Not long after China Witness was published in 2010, I received a quite unexpected call from a family friend.

‘Xinran! I’ve just started reading your new book, and there’s something I simply have to tell you about …

‘For the past year, I’ve been working at a retirement home looking after elderly cadres and their families. Not long ago, one of the old officers I look after fell gravely ill. Knowing he didn’t have long left, he made two final wishes: one was for us to go and visit his house; the other was to grant his wife one simple request.

‘And so, after he died, another member of staff and I ended up visiting his widow in the home they had shared for Lord knows how many years. My colleague was grumbling the whole way over, saying that in the ten years he’d worked at the home, he’d never been invited into the old couple’s house.

‘But, in fact, no one had been. People who came to deliver letters or Chinese New Year gifts were made to leave them at the door. Even when one of them needed medical attention, they’d always wait for the ambulance outside. Behind their backs, the younger members of their work unit would whisper about them.

‘When we walked in, we were the first visitors for many years. There was literally nothing in the house, apart from the old lady. We didn’t dare stay too long, and after a few minutes of polite small talk we got ready to leave. On our way out, the old lady thanked us for granting her husband’s dying wish, before very subtly slipping a pink envelope into my hand. “His other wish is written inside,” she said calmly. The envelope was sealed.

‘On the way back, my colleague spoke of nothing but that envelope and what it might contain. But on its front, in the most beautiful handwriting, were written the words:

Unless the spring has sprung, the flowers will not bloom.

Unless you received this letter, you must not open it.

‘It wasn’t until I got home that evening that I finally found myself alone. Inside the envelope was a single sheet of writing paper, beautifully emblazoned with a pattern of golden-red roses. On the page itself there was just one sentence: “Please arrange for me to have a virginity test.” The letter was signed “Han Anhong”.

‘A virginity test?! I thought I must have misunderstood the message, so I went and found the internal phone book and dialled the old lady’s number. On the other end of the line, her voice was adamant: “Yes, that was my husband’s other dying wish.”

‘“And do you want to have the test?” I asked, because it was, after all, her body and not her husband’s.

‘“Yes, I do. I want for us both to have some sense of closure. Please make the necessary arrangements, and after that we can speak again. Thank you, and goodnight.” With that, she hung up.

‘Not long after, in accordance with her husband’s wish, I took the old lady to the General Hospital of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) for a gynaecological examination. When I saw the results, I could barely believe my eyes.

‘She had never had sex with her husband.

‘Xinran, we all knew the old couple had no children, but I just can’t understand why, in sixty-one years of marriage, they had never had sex. Would you agree to interview her? I can help make the introductions. You should know, though, that the old couple were somewhat eccentric; they were never ones to join in any community events or talk to their neighbours, let alone invite people into their home. So it’s hard to say whether the old lady will agree to this or not.’