The Color of Jadeite. Eric D. Goodman
hon?”
She frowned. “Only that American men are as chauvinistic as Chinese men. I prefer Wei Wei to sweetie, honey, or hon.”
I smirked and took it in stride. “Noted, Wei Wei. If Wang didn’t tell either of us what to look for besides each other, then maybe the first clue is supposed to find us.”
I felt more like a tourist than a detective as we looked into the faces of the figures on Mao’s mausoleum, at the armed military guards marching in front of the Great Hall of the People and the National Museum of China. We stopped to rest in the square’s center, between the mausoleum and monument, Mao smiling down at us from his enormous portrait as though he knew all the answers to our questions.
“Do you even know what we’re looking for?” she asked.
“Sure. A jade tablet belonging to Emperor Xuande, fifth emperor of the Ming dynasty.”
She smiled. “At least you know something. The tablet dates to around 1430.”
“It’s old,” I agreed.
Wei Wei lowered one full black eyebrow and raised the other. “It’s old? I can see Wang found just the sleuth for the job.” Attack deployed, she rested into the nervous face I’d already grown accustomed to, looking around us. “The Ming dynasty ruled for almost 300 years, from the 1300s to the 1600s. It was a good time for Imperial China, a golden age. China enjoyed peace and prosperity, and that allowed scholars to focus their efforts on the arts, literature, poetry, architecture. Many Ming emperors enjoyed the arts and allowed them to flourish.”
I interjected, “But Xuande was a real pro, being an artist and poet himself.”
Wei Wei looked surprised that I knew this. “Yes. He was an accomplished artist and poet. Emperor Xuande could create—and appreciate—things of beauty. He was a good emperor.”
She’d set me up for a zinger. I said, “It’s amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.” Her face contorted quizzically, so I explained. “It’s a Leo Tolstoy quote.”
I could tell she was getting ready to unleash a Chinese proverb on me, but then her face grew from playful to pained as her eyes darted from me to the distance behind me. Between Wei Wei and that obelisk were a hundred tourists ambling to and fro, taking photos and gawking at buildings and monuments, at Communist stars of red and gold and Imperial leftovers of green and yellow. But it only took me seconds to see exactly which one of the locals Wei Wei was stuck on. Once I spotted him, it was obvious—because he was fixed on her and closing the distance between them faster than you could say Tiananmen three times.
I placed my arm around her and swung her behind me, offering myself as a shield against this human missile. Seeing that she had protection, the guy slowed his pace and started to walk casually off path, passing us at a distance. I caught the gazes of Mackenzie and Salvador to put them on alert. I wasn’t about to let this guy go. After looking their way, I’d lost the stranger in the crowd—and then realized he’d maneuvered right behind us! He snatched Wei Wei’s purse and bolted.
“Hey, buddy,” I yelled in his direction. “Hey, Pengyou, I’m talking to you!”
“Don’t let him go!” Wei Wei darted after him faster than a woman in high heels should be able to run. I motioned for Salvador and Mackenzie to join the chase, and they plunged through the sea of people in our direction from two sides. Wei Wei was already tracks ahead of us. I quickened my pace. Between my low-heeled Eccos and high-paced stride, I was at Wei Wei’s side by the time we reached Mao’s enormous portrait on Tiananmen—the gate that separated modern Communist China from the ancient Imperial City of ages past.
Either the guards and ticket sellers didn’t notice or didn’t care; we managed to push our way through the crowds and through Meridian Gate without being stopped—Wei Wei, then me, followed by Mackenzie and Salvador.
The man we were after was subject to the same people-clots in the gate’s arteries, so when we escaped into the Forbidden City, we spotted him straight away. Stretched out before us was the heart and gem of Imperial China—the most magnificent and complex palace city in the world. It was here that emperors lived and ruled for 500 years, and here that the last emperor of China was seized as a boy. For centuries, the only people allowed to set foot in the Imperial City were the emperor, his family, his military leaders, and his eunuchs and concubines. Now, what was once thought to be the center of the universe had become one of Asia’s top tourist destinations.
“Hurry!” Wei Wei cried as our purse snatcher was racing over one of the five bridges crossing a stream. “We can’t let him out of sight!”
“He’s walled up in the palace grounds,” I said. “Where could he go?”
“Lots of places,” Wei Wei answered. “There’s a whole city in these walls.”
“And everything looks the same,” Salvador griped.
Not exactly, but the style was unmistakably period. Red and yellow, orange and green, wood and paint, golden dragons and phoenixes. Not to mention gold and gold and gold. As we chased the sprinter past the Chinese lion statues, through the Gate of Supreme Harmony, and into the main courtyard at the city’s center, I marveled that the Communists hadn’t dismantled this place for its wealth. But then, it probably meant more to them as a whole—historically and culturally—than the individual treasures within could add up to.
Wei Wei didn’t seem concerned that Mackenzie and Salvador were at our heels. Wang had probably let her know I was bringing sidekicks.
Instead of taking the stairs like all of the other good tourists, the thief darted right up the carved marble carriageway that spanned the center of the ramp, tromping over carvings of dragons chasing pearls in the clouds. This carriageway was for the emperor alone. Wei Wei and I tromped up after him—using the stairs—right to the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Mackenzie and Salvador followed up the center.
I half-expected our target to run right into that main hall, where the emperor used to receive guests and participate in ceremonies, but that would have been a dead end and a thousand tourists would be watching, so he opted for a less elaborate setting. On the stone doorstep of the main hall, he veered off to the left and passed behind the Hall of Supreme Harmony, past the smaller Hall of Middle Harmony, through the Hall of Preserving Harmony, and down another slab of marble.
A harmonious chase if I’d ever seen one.
The guy ran like he knew where he was going. Wei Wei knew the lay of the palace, so I let her take the lead—easy to do since I was winded. Salvador, a good bit younger, overtook me, too. We all darted through the Gate of Heavenly Purity and veered out of the Forbidden City’s main line, entering its Imperial Gardens.
The gardens offered better hiding places than the Forbidden City’s inner court—instead of wide-open courtyards and massive halls and gates, we now found ourselves in a labyrinth of cultivated trees, flowers, bushes, and temples. But Wei Wei didn’t let her eyes off the target, and we finally caught up with the worn-out petty thief at the Pavilion of a Thousand Autumns—feeling as though we’d been running for as many seasons ourselves.
Salvador overtook Wei Wei, and finally got close enough to knock the purse snatcher off-balance. The sweaty guy fell into the bushes between the pavilion and the naturally formed sculptures of river rocks. Wheezing like an asthmatic, on his back, he looked up at Salvador’s hulking frame with wide, fearful eyes. He began sputtering out words in Chinese that I couldn’t catch. Wei Wei hovered over him and spat some questions back. I hovered behind as her heavy number two, and Mackenzie huffed and puffed between me and Salvador. The four of us stood in a circle over the winded man, probably scaring him half to death.
Fortunately, our captive was more interested in spilling answers than blood. After chattering back and forth, the man in the bush looked a little less frightened and a little more confused.
Wei Wei said, “This is the guy who tried to steal my purse earlier today in Tiananmen Square, about an hour before I spotted you.”
“He