It was Sunday. Little Shramanera had been especially busy these past few days; his company’s boss was holding a personal art exhibition that day, and he and a colleague had been preparing for it for over ten days.
Little Shramanera’s company was a Chinese traditional culture communications firm. Word was that the boss was a multi-talented woman, and her husband was a fairly prominent government official in the city. The woman’s talent plus her husband’s connections had made the company thrive spectacularly in City A, its future brilliant beyond measure. Whenever Wu Aizhen said as much, Little Shramanera would call it the dark side of her thinking. He greatly admired his boss. “She’s accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting — she’s simply too talented. How could a woman like that depend on her husband? Without him, the company would still do brilliantly,” Little Shramanera would say.
Wu Aizhen smiled noncommittally. “You admire too many women.” “Not that many — just two. Are you jealous?” Little Shramanera leaned in with a sly, mischievous grin as he knotted his tie, and gave her a light kiss.
“Oh no! It’s already too late, I have to go now. Bodhisattva, you have to come show your support this morning. Our boss has asked about you several times — you’re quite famous over there. Remember, the exhibition opens at ten.”
That was a scene from earlier that morning. Now she was in the Master’s Chan hall.
It was just past ten when Wu Aizhen arrived at the gallery. The crowd was still thin, scattered here and there. As soon as she walked in, she spotted Little Shramanera, standing with a bespectacled man and a woman in a qipao, talking animatedly and gesturing. That must be the boss he called so talented. Sure enough, Little Shramanera saw her and immediately waved her over. “Dr. Wu, this is President Zheng.” “I’ve long heard your name. I’m Zheng Meiqin.” The woman in the qipao laughed heartily and gripped Wu Aizhen’s outstretched hand firmly. Her smile and the warmth radiating from her were infectious, creating an instant familiarity that dissolved all distance. “The admiration is mutual. Wu Aizhen.” After the pleasantries, Zheng Meiqin enthusiastically offered to take her to the “VIP seats” over there, and Wu Aizhen saw several cream-colored sofas and a tea table.
“President Zheng, Dr. Wu, I’ll leave you to talk. I have some things to attend to first.” “I forgot to introduce him — Dr. Wu, this is Mi Lang, my vice president.” As Zheng Meiqin introduced Mi Lang, a peculiar look flickered across her face toward him. Wu Aizhen wondered whether her own eyes were simply too keen. Mi Lang was tall, with a fair complexion and red lips, wearing a stylish pair of tinted glasses. He smiled faintly, gave an elegant little bow, and briefly touched Wu Aizhen’s fingers in a handshake. She couldn’t make out his eyes, but her intuition told her the gaze hidden behind those lenses was somewhat sinister. What a phony man.
Mi Lang walked away with a certain debonair grace. Standing next to him, Little Shramanera looked like a green kid, as if all he had was innocence and enthusiasm.
Zheng Meiqin stared after Mi Lang for a few seconds, a little dazed, as though she wanted to call him back to add a few more instructions.
Zheng Meiqin had clearly dressed with care today. She wore an exquisitely tailored cream-colored qipao, and on its left side a yellow lotus with pink-tinged tips swept upward diagonally. On her feet were matching cream fabric sandals, closed at the heel and open at the toes. What struck Wu Aizhen most was the colorful butterfly painted on the nail of her right big toe — so vivid it seemed about to take wing. She had on perfume with a faint scent like lotus leaves on a pond. Her hair looked very soft, cascading over her shoulders in small waterfall curls. Standing to the side, Wu Aizhen could only see the outline of her face through the veil of hair, a profile that carried a certain resoluteness. She wore light makeup, and her lashes, brushed with mascara, were long and curled faintly upward. Zheng Meiqin was not short; even in flat shoes she probably stood around 175 centimeters. Her figure wasn’t particularly graceful — in a qipao, her hips looked a little wide. On the whole, she was not what you would call a great beauty, but she exuded an irresistible magnetism.
“I won’t sit. Let me look at your paintings,” Wu Aizhen said. “Of course, of course! I’ve been hoping to hear your critique. A psychologist’s eye must be wonderfully unique and incisive.” Zheng Meiqin continued to smile openly.
“Ren Qingfei” — Little Shramanera’s name — “go help Vice President Mi with the guests. I’ve also invited some city officials and cultural figures; they’ll probably arrive a bit later. Go lend a hand.”
Little Shramanera glanced at Wu Aizhen in farewell, answered briskly, and left.
Zheng Meiqin accompanied Wu Aizhen through the exhibition hall as she viewed the paintings. There were traditional Chinese works, Western-style paintings, and several that blended both traditions. Wu Aizhen’s overall impression was that the creative concepts were distinctive, but the technical foundation fell short, and some pieces showed clear weak brushwork.
She stopped before a painting of a woman and a cat. The image showed a languid nude woman lounging on a wide chair, sunbathing. Her body was tilted back against the chair, looking utterly at ease, her long, loose curls spilling down. Beneath that heavy hair only half a face was sketched — no eyes, no nose, no mouth, just a blush of color sweeping across one cheek. One arm rested along the chair back, pillowing her head; the other hand lay on a cat. It was a white cat with leopard spots, sprawled conspicuously across the woman’s thighs, its eyes half-closed, docile. But the cat’s tail was painted stiffly, and the tip crooked to one side. Seeing Wu Aizhen studying the painting in silence, Zheng Meiqin asked, “Well? This is the piece I’m proudest of.” “That cat is only pretending to sleep, isn’t it?” Wu Aizhen said. Zheng Meiqin smiled without answering. “This cat has the seductive eyes of a fox, the ambition of a leopard, and gives off languor and alertness of a cat. A woman like that would be terrifying,” Wu Aizhen said.
“Ha, worthy of a psychologist indeed. A woman like that is a killer in the business world.”
“I like the fox’s spirit, the cat’s gentleness, and the leopard’s swiftness and forbearance. Since they are under the sunlight, why paint their cold side? Look at that cat’s eyes: the charm is shot through with cold indifference.”
“Is it really that vivid?” Zheng Meiqin laughed loudly, tilting her head back to study the cat’s eyes herself. Then she laughed even harder. Wu Aizhen suddenly noticed that when Zheng Meiqin laughed, her eyes narrowed and slanted upward, very much like a fox’s eyes.
Zheng Meiqin stopped laughing and leaned in close to her ear, a mysterious look on her face. “The kind of woman you’re describing is a killer in the arena of love.” Wu Aizhen smiled faintly. “Are there killers in love? Unless someone is truly heartless. Otherwise, the killer ends up wounded more deeply and more severely, and there’s no cure.”
Just then, Mi Lang came in and reported that several VIP guests had arrived; he had seated them in a small meeting room next door. He also mentioned that arrangements for the midday meal had been made.
“Go attend to your business. No need to stay with me,” Wu Aizhen said quickly.
“Will you join us for lunch?”
“I have something else to attend to. I won’t impose.”
“Tong Li is a good friend of mine. I’ve long heard all sorts of extraordinary tales about you from her. Meeting you today, I can see the reputation is well deserved. Dr. Wu, I’m so glad to know you. I hope you’ll come visit me here often.”
“Of course. I’ll be sure to visit when I’m free.” Wu Aizhen returned the pleasantries.
Zheng Meiqin and Mi Lang left. Wu Aizhen finally understood Zheng Meiqin’s instant warmth and familiarity: Tong Li was a former patient of hers who had remained grateful ever since and was now the wife of a city official.
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