Don't Cry Tai Lake by Xiaolong Qiu Page A

should do the same, and he bent over to undo his shoelaces. But she was already pulling her feet out of the water. They were covered with a layer of green grime, as if painted: wet, slimy, and sticky.
    â€œWould you call that poetic?”
    â€œYou didn’t have to do that, Shanshan.”
    He grabbed one of her feet and tried to find a handkerchief. He ended up wiping the algae off with a small packet of paper napkins, which turned out not to be an easy job. His hands quickly got smeared too.
    He couldn’t claim it was poetic for him, but even so, it was almost surreal, yet touching. Her bare soles yielding in his hands, her soft toes flexing against his clumsy fingers, she seemed inexplicably vulnerable. He had known her for only a couple of days, with his identity as a chief inspector unrevealed to her.
    But she had proved her point. And she had done so in a way he had never read about in classical poetry.
    â€œLet’s go back,” he said to the sampan man.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œTo the Wuxi Cadre Recreation Center.”
    â€œWow!” the sampan man said, with a puzzled expression on his face when he noticed the grime on her feet and on Chen’s hands.
    â€œYou want to go back?” She, too, looked up at him in surprise.
    â€œI am no expert like you, Shanshan. But I don’t think exposure to the chemicals will do you any good. You have to wash off your feet with clean water.”
    â€œI appreciate your offer, but you don’t have to worry,” she said, shaking her head.
    He also shook his head, resolutely.
    They remained sitting like that for a long while, not speaking, her feet still in his hands.
    The sampan man began to exert himself, looking over his shoulder from time to time.
    The center’s fence at the foot of the hill came into view.
    â€œPull over,” Chen said, “we want to get off here.”
    â€œHere?” the sampan man repeated, not seeing a dock or an entrance.
    Chen had him row the sampan over to something like a landing near the concealed door in the fence.
    â€œI know a shortcut. We can get in through there,” he said and paid the sampan man generously. “It’s for the full day, as we agreed, plus fifty for the boat meal and a tip for the boat songs. Is that enough?”
    â€œMore than enough, sir. Thank you so much. But you’re from the center, so it’s little wonder. Sorry that I was so blind as not to recognize Mount Tai.”
    It was an old proverb, often used to describe one’s failure to recognize people of high status or importance.
    Chen helped Shanshan to the shore and carried her shoes, which she didn’t immediately put back on. The ground was gritty against her bare soles, and she leaned slightly against his shoulder for a minute. He pointed at the villa glittering in the afternoon sunlight.
    â€œThat’s where I am staying.”
    â€œOh, that looks like a villa.”
    â€œYes, let’s go there. You can wash your feet and we can have a drink.”
    â€œNo, not today,” she said, looking down at her feet. “What a sight I would be for your high-cadre center.”
    â€œIn classical Chinese literature, there is an expression about ‘walking lotus flowers,’ which refers to a beauty walking barefoot. So what’s wrong with that?”
    â€œYou’re being sarcastic again,” she said. “No, definitely not. I don’t want to make a mess of your room.”
    â€œAs it is, it’s already a mess.”
    â€œWell, some other day. I’ll keep your invitation in mind and take a rain check.”
    â€œYes, do keep it in mind. When you come, if you come through the main entrance, make a right turn at the first crossing, and you’ll see the white villa. It’s a freestanding one. Number 3A. You can’t miss it. At night, you can see its green-shaded windows against the shimmering expanse of the lake.”
    â€œI wish I could say