Don't Cry Tai Lake (9 page)

“You are overwhelming me,” she said with a light, wistful smile. It was no longer fashionable to quote poetry in today's society, but it didn't seem to irritate her.

“What a poet you are!” the sampan man cut in, having overheard their conversation. “Would you like to hear a couple of sampan songs?”

“Sampan songs?”

“Yes, a time-honored convention here,” the sampan man responded with a broad grin. “Remember the love songs in the stories about Tang Bohu?”

Tang was a legendary romantic scholar and painter in the Ming dynasty. There was a singing boatman in those stories, Chen recalled.

The sampan man began to sing in his deep voice with a strong Wu accent, a song celebrating the eternal theme of love:

Red peach blossoms blaze

all over the hills,

with the spring water

of the river flowing around.

 

The flower color will easily fade,

my lord, like your passion,

while the water runs on,

never-ending, like my feelings.

To his surprise, Chen recognized the song as one composed by Liu Yuxie, another well-known Tang dynasty poet. It was a sort of boat melody for lovers in ancient times.

“Well done,” Shanshan said, clapping her hands.

“Bravo!” Chen said. “I'll add ten yuan to the fee.”

The sampan man's eyes, Chen noticed, seemed to be anchored on Shanshan. Perhaps he was singing to her, reminded of his own younger days. She must have been aware of it too. She smiled good-naturedly at Chen as she patted his hand across the table.

The sampan kept gliding on, the sampan man still singing, declaring passion unchanged from time immemorial.

The willow shoots green,

the river water smooth,

she hears him singing

across the waves.

 

It shines in the east,

it rains in the west.

It is said not to be fine,

but fine to me.

Chen was amazed. It was another boat song by the same Tang dynasty poet, and the second stanza contained a clever pun that was both about and not about the weather.

In the distance, there were a couple of rowboats, some sharp-nosed, some blunt. One of them seemed to be checking nets in the waves, just the way it was done in the Tang era. However, factories also loomed along the lakeshore, with their smokestacks pouring out smoke against the brownish hills. Not far away, several water birds were seen scavenging among washed-up dead fish.

“One more,” Shanshan said to the sampan driver.

The Qing River meanders

against myriads of willow shoots.

The scene remains unchanged

as two decades ago …

The same old wooden bridge,

where I parted with her,

brings no news, alas,

for today.

The last song astonished Chen with its abrupt sad ending. He looked up to see the willows lined along a curving stretch of the bank, just as in the poem.

Where would he be in two decades? Would he remember this day in the boat? he wondered.

“We also provide a special boat meal,” the sampan man said, wiping sweat off his forehead with his hand. “Fish and shrimp, all fresh and live, straight out of the water. I'll throw in the net right now, if you like.”

“That would be interesting,” Chen said. He had read about boat meals—where a fresh catch was prepared there and then, cooked on a tiny stove, and served in the cabin.

But then he caught a glance from Shanshan. She didn't say anything, perhaps reluctant to be a wet blanket again, but he knew her reservations about the contaminated lake. There was no point discussing it, however, in the presence of the sampan driver.

“Well, we're not that hungry,” he said. “Not now, thank you.”

“Thank you,” she echoed.

“That's fine. You have my boat for the whole day. No rush on the meal,” the sampan man said in good spirits, stealing another look at her. “Now, I happen to know a boat meal story.”

“Yes, tell us the story,” she said.

“This story is the supposed origin of the well-known dish called Emperor Qianlong's Live Carp. This specialty is available in some fancy restaurants, served on a willow-patterned platter with the carp's eyes still turning.”

“Really!” Chen said, also intrigued.

“According to the story, Emperor Qianlong, of the Qing dynasty, was exceptionally fond of traveling incognito. During a trip south of the river, disguised as a merchant, he was caught in a storm at night. When he finally boarded a sampan, he was cold and hungry as a drenched wolf. Now sheltered, he paid some silver for a meal. The boat girl was young and capable, dressed in a blue homespun tunic and shorts, bare-legged and barefoot, all alone in the sampan. She pulled out an urn of Maiden Red—”

“That's the name of some Shaoxin rice wine, right?” Shanshan inquired, now in higher spirits too.

“Yes, it's traditional for people to bury an urn of rice wine underground when a daughter is born. It would then be unearthed on important occasions years later—for instance, when she gets married. Anyway, back to the story. That urn of Maiden Red must have been stored for years. It tasted so mellow that he drained several cups without taking a break. Soon he was beginning to forget he was an emperor. The boat girl took pity on him, still looking as wet as a chicken drowning in a pond. She fried for him a live carp she'd just caught from the river. The fish turned out to be too large for the small wok in the boat, so she had to fry it with its head and tail sticking out of the sizzling oil. She served the fish hot and fresh on a willow-pattern platter. The fish tasted extraordinarily fresh and tender, with its eyes still goggling once or twice in the dark—”

“Yes, I've heard of this dish,” Chen said. “I've had it at a Beijing restaurant, but never heard the story about it.”

“Oh, the story is not finished yet. Now comes the climax.” The sampan man paused dramatically. “Qianlong must have had too many cups of rice wine. Raising his chopsticks, he swayed and attacked the fish savagely, but of all a sudden he saw the fish turn into the girl, who was writhing, bleeding and thrashing under him as he fell to sucking her small toe as if it was a dainty ball of carp cheek's meat … Afterward, it became a special palace dish.”

“What a bizarre story about a fantastic special dish,” Shanshan said. Turning to Chen, she added unexpectedly, “A connoisseur like you should not miss an experience like a boat meal. Go ahead and order whatever you'd like. But after such a story, no fish for me.”

“Don't bother fishing for anything from the lake,” Chen said to the boatman. “A simple boat meal will do.”

