When Red is Black by Qiu Xiaolong Read Free Book Online Page A

litchi.
     
    She was a delicious girl with a watermelon-seed-shaped face, almond eyes, and cherry lips.
     
    “General Manager Gu did not have to send you here. He shouldn’t have done so.” Chen did not know what else to say, but he felt he had to make some protest.
     
    “He is paying me to come here,” she said in mock dismay. “You surely don’t want me to lose my job, do you?”
     
    She could hardly help with the translation, as her major was Chinese literature, he remembered. What else was there for her to do? There might be phone calls, which a secretary could answer for him. But he thought better of this. He didn’t receive many calls at home, for one thing. And then, a female secretary in his room— what would others imagine? Afterward, he would have to spend more time making explanations than she could possibly save him.
     
    But she seemed to be quite at ease already, almost at home. Taking off her jacket, she started to wash up the cups and the ashtray on the desk without waiting for his orders.
     
    Perhaps Gu had given her his orders.
     
    “What about your schoolwork?”
     
    “I have only one class this evening.”
     
    “I cannot think of anything for you to do at this moment. There are magazines on the shelf. You may pick one to read if you like.”
     
    “That’s very considerate of you, Chief Inspector Chen.”
     
    He did not feel comfortable with someone moving about in back of him. She had started to straighten the books on the shelf. It was hard to drive the associations he had with the phrase a little secretary out of his subconscious. She had on a white sweater with an extraordinarily large collar and sleeves. Very fashionable. He wondered whether there was a special name for the style. Then an idea came to him. He was not that familiar with the architectural styles of the thirties. If she could take a few pictures of a shikumen house, of a lane from the thirties, in the former concession area, it would help him visualize. He asked if she could do that for him.
     
    “Sure. Can I have your door key?” She added, “In case you are out when I come back.”
     
    “Okay.”
     
    She left with a key ring dangling from her finger, apparently quite clear as to where she would take those pictures he had requested. Her retreating figure reminded him of “a traveling cloud,” an image with various connotations in Chinese poetry, but at this moment, he thought of A traveling cloud / that forgets to come back I unaware of the spring drawing to an end, from a poem by Feng Yansi that he had read not too long ago.
     
    In classical literature, more often than not, the word “cloud” was accompanied by “rain,” evoking sexual love.
     
    Once again he tried to settle down to his work.
     
    It was not easy. He had to use a Chinese-English dictionary, and a picture dictionary as well. After an hour or so, he had another idea. Instead of typing on, doggedly, he took out an extra copy of the proposal, and, with a highlighter, underlined the words he was not sure about. That was not difficult, but it was time-consuming, requiring a close reading. Still, he was getting a more general—yet at the same time more concrete—picture of the New World.
     
    He stopped only once, to make himself a cup of instant coffee, which he drank absentmindedly.
     
    White Cloud came back around one thirty, with a dozen color pictures she had taken and had developed. One-hour service, perhaps. She also carried a plastic bag in her other hand filled with boxes of barbequed pork, and smoked eel, and a bag of mini-soup buns.
     
    “Have you had your lunch, Chief Inspector Chen?”
     
    “No, I haven’t been hungry.”
     
    “I’m so sorry, I had no time to prepare lunch for you today. This is something I bought from a restaurant.”
     
    “Thank you! How much do I owe you?”
     
    “Nothing, Mr. Gu will reimburse me.”
     
    He did not really like it, the way Gu had given her instructions—and money