Right Widow

Fang Jibai sat with his legs crossed, a cigarette held between his fingers, looking utterly bored and relaxed—as though he were not perched on a bridge pier at Xuban Bridge in Lücheng watching real-life drama unfold, but sitting in the old storytelling hall at Sanyuan Teahouse on Danfeng Street in Nanjing, listening to serial tales. He loved best to hear Master Zhang's Emperor Qianlong's Tour of Jiangnan and Master Zhao's Sword of the Orchid Knight. Right now, what played out before him was a human tragedy right outside the Lücheng Police Station at Xuban Bridge. Right Widow stood before the bluestone steps of the station. She wore a qipao—a treasured garment kept packed away at the bottom of her trunk, too precious for everyday wear. A brief shower had fallen that afternoon. Specks of mud splattered the hem of her gown. Right Widow held a battered oil-paper umbrella; two of its ribs were broken, leaving the canopy drooping limp. "They're all saying... saying my brother is dead." Right Widow looked at Tang Yan, a desperate glimmer of hope shining in her eyes. "Brother Tang, my brother is still alive, isn't he?" "I'm not at liberty to disclose details of the case," Tang Yan replied. "Still, we're already hunting down the culprit. Rest assured, we'll definitely catch the murderer." "Murderer?" Right Widow repeated the word. A look of sheer terror abruptly twisted her face. Staring at Tang Yan, she shrank back two steps, shaking her head frantically. "No, no! I don't want a murderer! I don't want one!" She stared fixedly at Tang Yan. "If there's no murderer, then he's still alive, isn't that right?" "My brother is an honest man," she rambled on. "Whenever someone bullied me, he didn't even dare to utter a peep! "He's my brother! He's the only brother I have, the only one I can lean on." She let out a sigh, then suddenly looked up at Zhang Yin, who stood beside Tang Yan. "He's such an honest man—he's bound to live a blessed life, right?" Tang Yan frowned with growing irritation. The woman was acting unhinged—had she lost her mind? "Your brother is already—" Zhang Yin began, but shut his mouth the moment he saw Fourth Brother walk over and shake his head at him. *** "Fifth Sister-in-law Fan." Fang Jibai stepped up to Right Widow. "Do you still remember me?" "Young Fourth Fang." Right Widow scrutinized him closely. "I'm not stupid. Of course I remember you." "Do you know what I do for a living now?" "I do. You work in the yamen." "Good." Fang Jibai nodded. "Anggong is merely missing right now. We're still searching for his whereabouts." "And Feng the Third...?" she asked hesitantly. "Arresting him had nothing to do with Anggong," Fang Jibai said. "Right, that's right!" Right Widow brightened at once, as if a massive boulder had been lifted from her chest. She nodded vigorously. "You're right. Your brother is an honest man, and honest people live long lives," Fang Jibai said, his face solemn. "Don't keep coming to the yamen. It makes it look as though you're crying out for justice or demanding a life for a life." Fang Jibai flicked his cigarette ash. "It brings bad luck." "Yes, yes, yes—you're right, Young Fourth Fang." Her eyes shone with an unnatural clarity as she nodded like a chicken pecking at grain. "It brings bad luck, bad luck. I'll leave right now, right this second." Holding her battered oil-paper umbrella with its broken ribs and drooping canopy, Right Widow fled as if running for her life. After about twenty paces, she suddenly stopped, turned around, composed herself, and offered Fang Jibai a curtsy. Then she turned again and sashayed away, swaying her hips. A moment later, she seemed to notice the mud stains on her qipao, letting out one startled gasp after another... "Tang Yan, Zhang Yin," Fang Jibai called out. "Fourth Brother." "Fourth Brother." "I'm heading back to Nanjing tomorrow. After I leave, keep a close eye on Right Widow." Fang Jibai took a gentle pull on his cigarette, venting plumes of smoke from his nostrils as he spoke in an even tone. "If anyone bullies her, teach them a harsh lesson for me. If your team leader asks, tell him it was on my orders." "Yes, sir." "Understood." Fang Jibai tossed the cigarette butt to the ground and walked off. His heart was heavy, filled with bitterness and resentment. The townspeople ridiculed Right Widow and looked down on her. Some wished this woman who tarnished the town's reputation would drop dead sooner rather than later—yet that never stopped men from knocking on her door in the dead of night. Not long after her marriage, her husband had died young. Her in-laws had plundered the estate, seizing the property and farmland before casting her out. To survive, she had no choice but to take up the trade of a semi-clandestine prostitute. She had a half-brother, but he was nothing more than a cowardly, worthless scoundrel; every copper she earned through the bitter sale of her own body had gone toward keeping him fed. In her simple, impoverished understanding of the world, worthless though her brother was—even if he never treated her like an elder sister and looked on her with disgust—having him meant she still had family from her maiden home, something to live for. Now Anggong was dead. Fang Jibai could already foresee that once Right Widow learned of her brother's death, she would either die of grief or lose her mind completely. Her late husband's relatives, who had long eyed her sole remaining asset—her cottage—would never let such an opportunity slip by. She was a kind, pitiful woman who fought so hard to survive, enduring a life of quiet humiliation, yet this world refused to grant her even the slimmest chance at survival. What a thoroughly rotten old world! *** "Young Fourth! Young Fourth!" Hearing someone call his name, Fang Jibai turned to look. "Second Brother Zhao." A smile broke across Fang Jibai's face as he cupped his hands in greeting toward Zhao Ding. Fang Jibai thanked Zhao Ding. For Third Sister's wedding, Zhao Ding had sent a gift of money—two silver dollars more than customary social courtesy required, which conferred considerable face and marked a substantial favor. "About the gunfire last night—you seem to know a thing or two, don't you, Young Fourth?" Zhao Ding took the cigarette Fang Jibai offered, tilted his head while Fang lit it for him, and took two deep drags before asking. "Anggong went missing, likely murdered," Fang Jibai said, keeping his voice low. "Team Leader Chen led men out last night to catch the culprit." "Who's the culprit? To think they even broke out both rifles and pistols," Zhao Ding asked. "That I wouldn't know." Fang Jibai tapped the ash from his cigarette. "As you know, Second Brother Zhao, I'm stationed in Nanjing after all..." "All right, I'll let you get on with things. I'm off." Zhao Ding tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and hurried away. Watching Zhao Ding's retreating figure, Fang Jibai narrowed his eyes. Zhao Ding belonged to the Lücheng Team of the Lixingshe Special Services Department. While a secret to ordinary folk, to Fourth Brother Fang of Lücheng—and a man within the police system at that—it was hardly an impenetrable mystery. Just as Zhao Ding had pointed out, to apprehend an ordinary town thug, both rifles and pistols had been fired—short of hand grenades detonating, it had sounded like a pitched battle. That was glaringly unusual, so it was only natural for Zhao Ding to be suspicious. The Special Services Department was tasked specifically with dealing with the Japanese. Had they caught wind of Japanese activity and begun a secret investigation of their own? "What did he say?" Zhang Minquan asked Zhao Ding. "Same story. Right Widow's brother, Anggong, went missing and was suspected of being murdered. The police were hunting the killer," Zhao Ding reported. "Who's he trying to fool?" Zhang Minquan snorted. Having cleared his head after waking up this morning, he had immediately realized something was off. "Just arresting an ordinary thug? The gunfire last night sounded like a full-blown battle!"