“Shikumen used to be one of the dominant residential architectural styles in Shanghai in the Foreign Concession era,” Chen said.

“It will also work for stores, bars, restaurants, and nightclubs. It will be an attraction for foreigners-exotic, strange, colonial, post-colonial, what they do not have at home. And it will attract Shanghainese too. I have done some market research. Nowadays people are becoming nostalgic, you know. What was the city called then? The Paris of the East.’ ‘An Oriental Pearl.’ Books about Shanghai in the golden days sell like hotcakes. Why? A middle class is rising up fast here. Now that they have money, they long for a tradition, or a history, they can claim as their own.”

“It is a grand project,” Chen said. “Have you gotten the approval of the city government?”

Gu was a shrewd businessman, Chen knew. There was no need to worry about the New World Group’s business strategy. But the price he had been offered to make a translation of their proposal was out of all proportion to the task. It was as if a moon cake had fallen from the skies; it was too good an offer for Chen not to be suspicious. He had better find out whether there were any strings attached.

“Of course, the city government is all for the project. When the New World goes up, it will not only enhance the image of our great city, but also bring in huge tax revenues.” Gu lit a cigarette before he added, “Well, I’ll let you in on a secret. I applied for the use of the land for cultural preservation. After all, shikumen-style architecture is an integral part of Shanghai ’s history. One or two small museums may be included in the concept as well. A museum for ancient coins is one idea; I have already been contacted by someone. But most of the new shikumen houses will be for commercial use. Really high-end, luxury premises.”

“Like those in Rome?”

“Exactly. In my proposal to the city government, I did not dwell on those details, or the land price would have soared. From another perspective, however, you can say that it really is for the preservation of Shanghai ’s culture.”

“How true,” Chen said. “There are so many perspectives from which one may examine one and the same thing, and you can choose the perspective you like.”

“The city government has approved the plan. The next step is to get loans from investment banks abroad. Large loans. It is a huge gamble, I admit, but I’m betting on it. China ’s entry into the World Trade Organization will open its doors even wider. No one can turn the clock back. Several American venture-capital companies are interested in the New World, but none of them knows anything about Shanghai ’s culture. So I want to give them a detailed business proposal, fifty pages long in English. Everything depends on the translation. You alone are up to the task, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“Thank you, General Manager Gu.” Indeed, it was a high compliment. Chen had majored in English in college, but, through a combination of circumstances, had been assigned to a job at the Shanghai Police Bureau. Over the years, he had only done translations in his spare time, and he felt flattered by Gu’s choosing him.

“But there are many qualified translators in Shanghai,” Chen protested. “Professors at Fudan or East China universities. I don’t think you need me to introduce one of them to you.”

“No, they are not really up to the task. That’s not just my own opinion. As a matter of fact, I asked a retired professor from Fudan University for help, and faxed his sample translation to an American associate. No good. ‘Too old-fashioned, too literal’ was his conclusion.”

“Well, I studied under those old-fashioned professors.”

“But for the government’s college-graduate-assignment policy at the time, you would have been a well-known professor by now. Of course, things have worked out very well for you. An emerging Party cadre, a published poet, a renowned translator; you are the envy of those professors. And you are different. As a government representative, you have been in frequent contact with American visitors. Your American friend, Catherine-I remember her name-says your English is absolutely wonderful.”

“American exaggeration. You cannot take her word for it,” Chen said. “Besides, I have served only as a representative of the Shanghai Writers’ Association. Nor have I done that often.”

“Yes, that’s another reason I need your help. This business proposal has a lot to do with Shanghai ’s culture and history. The Chinese text is written in quite poetic language. And you are a poet. That’s no exaggeration, right? I honestly cannot think of a better candidate for the job.”

“Thank you,” Chen said, as he studied Gu over the rim of his glass. Gu must have given this offer some serious thought. “It is just that I’m overwhelmed with work at the bureau.”

“I’m asking a lot, I know. Take a week’s leave for me. Rush service! We’ll pay one and half times the rate I offered for rush service: seventy-five cents a word. I’ll tell my American partner. I know it will not be a problem.”

This was a small fortune, Chen calculated quickly. At the rate of seventy-five cents per word, at about a thousand Chinese characters per page, for a total of fifty pages, this would be over thirty thousand American dollars, equivalent to three hundred thousand Yuan, an amount that it would take him thirty years to earn as a chief inspector, including all the bonuses he might get.

As he had attained the rank of chief inspector in his mid-thirties, Chen was generally viewed as a success: an emerging Party cadre with a promising future, with a bureau car at his. disposal, a new apartment in his own name, and an occasional photo appearance in local newspapers. As an iron-rice-bowl holder, however, his monthly income of around five hundred Yuan was sometimes barely enough to cover his needs. But for the extra money from his translations of foreign mysteries and the occasional short technical translation, as well as the “gray area” perquisites of his position, he didn’t know how he could have managed.

And, as an emerging Party cadre, he also felt the need to live up to certain unwritten standards. When he met with connections like Gu, for instance, he considered himself obliged to offer to pay occasionally, even though those businessmen would invariably insist on picking up the check.

Of late he’d also had sizable expenses due to the increasing cost of medical treatment for his mother, whose former employer, a state-run factory, had fallen into terrible shape and was unable to reimburse its retirees for their medical bills. She had talked to the factory director a number of times without success. The company was on the brink of bankruptcy. So Chen had taken it upon himself to pay. The money from the translation of the New World business plan would be like timely rain in the dry season.

“You have to help me,” Gu pleaded with utter sincerity. “I cannot turn in an unreadable proposal to an American banker. The translation must be first-class.”

“I cannot guarantee anything. To translate a total of fifty pages will take time. I doubt I will be able to manage in just one or even two weeks, even if I take a leave from the bureau.”

“Oh, I forgot. For such a large project, you will surely need help. What about White Cloud? That girl you danced with in the Dynasty Club, remember her? She’s a college student. Bright, capable, and understanding. She will be a little secretary for you.”

A “little secretary”-xiaomi-another current term, which actually meant a “little mistress.” Newly rich businessmen-Mr. Big Bucks-like Gu made a point of having young, beautiful “little secretaries” in their company. A necessary sign of one’s social status, if not of something else. Chen had met White Cloud-a “K girl”- in the private karaoke room at Gu’s Dynasty Club while pursuing an earlier investigation with triad ramifications.