The successful completion of a major political case, involving Baoshen, the vice mayor of Beijing, had led to unexpected repercussions in his professional work, and in his personal life, too. He was still emotionally as well as physically drained. In a recent letter to his girlfriend Ling, he had written, “As our ancient sage says, ‘Eight or nine out of ten times, things go wrong in this world of ours.’ People are no more than the chance products of good or bad luck in spite of their intentional efforts.” She had not replied, which did not surprise him. Their relationship was strained because of that case.

A gray-Mao-jacketed figure appeared behind him and addressed him in a serious, subdued voice, “Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.”

He recognized Zhang Hongwei, a senior park security officer. In the seventies, Zhang had worn a Mao badge on his jacket, patrolling energetically as if steel springs had been installed under his feet, casting mistrustful glances at the English textbook in Chen’s hand. Now a bald, wrinkled man in his fifties, Zhang walked with a shuffle, his gray Mao jacket unchanged, except for the missing Mao badge.

“Please come with me, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.”

He followed Zhang to a corner partially obscured by a cluster of evergreens level with the embankment, about fifteen feet away from the back gate. Lying on the ground, supine, was a mutilated body with multiple wounds, from which blood had spread in a surreal web. A line of red spots led from the bank to the place where the body lay.

Chief Inspector Chen had never dreamed that he would be called to examine a murder scene in Bund Park.

“I was making my morning round when I came upon it, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. You often come here in the morning, we all know,” Zhang said apologetically, “so-”

“When did you make your rounds this morning?”

“At about six. Immediately after the park opened.”