There was no ruling out the possibility of mistaken identity, but he couldn’t count on it.

And as for an ambush, what would be the purpose? In the Triad tradition, as far as he was able to figure out, an ambush was either a warning or a punishment. The iron bars, characteristic of the Triad culture, could have been intended for a nonfatal beating, as in a Triad movie he had seen, in which the victim writhed on the ground, beaten and crushed, while the gangsters hissed out the message: “If you don’t mend your ways, it will be worse next time.”

What the thugs said to him, however, pointed to different possibilities.

“Busybody” probably referred to his getting involved in something the Triad thought he shouldn’t have. Chen had no idea what it was. After all, a lot of things the chief inspector had done could have been interpreted that way.

As for the “toad and swan” metaphor, it had originally been about a man going after an unapproachable woman – usually an ugly man or one in inferior position going after a beautiful woman or one in a superior position. So it could have come as a warning to him about an impossible relationship.

There was no woman in Chen’s life, not at the moment. Ironically, Ling could have qualified as a “swan” with her HCC family background, but she had just married somebody else.

As for White Cloud, a young pretty college student who had once worked as his “little secretary,” there had never been anything serious between them – at least not on the part of Chen. It made some sense, however, if a jealous lover saw Chen as an insurmountable obstacle. It was a remote possibility, but Chen thought he should talk to Gu about it.

Alternatively, the warning could have come from his mixing with the girls at Xie’s place. Most of them had wealthy and powerful men behind them, and one of those men could have become insanely jealous. But he was a newcomer to the circle, a bookish if not clownish would-be writer who hadn’t made advances on any of them, not even Jiao. In the mansion, most people could be a little flirtatious with one another, dancing and drinking under the somber light, in the lambent music. No one took it seriously -

“So where are you going, sir?” the driver asked again. “Oh, Fuxing Road,” Chen said, his shoulder hurting terribly. He’d better see a doctor. Dr. Xia, having retired from the bureau, was working at a private clinic on Fuxing Road.

“Then we have to make a detour.”

“Why?” he asked absentmindedly. “New construction. An expensive apartment complex is going up along Tiantong Road.”

Another possibility flashed across his mind. The real estate company with connections in the black and white ways. He might have been seen as a busybody by them. Those companies had long ears and arms, could have learned of him from their contacts in the city government. But what about the “toad and swan” metaphor? That seemed totally unrelated.

At last, the taxi pulled up in front of the clinic. It was a new white building. Through the door, Chen saw a velvet tapestry bearing Mao’s quotation in bold characters: To serve the people.

He was taking out his money to pay the taxi driver when another idea struck him. Could it have been an attempt to stop him from looking further into the case? In that scenario, possibly on the order from another section. Or from Internal Security, who had their own reasons to be furious at him. Or even from the Forbidden City. He was actually conducting the investigation as a Mao case, at least partially, a move that could affect the legitimacy of the Party. But it was a move known only to Old Hunter and Detective Yu, known only partially -

“Oh, your receipt,” the taxi driver said with evident concern in his voice. “Are you all right, sir?”

“I’m fine,” he said, taking the receipt, which showed a large amount. The taxi driver must have been driving him around for quite a while before asking him for his destination.

He moved out of the car groggily, his head aching like the Monkey in Journey to the West, wearing a cursed hoop around his forehead.

TWO HOURS LATER, DR. XIA was writing out a prescription in his office, his silver brows knitted in a frown, after having taken both a CT scan and X-rays of Chen.

Dr. Xia had been on the forensic staff of the police bureau. After retirement, he started working part-time as an “expert” at a clinic close to his home. He and Chen had known each other well in the bureau.

“Really touch and go,” Dr. Xia said seriously, examining the X-rays one more time. “Your shoulder injury isn’t too bad. No bone was broken. But I’m worried about the impact on your head. You have to rest for a week. Keep away from work and take good care of yourself. Don’t forget your breakdown not too long ago.”

“You know the work at the bureau -”

His cell phone rang before he could finish the sentence. It was Gang. Chen had to speak under the glare of Dr. Xia.

“I have already contacted Feng, my assistant during the Cultural Revolution. A Big Buck now, he still calls me Commander in Chief.”

“That’s good,” Chen said. “Did he recall anything about the special team from Beijing?”

“They came to get something Shang might have had, but were unsuccessful. She committed suicide.”

“Did Feng know what they were looking for?”

“No, he didn’t. The special team probably didn’t either, but they wanted to prevent any local Red Guards from coming near her, so that was why they contacted Feng for cooperation. It could have been top secret. Also, it seemed to be a different group from those sent by Madam Mao from Beijing. Feng had met with some of those other teams.”

“What was the difference?”

“Those other teams knew what they were looking for. Newspaper clippings and pictures concerning Madam Mao in the thirties. They were not that secretive or stealthy, either. In fact, Feng went in with them, helping to turn everything upside down in the houses of those target families. But the special team for Shang didn’t request any help like that, nor were they interested in those things from the thirties.”

“That is surely different. Did Feng recall any team member’s name or keep in touch?”

“One of them was surnamed Sima. A rare surname, that’s why Feng remembered it. Probably from a cadre family, that Sima, and he spoke with an authentic Beijing accent.” Gang added, “Among other things, Sima mentioned Shang’s dresses and shoes, two closets full of them, and the cameras and film-developing equipment at her home, which were rare in those years. So he was impressed. That’s about all Feng could remember.”

After so many years, that was probably about all anyone could have remembered. Still, it was a sort of random harvest to Chen, particularly the part about the special team looking for something at the request of someone other than Madam Mao. That explained the urgency after so many years. Madam Mao had long turned into “dog shit,” and some additional “shit” on her head wouldn’t have mattered to the Beijing authorities. So it had to be, as they had said, something directly concerning Mao.

“Thank you so much, Gang. That’s very important to my book. And I’ll come back to the eatery soon.”

But how could he get in touch with Sima, or any other member of the special team? It would be futile to contact the minister or anybody in Beijing for help. On the contrary, the moment his investigation into “the Mao Case” was revealed, the chief inspector would be suspended.

Dr. Xia had been shaking his head the whole time.

“Sorry about the interruption, Dr. Xia. Police work, you know -”

“Tell your ‘police work’ to others, Chief Inspector, not to me. Now, listen to me carefully. If you suffer continuing giddiness or sickness, you have to come back to me. You must stay completely off work for one week.”