The Corpse Reader

13

“Ten thousand qián on the boy!”

Everyone, Cí included, turned around in astonishment to see who was placing this bet.

A murmur went around: “He’s mad! He’ll lose it all!”

But the fortune-teller wasn’t deterred. He took a bill from his wallet. The youth taking the deposits checked the bill’s authenticity. Once the amount was matched by other bettors, he struck a gong, signaling the preparation for the duel.

Cí and the giant stood a few feet apart, facing each other. The two cooks marked the knife blades to indicate how deep they should sink them. The giant, eyeing his blade as if it were a snake and he had to work out how venomous it was, drained the last of his liquor. He slammed the gourd down and ordered another.

Then the cooks painted on the combatants’ bodies the pattern their knives had to follow. The cook who was painting on Cí trembled when his brush crossed over a particularly thick scar.

Cí shut his eyes and prayed for the spirits to protect him. He’d taken part in a Dragon Challenge three years earlier. He’d won then, but it had nearly cost him his life. He knew there was a chance now that his lung could be punctured long before his opponent, with his thick layers of muscle and fat, was seriously injured. But in his mind it was still worth it: Third needed him to be victorious.

And so it began.

Cí swallowed. He didn’t feel the incision, but watched the blood bubbling out of his chest, dripping down his belly and onto his legs. While pain wasn’t an issue, the tricky part was staying calm: the slightest jolt and he’d lose the bet. He took slow, even breaths as the tip of the knife sliced through his skin.

He watched the other cook cut the giant, who flinched, but his sardonic smile showed Cí he was a serious opponent. The longer it went on, the closer death came.

The grooves grew increasingly deep, parting fat and flesh, beginning to slice the muscles and fascia. Cí feigned pain. The giant’s mouth was jammed shut, the strain in his jaw and neck apparent. He kept his enraged, pained eyes locked on Cí.

Looking down, Cí saw that the knifepoint had stopped directly over his heart. The cook had pushed too hard and hit a rib, and the knife was caught between it and the tough scar tissue. Seeing this, the giant seemed to think victory was almost his, and he shouted for yet another drink. Cí told his cook to continue—if he stopped for too long, that also could be taken as defeat.

“Sure?” said the cook, trembling.

No!

But Cí nodded.

The cook gritted his teeth and pushed down. The skin stretched like resin and then, with a pop, the knife sunk deeper. It was almost at his heart—Cí could feel his heart hammering and held his breath. The cook glanced up for a signal to stop.

“Go on, you bastard!”

The giant laughed. Cí looked up. The giant’s torso was bathed in blood.

“Who’s the coward now?” he roared, lifting another gourd to his lips.

Cí knew that, any second, it could all go terribly wrong. He shut his eyes and thought about the money and Third.

Cry out, for god’s sake!

And it happened—as if the giant had heard his thoughts. His eyes clouded before opening horrifically wide.

The crowd fell silent. The giant tottered toward Cí. The knife was in to the hilt—in his heart.

“It…it was him…he moved!” stuttered the cook.

“De…vil…boy!” croaked the giant, before crashing straight through a table and collapsing on the floor.

A number of men rushed forward to try to revive him, while others crowded around the taker for their money.

Cí didn’t even have time to put his clothes on. The fortune-teller grabbed his arm and dragged him to the back door. They went as fast as they could, given Cí’s wounded leg and the bleeding from all the cuts, and went down an alley that led to a canal. There, they ducked under a stone bridge, out of sight.

“Take this. Cover yourself and wait here.”

Cí took the man’s jacket and put pressure on the worst cuts. He began to wonder if the fortune-teller would come back and was amazed when the little man appeared not long after, carrying an over-full bag.

“I had to get the kid at the door to hide the rest of my things. Are you in much pain?” Cí shook his head. “Let me see. Buddha! I have no idea how you managed it.”

“And I don’t know why you bet on me.”

“I’ll explain later. Use this.” He handed Cí a bandage. “How on earth did you get those burns?”

Cí didn’t answer. He hadn’t forgotten about the fortune-teller’s cheating him. The fortune-teller took off his donkey pelt and put it around Cí’s shoulders.

“Do you have any work?”

Cí shook his head again.

“Where are you living?”

“None of your business. Did you make your money back?”

“Of course. I’m a fortune-teller, not an idiot. Is this what you’re after?” He held out a purse full of coins.

Cí took his winnings—800 qián transformed into 1,600. It was hardly adequate return for what he’d been through.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, standing up.

“Why the hurry? Look at you. You aren’t going to get far on that leg.”

“I need to get to a pharmacy.”

“At this time of night? They can’t do much for a wound like that in a pharmacy. I know a healer—”

“Not for me!” He tried to walk but stumbled. “Damn!”

“Shh! Sit down or they’ll see us. Those men bet their week’s wages, and I can promise you they’re no Buddhist monks. They’d kill you for less.”

