The Corpse Reader

11

Cí had yearned for months to be back in Lin’an, and now that the capital was in sight, silhouetted against the surrounding hills, his stomach churned. Life was waiting for him in Lin’an.

The barge moved slowly through the mist toward the enormous Zhe estuary, where the river met the filthy western lake, announcing, with an unbearable stink, the richness and misery of the queen of cities: Lin’an, the great prefecture’s capital, old Hangzhou, the center of the universe.

Weak sunlight softly illuminated hundreds of vessels—imposing merchant ships, half-sunk barges like Wang’s, and smaller, worm-eaten wooden skiffs clinging desperately to rotten foundations. The boats tried to maneuver past each other and through the swarm of sampans and reeds for a clear course toward port.

After the calm along the river, now all was frenzied shouts and gasps, warnings, insults, threats, and collisions, and as Wang steered through the churning river traffic, he quickly lost patience. Cí tried to follow Wang’s orders, but the captain was so worked up it wasn’t easy.

“Damn you! Where did you learn to row?” he roared at a passing sailor. “And you, what are you laughing at?” he added, rebuking Ze. “I don’t care how bad your leg is—stop thinking about your whores and lend a hand. We’ll dock farther up, away from the warehouses.”

Ze complied, grumbling, but Cí kept quiet; he had enough to deal with just keeping hold of the barge pole and pushing along.

When the crush of boats had cleared somewhat, Cí looked up. He had never seen Lin’an from the river, and its grandeur struck him all the more. But as they came closer to the docks, the familiarity of the scene also gave him the feeling of a distant family welcoming him home.

The city stood implacable and proud, sheltered by the wooded hills to the west and open to the river on its south side. An enormous flood ditch and a magnificent stone and earth wall prevented access directly from the water.

A slap around the ear from Wang brought Cí to his senses. “Stop gawking and row.”

It was another hour before they found a place to dock; they stopped across from one of the city’s seven great gates, where Wang had decided it would be a good place for Cí and Third to disembark.

“It’s the safest option,” he assured them. “If anyone’s watching for you, it would be near the rice market or the Black Bridge on the north side, where goods are unloaded.”

Cí thanked Wang for his help. During the three-week voyage, the captain had done more for them than all the people in their village ever had. Moodiness aside, Wang was the kind of man you’d trust with your most valuable possessions. And Cí had done just that by trusting him with his and Third’s lives. Wang had gotten them safely to Lin’an, given Cí work, and hadn’t asked questions. In many ways, the captain reminded Cí of his father, and Cí knew he’d never forget him.

Cí took one last look at Ze’s leg and the progress of the scarring under the pressure of the ants’ mandibles. It looked good, but Cí left a few mandibles in place.

“You can pull the rest of the heads off in a couple of days—make sure you leave your own on, though!” Cí slapped him on the back and they both laughed in farewell.

He took Third by the hand and shouldered his bag. Before he got off the boat, he looked back at Wang, wanting to thank him again, but before he could, Wang stepped forward.

“Your wages,” he said, handing Cí a purse of money. “And one piece of advice: Change your name!”

In any other circumstance, Cí would have refused the unexpected money, but he needed it badly to stand a chance of surviving in Lin’an. He tied the purse to his belt and hid it beneath his shirt.

“I…” Before Cí could gather himself to respond, the old captain had turned around and begun to push the barge away from the dock.

Cí trembled as he reached the gigantic wall with its whitewashed bricks and the Great Gate set in its center. Now that his dream to return to Lin’an was within reach, unfamiliar fear gripped him.

Don’t think, or you’ll never do it.

“Come on,” he said to Third. Diving into the vortex of people entering and leaving the city, they stepped across the threshold of the Great Gate.

Everything was exactly as Cí remembered: the shanties lining the banks, the overwhelming smell of fish, the noise of carts rumbling along the streets, food and drink at every turn, sweating youths struggling with bellowing animals, red lanterns swaying on workshop porches, shops selling silk and jade and trinkets, brightly colored stalls clustered together like carelessly stacked tiles, boisterous stall keepers vending their wares and shooing away children.

They were wandering through all of this when Third started tugging at Cí’s sleeve. She had caught sight of a colorful candy kiosk, presided over by a man who looked like he might be a fortune-teller. Cí was sad that Third was so excited; there was no way he could waste money on a handful of candy. He was just about to say so when the fortune-teller came over.

