At that time, their one and only dream was of coming back to Shanghai, as if everything would then unfurl before them like the rainbow against the blue sky. A flash of light on a blue jay’s wings. Then a shrimp in the water had seized her toe, and she had fallen against him in panic. They had returned to the city in the early eighties, but only to this single twelve-square-meter room, to the realities of life. Few of their hopes had been fulfilled except for the birth of their son Qinqin, who had grown into a tall boy. For them, the rainbow over that distant brook had long since disappeared.

In that new apartment in Tianling, there was a small bathroom, where he had planned to install a shower head. Shaking his head, Detective Yu caught himself crying over spilled milk once again.

On the table behind Peiqin, he noticed a bag of steamed barbequed pork buns, from Geng’s restaurant, presumably. Business there was brisk. Peiqin had been helping Geng with his accounting work, and he paid her with food to take home.

Was it possible for Yu, too, to do some work on the side in his spare time?

Then the phone rang. It would be the police bureau, he guessed, and he was right.

Party Secretary Li could not find Chief Inspector Chen Cao, Yu’s boss on the special case squad, at this late hour. There was an urgent new case-a murder-so he was calling Yu.

“Yin Lige,” Yu repeated the name of the murder victim after putting down the phone. Li had not explained much except that it was politically imperative to solve the case. Yin must have been well known, Yu assumed, or the case would not have been assigned to their squad, which dealt with crimes with political implications. However, he could not think of anything in association with that name. Yin was not a common Chinese surname, and if she had been famous, he should have heard of her.

“Yin Lige!” Peiqin spoke for the first time, repeating Yu’s words.