FOLLOWING THE DIRECTIONS PROVIDED by Old Hunter, Peiqin arrived at the high-end apartment complex on Wuyuan Road.

She was the “someone reliable” Chen had recommended to Jiao, though he had no idea that it was none other than Peiqin.

Peiqin had volunteered to serve as a temporary maid, to the surprise of both Yu and Old Hunter, who had asked her to help look for one. She made a convincing argument for her candidacy. It was practically impossible to find a reliable maid on short notice, let alone one capable of reporting to the police in secret. What’s more, whatever the reason for Chen’s vacation, he must be in danger. They had to help. Finally, Yu agreed on the condition that she do nothing there except what was expected of a temporary maid.

Wuyuan Road and the neighborhood around it was an area Peiqin hadn’t visited before. Like many Shanghainese who rarely ventured outside of their own circles, she saw no point in exploring areas that were like another city to her. Before and after 1949, Wuyuan was regarded as one of the “upper corners,” way above ordinary people like Peiqin and Yu.

In the fast-changing city, the gap between the rich and the poor was once again expanding. The newspapers and magazines had started talking about building a harmonious society, all of a sudden and all at once, like never-tiring cicadas in the trees. She wondered how it could be managed. She showed her ID to the green-uniformed security guard at the complex entrance and declared herself to be a new maid.

Moving through the entrance, she felt momentarily lost, like Granny Liu in the Dream of the Red Chamber. The ultraluxurious apartments in front stood like tall magnificent dreams far, far away. Before pressing the intercom at the apartment building, she took another look at her reflection in a pocket mirror. A middle-aged woman in a faded black T-shirt, khaki pants, and rubber-heeled shoes, carrying a white canvas bag. It was the image of a house maid as commonly seen on TV, a role not too difficult for her to play, after all the house work she had done at home over the years.

“Who is it?” A voice came down from the fifth floor. “I’m Pei. Mr. Chen told me to come today.”

“Oh yes, come up. Room 502.”

The lock on the front door clicked. Peiqin pulled the door open and walked over to the elevator.

When she stepped out onto the fifth floor, she saw a young woman standing in the doorway of an apartment on the left.

“So you are the new maid?”

“Yes,” Peiqin said, nodding.

“I’m Jiao.” She was in a light blue mandarin dress embroidered with a colorful phoenix, her feet encased in matching high-heeled satin slippers, as if she had stepped out of a movie from the thirties. The mandarin dress, apparently custom-tailored, brought out all her curves, with a subtle suggestion of voluptuousness. She was holding a pair of stockings in her hand.

Jiao should have been able to take care of the apartment herself, but Peiqin knew it could be simply a sign of one’s social status to have a maid. Peiqin had heard that some upstarts had a cubicle in their apartments called a maid’s room, with its own bathroom, so that the live-in-servant wouldn’t mix with the master. She had grown up during the age of communist egalitarian propaganda, and she couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable with her identity in this situation, even though she was merely playing a role, a temporary one.

“Come on in,” Jiao said. “My name is Pei. Mr. Chen wanted me to come here,” Peiqin repeated what she had said downstairs.

“Mr. Chen called me, saying that he would send over someone capable and reliable.”

“I’ve known Mr. Chen for years. He’s a good man.”

“How is he? I tried to call him this morning, but he didn’t pick up.”

“He is out of town on business, I guess,” Peiqin said vaguely, not sure whether Jiao was aware of the latest development.

“Business people are like that.” Jiao added, “I’m going out this morning, so let’s talk about your work now. You don’t have to come every day. Three times a week. Four hours each time. Primarily your duties will be room cleaning and laundry. Occasionally, I’ll need you to prepare dinner, like today, but the moment you finish, you may leave. For your help, eight hundred a month, and I’ll pay for anything additional. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine with me.”

“Let me make a list of what you need to buy and prepare for tonight.” Jiao scribbled quickly on a piece of paper. “Oh, you don’t have to cook, just prepare them.”

“I understand,” Peiqin said, glancing over the list, which appeared to be quite specific, not only about the items, but about the specific culinary flavors too. “When are you coming back?”

“Six.”

“And your dinnertime?”

“Around seven.”

“In that case, I’d better start cooking the pork around four, I think, for the pork braised in red sauce takes hours. As for the fish, I’ll have it prepared with scallion and ginger in a steamer, so you will just need to steam it for five or six minutes, more or less, as you prefer.”

“Right,” Jiao said, nodding. “You’re quite experienced.”

“Anything specific about the pork or the fish?”

“Yes, well-cooked fat pork,” Jiao said. “Oh, don’t use soy sauce.”

“But what about the sauce -” Peiqin began, then had a thought. “I see. I think I can wok-fry sugar until it turns brown and use it for color.”

“You’re a pro,” Jiao said with a smile.

It was a recipe Peiqin had learned at the restaurant. Jiao must have cooked it herself, as she showed no surprise on her face.

“I’ll time it so the pork will be well done but not overdone when you come back. You can also add in whatever spice you like.”

“Indeed, Mr. Chen has made an excellent recommendation. Do it in whatever way you like. Here’s money for your shopping.”

Jiao appeared to be in a hurry to leave, talking and pulling on her stockings while leaning against a mahogany chair. She slid her feet into a pair of high heels.

“If it takes more than four hours for a particular day, let me know. I’ll pay extra, okay?” Jiao added, heading toward the door.

It was more than okay for a maid, Peiqin thought, listening to Jiao’s footsteps fading along the corridor and disappearing into the elevator. She then closed the door.

She didn’t know what Chen had said about her to Jiao, but it appeared that her “maid career” had started more smoothly than she expected. Jiao had accepted her without a single question. The work arrangements suited Peiqin too, since she wouldn’t even have to ask for a leave from the restaurant. As an accountant with flexible work hours, she could come over at her convenience. Some days she might be able to work her hours here during the lunch break.

Taking an apron out of the canvas bag, she started moving around like a maid, while observing like a cop’s wife, looking out for anything out of the ordinary and for objects associated with Mao.

It was a luxurious apartment. The layout appeared to be unusual, but she was not sure. The oblong-shaped living room was huge, with paintings scattered here and there, finished and unfinished. Jiao might use it more like a studio. On one wall hung a long silk-decked scroll of Chinese calligraphy. It was difficult for Peiqin to read the flying-dragon-and-dancing-phoenix-like writing. It took her several minutes to recognize five or six characters in the scroll, and then it dawned on her that the scroll was of a poem by Mao entitled “Ode to the Plum Blossom,” which she had read in her middle school textbook.

In classical Chinese poetry, beauties and flowers sometimes served as metaphors for each other. So the calligrapher could have copied the poem for Jiao as a compliment, but as far as Peiqin remembered, the plum blossom was not commonly symbolic of a young, fashionable girl.