“Three qián,” he said, holding out two pieces of candy to Third.

Cí considered the little old man and his toothless smile as he shook the pieces of candy in his hand. He was wearing a donkey pelt, which gave him a half-repulsive, half-extravagant air and competed as an oddity with his cap, which was made from dried sticks and little windmills. He had a shock of gray hair that made him look like the closest thing to a monkey Cí had even seen.

“Three qián,” he insisted, smiling.

Third reached out for them, but Cí stopped her.

“We can’t,” he whispered to her. “Three qián would buy us enough boiled rice to feed us for a whole day.”

“Oh!” said Third, turning very serious. “But I think candy might be the only thing I can eat!”

“She has a point,” said the old man. “Take one, try it.”

“Please, we don’t have any money.” He pulled Third’s hand away. “Come on, let’s go.”

“But he’s a fortune-teller,” whimpered Third. “If we don’t buy from him, he’ll curse us!”

“He’s a fake. If he really knew the future, he’d know we can’t spend any money.”

Third nodded. She cleared her throat, but this became a cough, and it stopped Cí cold. It was a cough he knew all too well.

“Feeling all right?”

She coughed again but said she was OK. Cí didn’t believe her, not for a moment.

They made their way toward Imperial Avenue. Cí knew this area near the gate, between the old interior wall and the outer wall. Not a day had passed when he worked for Judge Feng that he hadn’t been down to these slums, the city’s poorest and most dangerous quarter. It was a frightening place, where women sold themselves on corners, men rolled around drunkenly, charlatans and robbers roamed the streets, and if you looked at the wrong person you’d risk having your throat slit. It was also where informants could be found.

Cí began to worry about where they’d sleep that night. He cursed the law that meant government officials were obliged to work somewhere different from their place of birth. It had been put in place to try to stop the nepotism, corruption, and bribery that had been so commonplace. But it also meant government officials were cut off from their families—and that Cí and Third had no one to turn to in all of Lin’an. In truth, they didn’t have any people anywhere—their father’s siblings had emigrated south and died in a typhoon, and they didn’t know their mother’s family.

They had to hurry. When night came, the area would quickly become even more dangerous. They had to find shelter somewhere else.

Third complained, and with good reason. She’d been hungry for quite a while, and Cí hadn’t gotten her any food yet, so she sat down on the ground and refused to go on.

“I’m hungry!”

“We don’t have time now. Get up or I’ll have to drag you around.”

“If we don’t eat, I’ll die,” she said, crossing her arms. “Then you’ll have to drag me around anyway.”

Cí looked at her remorsefully. Yes, they should rest for a bit. He looked around for a food stall, but they all looked too expensive; then he caught sight of one with a small crowd of beggars around it. He approached and asked the prices.

“You’re in luck,” said the vendor, who smelled nearly as offensive as the food he was selling. “Today we’re giving it away.”

In fact, a portion of noodles cost Cí two qián—a rip-off.

When he brought the food to Third, she glowered. She’d never liked noodles; they were what the barbarians in the North ate.

“It’s all there is.” Cí sighed.

She placed a few noodles in her mouth but spat them out immediately.

“It tastes like wet clothes!”

“How do you know what wet clothes taste like?” Cí asked sternly. “Stop complaining and eat up.”

But when he tried some, he couldn’t help but spit them out also.

“Filth!”

“Stop complaining and eat up,” sang a rather smug Third.

No sooner had Cí thrown the leftovers to the ground than the nearby beggars were devouring the mush. He grabbed Third and soon found some boiled rice; seeing Third was still hungry after wolfing hers down, he gave her the rest of his.

“What about you?” she said through a mouthful.

“Oh, I had a whole cow for breakfast,” he said, letting out a burp.

“Liar!” she said, laughing.

“I did. When you were still asleep, lazybones.”

Her laughter turned into a coughing fit. Clearly, her cough was getting worse, and the thought of her dying like his other sisters terrified him. He patted her back, and gradually the coughing subsided some, but he could see how much it hurt.

“We’ll get you better. Hang in there.”

He rummaged around in the bag for the dried roots that were her medicine—there were barely a few sprigs left. She chewed and swallowed them, and soon after, the coughing stopped.

“That’s what you get for eating too quickly,” he said, trying to make a joke.

“Sorry,” she said seriously.

Cí’s heart sank.

