“What do you mean?” Aiguo’s daughter-in-law responded. “Gengbao is a Big Buck nowadays. Your ancestors must have burned tall incense for you to have such a successful student.”

If there was any cold comfort for Aiguo, it would be that he could talk about Confucius openly again. However, retired, he could give his lecture only to his grandson, Xiaoguo, a third-year elementary school student.

The array of the mysterious crab shells on the kitchen wall seemed to be more appealing than Confucius to Xiaoguo, who had never tasted a crab before.

“What does a crab taste like, Grandpa?”

It was an impossible mission for the retired teacher. There’s no tasting a crab without putting it into your mouth. Aiguo adored his grandson, and as Confucius says, “You have to do what you should do, even though it’s impossible to do so.” Finally, Aiguo managed to demonstrate how delicious a crab could be by concocting a special crab sauce of black vinegar, sugar, ginger slice, and soy sauce.

“It’s somewhat like that,” Aiguo said, letting Xiaoguo dip a chopstick into the sauce and suck on the tip, “but much better.”

Unexpectedly, that experiment developed for Aiguo into an ongoing pursuit of a way to satisfy the crab-craving. All the crab-rich memories had come back to him the moment that the chopstick tip touched his own tongue. He pushed the experiment further by stir-frying the egg yolk and white separately in a wok and mixing them with the special sauce. It resulted in a special dish richly redolent of the celebrated Fried Crab Meat at Wangbaoh restaurant. And to his surprise, small shrimp or dried tofu dipped in the special sauce could occasionally produce a similar effect too. On those days when he could not find anything in the refrigerator, which was under the strict surveillance of his daughter-in-law, he would simply dip the chopsticks in and out of the special sauce, sipping at his yellow wine, and chewing the ginger slices.

Needless to say, all the experiments added to the curiosity of the close-observing Xiaoguo.

“Living in a poor lane, and dipping in nothing but the crab sauce, one still enjoys life,” Aiguo said, seemingly absorbed in Confucius again, to his bewildered grandson. “Confucius says something very close to that about one of his best students.”

One day, on the way to school, Xiaoguo passed by a new house with the door open and caught sight of people busy making huge banquets of sacrifice to their ancestors. It had to be a rich family, with so many luxurious cars parked in front, and with scripture-chanting monks engaged from a Buddhist temple too. He could not help taking a closer look. To his surprise, he saw a crab scurrying out of the door to the sidewalk. It must have escaped from the kitchen in the midst of the hustle-bustle. No one paid attention to it. So Xiaoguo took off his hat and, like a streak of lightning, picked up the vicious-looking crab. Instead of going to school, he ran back home, prepared the special sauce after a fashion, and boiled the crab. After devouring it without really tasting it, he painted a multicolored face on the crab shell with a Chinese character beneath it – swear. He hung the shell like a primitive mask on the wall. When Aiguo came back, seeing the mask, and learning the story from Xiaoguo, who was still washing his hat in the sink, he snapped and slapped his grandson in fury.

“How can you skip school for a crab? Shame on you! And a stray crab from others’ offering to their ancestor too! That’s totally against the Confucian rites. What’s more, you put the crab in your hat. Not one of Confucius’s students had to straighten his hat before dying.” Aiguo softened as the kid sobbed in a heartbreaking way. “Study hard. When you get into college, I’ll buy crabs for you.”

“What’s the point?” Xiaoguo said, sobbing and smacking his lips, “Both you and Father studied at college, but what good was it?”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I’ll be a Big Buck, so I’ll buy crabs for you then. Tons of crabs, I swear. That’s why I pledged on the crab shell.”

“Confucius says -”

“Crap!”

It was a realistic piece. Chen looked in the Analects for the many “do not eats” about crabs, and he found all of them in the chapter “Old Home,” though Confucius talked about meat and fish in general, not about crab. At least not about crab exclusively, despite what Aiguo told his grandson. Long had clearly read other books beside Mao. The committee at the Writers’ Association didn’t like the narrative because it “joined the complaining crowd without representing the immense progress the reform has achieved in China.” Nor did it read like a story with any plot or craftsmanship, to be strict about it. Still, Chen liked the mouth-watering anecdote, suspecting that those vivid details had come from Long’s own passion for crabs. Chen, too, liked crabs, and though he was not a successful entrepreneur like Gengbao, he was far luckier than Aiguo. As a chief inspector, he was acquainted with Big Bucks who would occasionally treat him to crabs and other delicacies.

As if through mysterious correspondence in the wireless space, his cell phone vibrated with a call from Gu. Gu was a prosperous entrepreneur who owned several companies, restaurants, and clubs. Chen couldn’t help mentioning the story of crabs during the course of the conversation, wondering whether people could still purchase crabs at the state price nowadays.

Afterward, he dialed the Shanghai Writers’ Association. He had a long talk with the executive secretary, and got the information he needed about Long.

Chen started preparing a list of questions for his visit. Halfway through it, he heard a knock on the door. To his surprise, a bamboo basket of live river crabs was waiting there – at least ten pounds of live crabs. Attached was a short note from Gu.

You’re too busy to come to my restaurant, I know. Another basket was sent to your mother’s place.

Chen regretted mentioning the crab story to Gu. The cost of such a basket could be exceedingly high, though it came without a price tag – at least not yet. But for now Chen chose to tell himself a cliché: the end justifies the means. After all, it was a Mao case, and the basket might come in handy for the important visit to Long.

Chen dialed Long’s number and proposed coming over for a visit. The two had met at the association before, but his call must have come as a surprise to Long, especially when Chen added at the end, “I’ll bring along something to eat, so we’ll talk over a cup.”

ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, Chen arrived at a small street in the Old City area and saw Long waiting in front of his apartment building. In spite of Chen’s tip on the phone, Long was flabbergasted at the sight of the basket of river crabs.

“My humble abode is brightened by your visit,” Long said. “Now you are overwhelming me with all the crabs.”

“I was impressed by your crab story, Long. And I happen to know someone at a restaurant. After I was able to get some at the state price, I decided to come over.”

“I’m not surprised by your connections, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen, but the ‘state price’ more than surprises me.”

Chen smiled without giving any explanation, but Long was right about the nonexistence of “state price.”

Long welcomed Chen into his efficiency apartment – the bedroom, the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen were all in one room. A red-painted table was already set out in the middle of the room. On the side closest to the door, there was a sink and a coal briquette stove. On one of the white walls, Chen saw a couple of scarlet crab claws as decoration.

“My wife has to babysit at her sister’s place today,” Long said. “We’ll talk to our hearts’ content over a crab feast. Let me prepare them first. It’ll take just a few minutes.”