‘Since their meeting in the Longhua Temple service, Peiqin has been talking about her from time to time, saying that she owes Lianping a big one for her presence at the temple. And the two like each other. Lianping truly goes out of her way to help when Peiqin asks her for it.’

There was no immediate response from the chief inspector, and Yu changed the topic.

‘But back to the case, we don’t have much time left for us. The murderer will strike out again before the week is over.’

‘That’s true. This Friday. One victim a week. With Internal Security and Qin focusing on Zhou, we may not have the recourse to forestall such a move, even with the mask as a clue.’

‘What’s wrong, Chief? You are looking so pale.’

‘Too much coffee, I think. Coffee sickness. Yes. You’ve just mentioned the Buddhist service at the temple, where Lianping and Peiqin met for the first time. You wondered at the time, I still remember, what’s the point having the service, and now what’s the point planting the mask at the crime scene. For some, the point is surely there, though not visible or understandable to others. Peiqin went to the temple service because of the expectations from her relatives; I went there, to be honest, in return for her help over all these years; and Lianping went there because of the article she had to write about me – perhaps a little more than that, for all I could tell. In short, people all have a reason or point for what they believe they have to do. An absolute logic for it whether conscious or subconscious. Like the beginning of The Unbearable Lightness of Being.’

Chen now looked ghastly pale, quite possibly more ‘coffee sick’ than he realized, but it was also possible he was carried away for some reason beyond Yu. When Chen went on in such a rambling, almost incomprehensible way, Yu knew from experience that ideas might have been jostling and juggling in the head of the enigmatic inspector. A monologue like that could have masked his desperate attempt to sort something out. Yu thought better of interrupting the train of his partner’s thought, but he could not help stopping Chen’s hand reaching out to add more coffee to his mug.

‘I’m fine, Yu. Don’t worry about the digression. It’s just the name of a French novel I’ve read. It talks about people behaving in certain ways in spite of themselves, giving in to a compulsive ritual. Back to the Buddhist service at the temple. These ritualistic services are really growing in today’s China. Like the banquet dedicated to the Money God, which I saw for the first time at a friend’s home last month. It’s in fashion for the increasingly materialistic society. For a lot of people, it’s simply a must. Take my mother, for instance. It’s her going vegetarian once every half a month, the fifteenth in the lunar calendar. Or once a week …’