Since he was in the building of the Shanghai Writers’ Association, he thought he might as well drop into Qiang’s office to say hi to the old man, and to express thanks to him for his work all these years in the association, from which Qiang was now going to retire.

Qiang was something of an enigma. As the head of its foreign liaison office, he was supposed to be the one capable of speaking English or some other foreign languages, knowledgeable about Western cultures and conventions. But that was far from the case. A man of few words in public, Qiang looked more like an old farmer who had recently moved into the city of Shanghai. And he was also dressed as such.

It was whispered, however, that Qiang was either closely related to someone in Internal Security, or a secret member. It was the sort of question few wanted to ask. Anyway, he had worked there for over thirty years as one trusted by the Party authorities, with his position untouchable at the sensitive office. For the last two or three years, he also had an assistant who interpreted or translated for him as more and more writers came to Shanghai from other countries. But he handled his job well, got along with the visiting writers as well as the local writers, and with Chen too.

The moment Chen stepped into the office, Qiang rose with a broad smile breaking out on his deep-lined face.

‘I was thinking of calling you, Chief Inspector Chen.’

‘Anything you need me to do, Director Qiang?’

‘No, just long time no see. I’m going to retire next month, as you may know.’

‘I know. Having just picked up some copies of Shanghai Literature, I’m here at your office and thought long time no see indeed, as you have said.’

‘Yes, I’ve read your long poem about Tai Lake. A number of people have read it too. What have you been doing lately?’

‘Nothing particular, just one assignment after another.’

‘Any assignment from Comrade Secretary Zhao? He has a very high opinion of you. People all say. He is staying at the Hyatt in Pudong this time, I’ve just heard.’

He was taken aback by the directness of the question from Qiang, but for a man of Qiang’s connections, it was not too astonishing for him to know about Zhao’s unannounced vacation.

‘Believe it or not, I’m having a different assignment for Comrade Secretary Zhao this time. A tourist guide for his fresh air vacation in Shanghai.’

‘Well, you’re the very one for the job. He must be so concerned with the air pollution in Beijing. But a lot of people here are complaining about it too.’

‘Yes, he is concerned,’ he said, not eager to dwell on the topic. ‘Incidentally, I have to thank you for those assignments you gave me all those years ago – to show the visiting foreign writers around the city, so the current job for Comrade Secretary Zhao may not be too difficult for me.’