“But I won fairly.”

“Right—as fairly as me with the crickets. You don’t fool me, boy. We’re made of the same stuff, you and I. When the giant was squeezing your neck you hardly even flinched. I didn’t think of it then, but then when I saw your scars, and especially the ones that looked like they were from another Dragon Challenge…Come on! There’s no way that was the first time you’d played. I’ll say it again: I have no idea how you managed it, but you tricked a roomful of people. All except me. Xu, fortune-teller and cheat. That’s why I bet on you.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Mmm. And I have no idea what a magnet is. Here, let me have a look at that leg.” Peering at Cí’s shin, he swore. “Whoa! Been playing with tigers, have you?”

Cí gritted his teeth. He was losing precious time. He hadn’t put his life on the line just so Third could spend the whole night hidden in that hovel alone.

“Do you know of any pharmacies around here?”

“I know a few, but they won’t open unless I’m with you. Can’t you wait until morning?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

A thick fog hung over the backstreets near the gate. Cí knew they must be getting close to some warehouses by the smell of fish. They came by several ruffians, who eyed them hopefully, but between Cí’s limp and the fortune-teller’s threadbare donkey pelt, they obviously didn’t look worth mugging. The fortune-teller took them down a fish-bone alley, where filth and fish guts were dumped. Stepping from the soup of putrid, sticky blood coating the ground, he knocked on the second door of a shady-looking building. A man with boils all over his face peered out.

“Xu? Got the money you owe me?”

“Damn you! Can’t you see this man is injured?”

The man spat.

“Got my money or not?”

Xu stepped past the man and went in. The room was a sty. Once they had pushed aside piles of junk and found somewhere to sit, Cí asked if he had any of the root Third needed. The man with the boils on his face nodded, disappeared behind a drape, and returned with the medicine. Cí checked to make sure it was the right one with a dab on his finger and asked if there was more than the small amount he was offered, but the man said that was all he had. They haggled, and the man finally accepted 800 qián.

“Hey,” said Xu, “give us something for the boy’s leg, too.”

The man handed Cí some ointment.

“I’m fine—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” Xu paid, and they left the hovel.

It had begun to rain, and the wind had picked up. Cí began to say good-bye.

“Thanks for—”

“Don’t mention it. Listen, I’ve been thinking…You said you don’t have any work.”

“That’s right.”

“My real job is as a grave digger. It’s decent pay if you know how to treat the deceased’s families. I work in the Fields of Death, in Lin’an’s Great Cemetery. The fortune-telling, all that, is just something I do on the side. You cheat a couple of people, like with the crickets, and word gets out. I always have to work different neighborhoods…and then there are the gangs to deal with. They take most of my profits anyway. I’ve got family! And the whores and the wine, they cost, too!” he said and laughed.

“Sorry, but—”

“OK, I get it. You have to go. Where are you headed? South? Come on, let’s go. I’ll go with you.”

Cí said he’d be getting a barge, now that he could pay for a ride.

“Money’s a great thing! Sure you don’t want to earn more?” Laughing at his own joke for some reason, Xu slapped Cí on the back, forgetting about his wounds.

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Like I said, the crickets and everything, that’s just to cover costs…But you and me together…I know the markets, all the corner spots. I know how to reel the people in, and you, with this gift of yours…Hmm…We could be rolling in it.”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“Hmm, yes…We’d have to be smart…Not like with that giant, no. Get pimps, real street folk, preferably drunk! The areas around the gates are packed with idiots just dying to lose their money! A fresh face like yours would be just the thing. By the time they realize we’ve screwed them, we’ll be long gone!”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve actually got other plans.”

“Other plans? Are you trying to get more money out of me already? Don’t worry, we’ll split it right down the middle, fifty-fifty. Or maybe you think you could make more without me? Because if it’s that, I can promise you you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m just hoping for slightly less risky work. I’ve really got to go,” said Cí, stepping onto a barge that was just leaving. He tossed Xu his pelt.

Xu caught it and shouted, “Hold up. What’s your name?”

Cí answered only by saying thanks, then turned and was lost in the fog.

His trip back across the city went slowly. Third weighed heavily on his mind, and he felt sure something bad had happened to her. Back at the hostel, he hurried up the stairs, ignoring his injured leg. There were no lanterns, so he had to feel his way along to the room. Pulling the drape aside, he called for Third. She didn’t answer. It was deathly quiet. Rain had been coming in through the hole in the wall, and the floor was soaking wet.

His hands trembled as he moved aside the bamboo shelter in which he’d left her. There was some kind of unmoving bulk in there—Cí prayed she was just sleeping. He reached his hand out slowly, afraid of touching it…And when his fingers reached the pile of rags and blankets on the floor, he let out a cry.

There was nothing there. Just some soaked pieces of fabric, including the clothes Third had been wearing when Cí had left.