Racking his brain for a place they could go, he took a street toward Phoenix Hill, a residential area in the south of the city, where they’d lived before. They obviously wouldn’t be able to go back, as the houses were all assigned to current government officials, but he remembered Grandfather Yin, an old friend of his father’s. Cí thought perhaps he would take them in for a few days.

Gradually the five-story buildings of the Imperial Avenue area gave way to detached mansions with curved roofs and ornate gardens; the racket and odors of the crowded area near the gate were replaced with a breeze through trees and the sweet, clean smell of jasmine. Cí briefly savored the feeling of being back in a world where he might dare to belong.

By the time they knocked on Grandfather Yin’s door, it was sunset. Grandfather Yin’s second wife, a haughty, unfriendly woman, opened the door. As soon as she saw them she screwed up her face.

“What are you doing here? Do you want to ruin us?”

Cí was dumbstruck; it had been more than a year since they’d seen each other, but it was as though the woman had been expecting them. Before she could slam the door in their faces, Cí asked after Grandfather Yin.

“He isn’t here! He won’t see you!”

“Please. My sister is unwell.”

She looked at the girl in disgust.

“All the more reason for you to go away.”

“Who’s there?” Cí recognized Grandfather Yin’s voice coming from inside the house.

“Some beggar! He’s going already,” she shouted, stepping outside and leading Third by her arm to the street so that Cí had to follow. “This is a decent house, get it? We don’t need thieves like you coming around and muddying our name!”

“But—”

“Don’t play dumb! Sheriff Kao went through the neighborhood earlier today, and he had an enormous dog with him. He snooped around the whole house and told us what you did in the village, get it? He said you’d probably try here. I don’t know what possessed you to flee with that money, but if it weren’t for the memory of your father, I’d march you straight to the police and report you myself.” She let go of Third’s arm and pushed her toward Cí. “Make sure you don’t come back. If I catch you anywhere near the house, I swear I’ll make every single gong in the city ring out, and then there’ll be nowhere for you to hide.”

Cí took his sister’s hand and backed away, stumbling with worry and doubt. Clearly the magistrate had followed through on his threat to implicate Cí in Shang’s murder—or the Rice Man had reported him for stealing the 300,000 qián the magistrate had appropriated. Sheriff Kao was the man they’d sent to get him.

The sheriff had probably warned the rest of the neighbors in the vicinity, so they walked near the walls to avoid being seen. Cí considered staying in one of the inns near the gate. It obviously wasn’t the most suitable area, but the rooms would be cheap, and no one would come looking for them there.

They came upon a dilapidated building with a sign advertising inexpensive rooms. Its uneven walls abutted a restaurant that stank of rot. Cí parted the threadbare drape at the entrance and went over to the manager, a brute of a man, half-asleep and reeking of alcohol. The manager didn’t even look at Cí; he just extended a palm and said it was fifty qián up front. This was all Cí had. He tried to barter, but the drunkard spat—he couldn’t have cared less. Cí was wondering if they had any other options when Third began coughing again. This ill, she couldn’t sleep on the streets, but if he accepted the price, there would be nothing left to buy her medicine.

At least until I find some work.

He wanted to think he’d be able to find some work. He paid and asked whether there was a key.

“Ha! You think the people who stay here have anything valuable enough that they’d need a key? The room is at the back, third floor. And one thing: I don’t care if you’re having sex with that child, but if she dies, you’d better get her out of here. We don’t want problems with the law.”

Neither did Cí, so he squelched the impulse to give the man the punch he deserved.

They walked along the hallway, where voices and laughter filtered through the drapes covering the doorways of the rooms, and went up some rickety stairs. The rancid smell of sweat and urine made Cí retch. There was hardly any light, though their room faced the river, which could be seen through cracks between the bamboo reeds that had been used to patch a wall. There was a stained mat on the floor—the last thing someone would want to sleep on. He kicked it aside and took a blanket out of his bag. And again, Third started coughing.

I must get medicine now.

The ceiling was so low he could barely stand up straight. How could that swindler charge so much for such a tiny space, filled only with trash and the bits of broken bamboo left over from the wall repairs? He took some of these pieces and stacked them up, making an arch and covering it with the mat to form a shelter. Then he wiped some of the floor dirt on Third’s face in the hope that this would camouflage her in the dark.

