Chapter 88: Sister Mao’s Love

2022-05-20

When I got back to the lab, Guan Zengbin was busy examining the hand-rolled tobacco we’d recovered from the car.

With his special glasses perched on his nose, he glanced back at me. “I’ve found something.”

I perked up immediately and pressed him for the results.

Guan Zengbin took off his glasses, speaking in a calm voice. “This tobacco isn’t locally grown, though I’m not exactly an expert. Better get Mary to compare it. Also, the rolling paper—doesn’t look like what you find in regular cigarettes.”

He paused, then started explaining, “Typical cigarette paper is about eighty-two to eighty-seven percent white, tight-grained, and quite opaque. It’s got pretty good tensile strength. Usually, a bit of calcium carbonate is mixed in for stiffness, plus some fire accelerant so it burns at a steady rate.”

“But,” Guan Zengbin said, looking at me, “this rolling paper has a duller white and no fire accelerant. Clearly custom-made—it burns slower, like it’s meant for someone who wants to savor the taste. I also picked up a note of red wine and a touch of white sugar in the tobacco. Since you smoke, you might spot more than I did.”

I was a smoker, sure, but nowhere near an expert. But there was someone who was.

“I’ll go find someone,” I told Guan Zengbin.

He checked his watch and peered outside. “It’s past one in the morning. Who are you trying to find at this hour?”

“Just wait,” I shot him a grin. “This person can definitely figure out where that tobacco came from. Mind if I borrow it for a bit?”

It was already late, but I knew she wasn’t asleep yet.

I went out in the middle of the night to find one person—Sister Mao. She’d helped me with a previous case, unearthing the deceased’s identity. And here I was, back at her door.

By the time I found her, it was already four in the morning.

Early autumn was growing colder, a chilly wind cutting through the night, but Sister Mao still dressed like summer never ended.

“So, what do you want from Sister Mao this time?” she asked, tossing me a cigarette before lighting one herself. “Let me guess, you only come to me when someone’s dead or about to be. Go on, spill.”

I caught the cigarette with both hands but didn’t light it, just kept twirling it while my eyes lingered on the brand. Sister Mao smoked a kind of ladies’ cigarette I didn’t recognize. She noticed quickly and broke the silence.

“It’s about tobacco this time, isn’t it?” she asked, already reading my mind.

I tucked the cigarette behind my ear. “Yeah, it’s tobacco-related. The suspect likes hand-rolled cigarettes, and I know you’re basically an expert. Heard this tobacco isn’t local—think you can tell where it’s from?”

I handed her the evidence bag. Sister Mao pinched out a bit of tobacco with her nails, bringing it to her nose and taking a long, slow sniff. Eyes closed, brow furrowed, she considered it.

“Definitely not from around here. The scent is strong, rich—it packs a punch. But there’s a subtler fragrance underneath, something smooth, probably due to red wine. Not bad at all.”

Then, without warning, she tossed the tobacco into her mouth and started chewing it. I almost stepped in to stop her, but I remembered Guan Zengbin had backups, so I kept quiet, watching her jaw work.

“DA.Vidoff English Mixture—Davidoff. The wine and sugar are additives. Compared to others, this blend’s got a real kick and a satisfying hit. But what sets it apart is that after you light it, there’s this distinct aroma that wafts in and out.”

She spat the tobacco onto the ground and gave me a crooked finger. “Come on, follow me.”

I hurried after her. Sister Mao had started smoking as a kid—she was only in her thirties now but had a twenty-year habit behind her. With money in her pocket, she’d developed rather… refined tastes. Clearly, asking her was the right move—she nailed the tobacco’s origin in seconds.

I followed her to her car and we drove to an apartment building.

Upstairs, Sister Mao unlocked her private place with a key. The first thing that met my eyes was a wall-spanning cabinet filled with bottles—red wine, white liquor, beer, huangjiu… you name it. She motioned for me to sit, then opened the cabinet and poured me a glass of red wine.

“Drink up. I’ll find you the exact Davidoff blend,” she said, crouching down to rummage.

While sipping wine, I looked around. Not much later, she pulled out a round tin.

“Here’s the tobacco you wanted,” she said coolly.

I opened the tin. As I did, Sister Mao brought over red wine and some sugar.

She pinched out a bit of tobacco. “This is the blend. But as for what kind of wine was used—well, there’s barely a drop, so it’s hard to say. Here’s what I’ll do: it takes some time to infuse tobacco, so I’ll try a few wines and see which one matches, then let you know this afternoon.”

I waved my hand. “That’s not the main point. What matters is figuring out who in Dongxing City could get their hands on this sort of tobacco. Regular folks wouldn’t have the skill for this—it’s something only real smokers could pull off. So, how’d you get yours, anyway?”

She caught my drift and nodded. “I’ll get back to you this afternoon. There aren’t many people in Dongxing who can source tobacco like this—a couple dozen tops. Once I’ve got the list, I’ll send it over.”

“Great,” I said, nodding. “I need to get back; the case isn’t over yet.”

She nodded, then offered, “Want me to drive you? With the trains running so late, who knows when you’ll get back to Dongxing City.”

I considered turning her down, but seeing her face, I just couldn’t. I remembered Brother Huang Er, a little drunk, once told me about his story with Sister Mao.

If you didn’t know her past, you’d think Sister Mao was some heiress—these days, she looked every inch the part, money and all. But those who knew her history understood the truth: up until the age of twenty-five, she’d worked for Brother Huang Er.

So when did Sister Mao fall for Brother Huang Er?

It was an early morning a long time ago. Sister Mao had walked alone for over two hours to get home. She didn’t take a cab because she needed the time to be by herself. She’d been abandoned as a kid, spent her life running from place to place, fighting just to survive.

Back then, she saw no future for herself.

Truthfully, that morning, she planned to end her life.

But almost as if by fate, she just kept walking, step after step. She made up her mind—as soon as she said her goodbyes to her friends, she’d jump into the river.

Only she didn’t go through with it.

Brother Huang Er showed up at just the right moment. He found her looking exhausted and said just one thing.

Those few simple words changed everything for her.

“You look wiped out. How far did you walk? Let me make you a foot bath.”

And so, he washed her feet that day.

Later on, Brother Huang Er got arrested.

Most people scattered once he was gone, but Sister Mao stayed.

She said, “I’ll wait for you. When you get out, you’ll be richer than when you went in.”

No one really knows what she went through, but the fact remains: Brother Huang Er is still inside, but she’s already built him a fortune, and it’s bigger than ever.

Without fail, Sister Mao visits him every single week.