“Yes sir, a simple boat meal,” he said. The sampan man must have caught their earlier hesitation, for he continued, “but I have something special today—white shrimp.”

“One of the three special whites of the lake?”

“No, I didn't catch the white shrimp here. I got it from Ningbo, and it's still quite fresh. I live on the lake, so I know better.”

If anything, it confirmed Shanshan's statements about the toxic lake food. “Well?” Chen said, looking up at her.

“Most locals would indeed know better,” she whispered, leaning over the table. “He is probably telling the truth.”

It turned out to be a boat meal different from any he had read about or imagined. It was simple, sure enough. A hot pot over a small burner of liquid gas, with frozen tofu, cabbage, and sliced beef, in addition to the white shrimp. The sampan driver pulled it all out of a cooler. They put the food into the boiling water, dipped it in the special sauce, and then enjoyed it.

It was a unique experience, with the hot pot sizzling between them, their chopsticks crossing each other in the cramped space. The white shrimp, almost transparent in the hot pot, tasted surprisingly fresh. Shanshan didn't eat much, though, touching only tofu and cabbage. She picked up a shrimp by mistake, but she peeled it with her slender fingers and put it onto his saucer, seemingly apologetic for her fastidiousness.

Perhaps she was not ideal company for a gourmet like him, he thought, amused at himself. But what's the big deal? It was good for a change. After all, he would only be here for a week.

Around them, a thin mist seemed to be congealing, and the air grew slightly damp. It was probably going to rain.

He made an effort to bring the conversation around to a topic not appropriate for a tourist. “I went to Uncle Wang's place yesterday. Don't worry. I remembered what you told me, so I didn't order any lake fish there.”

“I know. Uncle Wang told me that you made phone calls for me.”

“Don't mention it. I was worried about you, so I tried to find out what was going on.”

“I really appreciate it, Chen. But for a tourist, you're very resourceful.”

“I'm nobody, Shanshan. I know nothing about police procedure, but I do know that it's wrong to treat you like that. Like the old proverb says, if one sees something not right, one must draw out his sword to intervene,” he improvised, casting himself in an archetypal role from classical Chinese literature. He added, with a self-deprecating shrug, “Alas, I have no sword in my hand.”

“Well, it's getting warm here,” she said, her eyes alert, her brows lightly arched. “Shall we move to the bow?”

Chen became aware of the boatman standing out on the stern, capable of overhearing their conversation.

“Good idea.”

They climbed out to the bow, where they enjoyed a better view of the lake and the hills in the distance. With no chair or bench there, they had to seat themselves on the deck, which, though a little wet, bothered neither of them.

She sat cross-legged in a lotus position, but soon shifted. Leaning back against the outside post of the cabin, she stretched out her long legs and slipped off her shoes. She tilted her face to the light and blossomed into a smile. The wind was ruffling her shoulder-length hair, as though adding to the temptation.

Again, he tried to convince himself he didn't have to be a chief inspector at the moment. He could simply be a man in the company of a woman he cared for.

A bass sprang out of the algae close to the boat and snapped at something hardly visible in the misty air. The silver scales flashed against the dirty green mess, and the fish plunged back into the water, twisting and swimming away.

“Thank you, Shanshan. I've been enjoying the boat trip—every minute of it,” he said, feeling that the moment was fleeting. But considering her possible involvement in a murder, he had to slow down, he told himself. At least until he could really check it out.

“Uncle Wang told me a little,” he said, “but I don't have a clear picture of what happened at your company.”

“I don't know what Uncle Wang said,” she said, “but he hardly knows anything. What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what's been going on at the company of late, as much as possible.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, I've been translating mysteries, so I'm naturally interested in a murder case. I may also be able to help a little,” he said, taking her hand on an impulse, “through some connections here.”

She didn't take hers away, but she didn't meet his gaze, looking instead at the green mass that stretched out, almost touching the horizon in the afternoon light.

“I don't know where to start, Chen.”

“For starters, how about the IPO plan for the company? I think you mentioned it. Why should the company go public? I mean, what's the reason behind it, given that it's a state-run company? Or what's the connection to the issue of environmental protection?”

“I'm no expert on the latest reforms on the ownership system in China,” she started slowly. “For my parents' generation, there was nothing but state-run companies. Then things began to change with the economic reforms launched by Comrade Deng Xiaoping, and non-state-run companies came to the fore. An increasing number of state-run companies have been falling apart in recent years. They can barely survive in today's market. So some people proposed a reform in the ownership system. It's based on the theory that a company can't succeed unless someone owns it. In other words, with socialism and communism gone to the dogs, everything has to depend on a capitalist interest. So entrepreneurs simply took over a bunch of state-run companies, buying them at an incredible bargain.”

“Yes, a lot of deals like that were made under the table, I've heard,” Chen said. “It has resulted in a huge loss of state property.”

“However, the situation for our company is different. The ownership system is to be changed, but it is not being purchased by an outside entrepreneur. Rather, the company will become a public one, owned by shareholders. As a consequence, Liu, the company's general manager, could end up owning millions of shares. He would have been able to buy them at a huge discount—an ‘inside price'—or simply get shares for free through all sorts of tricks—say, setting five cents per share as the inside price for executives like himself, when each share will be immediately worth twenty or thirty yuan once it goes on the market. What's more, Liu was in a position to purchase shares without paying a single penny from his own pocket. It would have been easy for him to get the money by mortgaging the chemical company.”

“It's called
catching a white wolf with your bare hands
. I read about it somewhere.”

“You're not that bookish, are you?” she said, nodding. “In Western countries, it's a matter of course for the owner to have the largest number of shares, since he started the company. But people like Liu simply happen to be in a position that enables them to turn state property into their personal property, all in the name of economic reform.”