“Listen, this is really important.” Third’s wide eyes were like lights embedded in her grimy face. “I have to go out, and I’ll be back really soon, but while I’m gone…do you remember how you hid the day the house burned? Well, I want you to do that again now. Don’t make a peep until I get back, OK? If you do a good job, maybe I’ll bring you some of that candy the fortune-teller had.”

Third nodded. Even if Cí didn’t entirely believe she’d do as he said, what choice did he have?

As they were covering her up, Cí said a prayer for his parents to watch over her. Then he rummaged through his bag for anything he might be able to sell. He’d get nothing for the four cloths and the knife he’d brought from the village. The only thing he had of any value was the Songxingtong, his father’s copy of the penal code. But he’d need to find someone interested in buying something so specialized.

He had to go to the book market stalls around the Summer Pavilion at the Orange Gardens. The network of canals was the quickest way to get around the mazelike city, so to save time, he hopped on a barge along the Imperial Canal.

He arrived at the market at the best time of day, when the students left class to drink tea and browse the recent arrivals from the printers in Hionha. Cí recognized himself among these aspiring government officials, who were dressed neatly in loose-fitting black shirts and hungry for knowledge—at least he recognized the person he’d been a year ago. He was envious of the conversations he overheard about the importance of knowledge, the invasions in the North, the most recent thinking on neo-Confucian trends. He had to remind himself what he was there for at that moment.

There were many copies of the penal code at the stalls specializing in legal texts. He found an edition similar to his, bound in purple silk, and he held it up to the vendor.

“How much?”

The vendor picked up the book and opened it admiringly.

“Hmm. I see you know a true piece of art when you see it: a handwritten Songxingtong, in Master Hang’s distinctive calligraphy, no less…ten thousand qián. I’m virtually giving it away.”

Cí refused with a smile—he’d forgotten how everything for sale in Lin’an was being “given away”—but judging by the number of noblemen browsing at this particular stall, the books probably were quite valuable. An old man with an oiled mustache and wearing a bright red gown and cap—the attire of a great master—picked up the edition Cí had been looking at. He asked the vendor the price and grimaced at the answer. But he kept looking at it, and then announced he’d get some money and come back to buy it.

Cí didn’t think twice.

“Please excuse the intrusion, venerable master, but I saw the book you were interested in.”

The old man stopped, looking somewhat alarmed.

“I’m in a hurry. If you want to know about joining the academy, you can speak to my secretary.”

“It isn’t that,” said Cí. “The book you were looking at—I have an almost identical copy I can sell you for far less.”

“A handwritten Songxingtong? Are you sure?”

Cí took it out and showed him. “Five thousand qián,” he said.

The old man examined it carefully before handing it back.

“I’m very sorry, but I don’t buy from thieves.”

“Sir, the book was my father’s, and I swear I wouldn’t be selling it unless I really had to.”

“Right. And your father is…?”

Cí frowned; he was worried about revealing his identity. The old man started to walk away.

“Sir, I swear I’m not lying…I can prove it!”

The old man stopped again. Cí knew it was risky enough to address a stranger this way, let alone detain him. The old man could easily shout out to the police, who were always patrolling the market. But he turned around and challenged Cí.

“Go on, then.”

Cí shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

“The Songxingtong, Section One.” Cí began to recite the opening paragraph. A few sentences later, the old man interrupted him.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’ve seen this trick a hundred times. What about a part that isn’t right at the beginning?”

“Anything!” said Cí. “You can pick, or even ask me a question! Any part you like.”

The old man squinted at Cí and, seeing he was serious, began leafing through the book. Holding it open at a certain point, he cleared his throat.

“Very well, wise man: On the division of days…”

That part! It’s been months since I’ve read it.

“OK,” he said, stalling for time. “No problem…”

He shut his eyes again, and could hear the old man begin to tap his foot.

“The days are divided into eighty-six parts!” Cí almost shouted. It came flooding back. “A workday is made up of the six hours between sunrise and twilight. Night is another six, making a total of twelve hours every day. A legal year has three hundred and sixty full days, but a person’s age is counted based on…the number of years since his birth was announced at the public register—”

“OK, OK.”

“I swear, sir, the book belongs to me. And I need the money for my sick sister. Five thousand qián, please.”

The old man looked the book over again. Cí knew it was beautifully bound and handwritten with the most careful of brushstrokes—the lettering was almost vibrant. Aside from the words, just looking at it was an emotional, poetic experience.

