Free The Mao Case by Qiu Xiaolong Page A

that Mao quotation to Teng, I didn’t put any extra pressure on him. I was a cop, simply doing what I was supposed to. But I still wonder: could I have tried to do something more? To help him, I mean. It’s a question that is like a fly, inevitably buzzing back to the same spot, continuously bugging me.
    “After the Cultural Revolution, there was a short period of ‘rectifying the wrong cases.’ Without talking to Party Secretary Li about it, I dropped in at Teng’s school one day. To my consternation, there was no ‘rectifying the wrong case’ with regard to Teng, because there was no case. Nothing in official record at all. He committed suicide during an unofficial investigation. That’s all there was about it. Disaster comes in and out of the mouth, as an old saying goes. With Mao in the background, no one was willing to talk about it.
    “I kept a notebook on the case, so I got hold of the books mentioned in Teng’s class notes, as well as some new publications about Mao. I had hoped to prove that it was Teng’s typo, so he, too, was at least partially responsible. Alternatively, that one of the authors had made a typo. Either way, I wouldn’t have to hold myself responsible. A deceiving and self-deceiving trick, you may say, like silencing a ringing bell by stuffing up one’s own ears. But the more I read, the lower my heart sank —”
    “Wait a minute, Old Hunter,” Chen interrupted at the sight of the returning waitress. “Bring more hot water.”
    “Two thermos bottles of hot water,” Old Hunter said. “We don’t serve hot water like that,” she protested weakly. “We paid for a private room. At least we should be able to have the tea our way.”
    After she brought the hot water as requested, Old Hunter waved the waitress out of the room, poured a cup for himself, and resumed.
    “About Mao’s marriages, here’s a summary of what I’ve gathered from various sources. After their marriage, Kaihui gave birth to three sons. In 1927, Mao went to the Jingjiang Mountains as a guerrilla fighter, leaving Kaihui and their young children behind in the suburbs of Changsha. Less than a year later, however, Mao married Zizhen, who was then only seventeen, nicknamed ‘the flower of Yongxing County’ and a guerrilla fighter in the mountains. What proved this beyond any doubt was an article in defense of Mao’s marriage to Zizhen. It was written by a senior Party official and published in History Magazine . According to the author, it was simply another sacrifice for the revolution: Zizhen was the younger sister of a guerrilla leader who had arrived in the mountains earlier, so Mao had to marry her so as to consolidate the revolutionary forces there. ‘Any criticism of Mao’s marriage with Zizhen was irresponsible, made without proper historical perspective.’ ”
    “That’s unbelievable! Such a brazen excuse.”
    “Whatever the excuse, Mao married Zizhen — an act of undeniable bigamy. In the mountains, he lost himself in the cloud and rain of her youthful, supple body, which bore a daughter for him that same year.”
    “But Mao could have been lonely in the mountains, or lost in a moment of passion,” Chen said. “It might not be fair to judge him on one episode in his personal life.”
    “Whatever he did as the supreme Party leader is not for me to judge. I was simply looking into what he did as a man to his women.”
    “Perhaps Mao believed Kaihui had already died.”
    “No, that’s not true. Kaihui knew nothing about his betrayal, and had someone carry handmade cloth shoes to him. She also asked several times to join him in the mountains, but he always said no. Like in a Suzhou opera line, he heard only the new one’s laughter, not the old one’s weeping. And there’s something else,” he said, sipping at his tea, deliberately, like wine. “Something you will not believe.”
    “Oh, the climax of the Suzhou opera is finally coming,” Chen said nodding, like a loyal audience.
    “At