to talk about the “leading comrade,” whoever he might be.

“That’s great. I’ll have the case file sent to you,” Zhong said, taking the comment as a concession from the chief inspector.

Afterward, Chen thought in frustration that he should have said no unequivocally.

After hanging up with Zhong, Chen realized he needed to find out as much as he could about the West-Nine-Block case. He immediately started making phone calls, and his gut feeling that this was an investigation to avoid proved to be right.

Peng Liangxin, the real estate developer, had started out as a dumpling peddler, but he displayed extraordinary expertise in building a connection network. He knew when and where to push red envelopes of money into the hands of the Party officials. In return, the Party had helped him push himself into a billionaire in only four or five years. He acquired the West-Nine-Block land with numerous bribes and a business plan for improving conditions for the residents there. Then, with the government document granting him the land, he obtained the necessary bank loans to build the development without having to spend a single penny of his own. He bullied the residents out with little or no compensation. The few resisting families he called “nail families,” and he pulled them out forcibly, like nails, by hiring a group of Triad thugs. Several residents were badly beaten in a so-called “demolition campaign.” What’s more, instead of allowing the original residents to move back in as promised in his development proposal, he started selling the new apartments at a much higher price to buyers from Taiwan and Hong Kong. When people protested, he again enlisted the help of the local Triad, as well as that of the government officials. Several residents were jailed as troublemakers interfering with the development plan of the city. But as more and more people joined the protest, the government felt compelled to step in.

According to one source, Peng got into trouble more or less because of his nickname. There were many rich people in the city, some possibly even richer, but they managed to keep a low profile. Suffering from a swollen head due to his incredibly fast success, he delighted in people calling him the Number One Big Buck in Shanghai. As the gap between the rich and the poor increased, people voiced their frustration with the widespread corruption, and with Peng as a representative of it. As a Chinese proverb says, a bird reaching out its head will be shot.

The situation grew more complicated when the prominent attorney Jia Ming chose to speak for the residents. With his legal expertise, Jia soon uncovered more abuses in the fraudulent business operation, in which not just Peng but also his government associates were deeply involved. The case started to be widely reported, and the city government began to worry about it getting out of control. Peng was put into custody, and an open and fair trial was promised soon.

Chen frowned, picking up another fax page from his machine. The new fax claimed that Internal Security agents had been investigating Jia in secret. If they could find a way to get Jia in trouble, the corruption case would fall apart, but their efforts met with no success.

Chen crumbled the page into a ball and considered himself lucky for having come up with an excuse. At least he could still say he made no commitment because of the special MA program.

And an opportunity did present itself in the special program designed for rising Party cadres, who were supposedly too busy with more important work and were thus allowed to obtain a higher degree in a much shorter period of time.

There was also something else in it for Chen. By all appearances, he had been sailing smoothly in his career. He was one of the youngest chief inspectors on the force and the most likely candidate to succeed Party Secretary Li Guohua as the number one Party official at the Shanghai Police Bureau. Still, such a career had not been his choice, not back in his college years. In spite of his success as a police officer-no less surprising to himself than to others-and despite having several “politically important cases” to his credit, he felt increasingly frustrated with his job. A number of the cases had had results contrary to a cop’s expectations.

Confucius says, There are things a man will do, and things a man will not do. Only there was no easy guideline for him in such a transitional, topsy-turvy age. The program might enable him, he reflected, to think from a different perspective.

So that morning he decided to visit Professor Bian Longhua of Shanghai University. The program had been an improvised excuse in his talk with Zhong, but it did not have to be so.

On the way there, he bought a Jinhua ham wrapped in the special tung paper, following a tradition as early as Confucius’s time. The sage would not have taken money from his students, but he showed no objection to their gifts, such as hams and chickens. Only the ham proved to be too cumbersome for Chen to carry onto a bus, so he was obliged to call for a bureau car. Waiting in the ham store, he made several more phone calls about the housing development case, and the calls made him even more determined to avoid getting involved.

Little Zhou drove up sooner than Chen expected. A bureau driver who declared himself “Chief Inspector Chen’s man,” Little Zhou would spread the news of Chen’s visit to Bian around. It might be just as well, Chen thought, beginning to mentally rehearse his talk with the professor.

Bian lived in a three-bedroom apartment in a new complex. It was an expensive location, unusual for an intellectual. Bian himself opened the door for Chen. A medium-built man in his mid-seventies, with silver hair shining against a ruddy complexion, Bian looked quite spirited for his age, and for his life experience. A young “rightist” in the fifties, a middle-aged “historical counterrevolutionary” during the Cultural Revolution, and an old “intellectual model” in the nineties, Bian had clung to his literature studies like a life vest all those years.