“I’m sorry,” the old man said, handing the book back finally. “It’s truly magnificent, but I can’t buy it. I promised the vendor I’d buy his, and keeping my word is worth more to me than saving some money. It would also be wrong to buy it cheap because you’re desperate. Here’s what we’ll do: take a hundred qián, and keep your book. I can tell it would pain you to sell it. And don’t be offended about the money; consider it a loan. I’m sure you’ll get it back to me when you’ve figured out your situation. My name is Ming.”

Cí didn’t know what to say. He felt ashamed but knew he had to take the money anyway; he swore he’d repay Ming before the week was out. The old man nodded with a knowing smile before going on his way.

Cí took off in the direction of the Great Pharmacy, which he knew was the only place he had any chance of buying Third’s medicine for less than a hundred qián.

When he arrived, there were a number of families shouting and complaining. Going past the private entrance, he went up to the charity counters, where there were two groups, the second of which included children who were running all over and making noise.

As he lined up in this second group, his heart skipped a beat: there was the sheriff with the pockmarked face, Kao! He was inspecting the parents with children, one by one. He must have learned of Third’s illness.

Cí was about to sneak away when he bumped into the sheriff’s hound. It turned to sniff him, and Cí feared someone in the village had given it a piece of his clothing to smell. Cí backed away, and the hound began to growl. It thrust its snout toward Cí’s hand, and Cí was on the verge of turning and running when the dog began licking his fingers.

The noodles! Cí hadn’t washed his hands since eating the noodles. He let the hound lick him, then turned and made his way slowly toward the first group.

A shout made him jump. “Stop right there!”

Cí obeyed, heart in mouth.

“If you’re here to get medicine for a child, go back to the other line!”

Cí breathed a sigh of relief—it was just the attendant. But as he turned to go back to the other line, he found himself face-to-face with Kao, who recognized him instantly.

The second it took for the sheriff to shout a command seemed to last an eternity. The hound leaped up to tear a strip out of Cí’s throat, but Cí was already off and running. He dove into the crowded street, knocking over carts and baskets to try and block Kao and his dog. He sprinted in the direction of the canal.

Swerving between carts, he crossed the bridge, but just when he thought he was safe, he slipped and fell, dropping his father’s book. He tried to grab it, but a beggar appeared out of nowhere and snatched it up. Cí thought about pursuing him, but the sheriff and the hound were close behind. He got up and started running again.

He grabbed a hoe as he ran past a tackle stall, and then leaped onto an abandoned barge on the canal, thinking he would cross it and jump onto a moving barge, but the hound leaped after him. It looked possessed as it bared its teeth and growled. Kao was coming up behind. Cí gripped the hoe tightly and swung it at the dog, but the animal dodged, then lunged forward and sank its teeth into Cí’s calf. Though he didn’t feel any pain, Cí saw the teeth going in deeper, and he brought the hoe down on the dog’s head. Its skull cracked, and when he hit it again its jaw loosened. Kao stopped, dumbfounded.

Without thinking, Cí jumped into the river. He broke through the surface layer of old fruit, reeds, and scum and felt water rush through his nose. He dove under a barge, and when he resurfaced, he saw that Kao had grabbed the hoe and was following him along the bank. He dove again and swam to the far side of the barge, holding on to its edge. Then he heard shouts announcing the opening of the sluice gates, and he remembered how dangerous it was to be in the water when the locks were opened, how people died that way…

It’s my only way out.

He let go of the barge, and a torrent of water whipped him downriver, tossing and buffeting him around. Once he was through the first sluice gate, the main danger was being smashed against the side of a barge. He was carried toward the second gate, convinced that any minute he’d be crushed. But he got through the second gate and then managed to grab onto a loose cable. The water level rose rapidly around him, and the barges and boats squeezed close together, threatening to squash him.

He tried to use the cable to climb up one of the canal walls, but his right leg wasn’t working. Lifting it just above the surface of the water, he saw how bad the bite was.

Damned animal!

Using only his left leg and his arms, he scrambled up to the edge of the dock. He turned and collapsed, then saw Kao on the far side. With no way of reaching Cí, Kao kicked the ground in obvious frustration.

“Run all you want! I’ll find you! I’ll get you! No matter what!”

Cí didn’t reply but dragged himself up and went off, half-hopping, into the crowds of Lin’an.