The Corpse Reader

17

The next few weeks weren’t easy.

Cí would get up every night and go to the Imperial Market so he could help one of Xu’s wives carry fish back to the houseboat and clean them. The fish cleaning had been assigned to Third, and it had to be done whether she was ill or not, so Cí tried to lighten the load. Then he would accompany Xu on a round of the markets and wharves to find out about the previous day’s deaths and violent accidents. They also would stop by the hospitals and clinics, including the Great Pharmacy, where Xu would slip an attendant a little money in exchange for details about the most seriously ill patients. With this information, Xu would plan their next move.

On their way to the Fields of Death, Cí would evaluate the patients’ backgrounds, looking for anything that could help make his pronouncements more believable. When they got to the cemetery, he’d put the tools in order and then help dig trenches, lug sacks of earth from one end of the cemetery to the other, place gravestones, help carry coffins. He and Xu would eat and then get ready for the performance; one of Xu’s wives had come up with a necromancer outfit with a mask.

“We’ll come across as more mysterious,” said Cí, but he didn’t mention that he was a fugitive and that the other advantage to the disguise was that it would hide his identity.

Xu wasn’t wild about the costume, but Cí convinced him by pointing out that if he ever decided to give up the work, it would make it easier for someone else to take his place.

Their work included corpses at the Buddhist monastery. Cremations tended to bring them less money than burials, but it all helped to spread their reputation, and intrigue grew.

They’d return to the houseboat after dark, and Cí would always wake Third to check that she was feeling well and that she’d done her chores. He’d give her little wooden figures that he’d whittled between burials. Then it would be time to give her medicine, check her writing exercises, and recite the thousand words children had to learn to master reading.

“I’m tired,” she’d say, but Cí would stroke her hair and insist they do a little more.

“You don’t want to be a fisherwoman your whole life,” he would tell her.

After everyone was asleep he’d go out into the cold night air and stare at the reflection of the stars in the water as he tried to recite Prescriptions Left by the Spirits of Liu Jun-Zi, an impassioned text on surgery that he’d bought secondhand. He’d study until overcome by sleep or until rain extinguished the lantern.

Every night he also remembered his father’s dishonor and felt overwhelmed by bitterness.

As the months went by, Cí learned to tell the differences between accidental wounds and those brought about in an attempt to kill; to recognize the incisions made by hatchets, daggers, kitchen knives, machetes, and swords; to discern between a murder and a suicide. He discovered that a murderer’s methods would be sloppy when the motive was jealousy or sudden anger, and more sophisticated when the death was premeditated and based on revenge.

Each case challenged Cí differently, and required both knowledge and imagination. He attended most to the smaller details—scars, wounds, inflammation. At times something as slight as a lock of hair or a minor discharge could provide the key to an apparently inexplicable case.

There was nothing he hated more than when he failed to find the clues he needed. The more corpses he examined, the more he realized how little he really knew. Everyone else thought he had magical powers when he was actually learning the extent of his ignorance. He’d grow desperate sometimes—if there was a symptom he couldn’t make sense of, a corpse that wouldn’t give up its secrets, a scar whose origin he couldn’t figure out. Each time he came to an impasse, he remembered Feng and the man’s attention to detail. Feng had taught Cí things he never would have learned in university—but, surprisingly, he was also learning from Xu.

Xu had some expertise when it came to the dead. He knew how to figure out how bruises might have come about and how to discern what job a person had done. He’d developed a familiarity with corpses though years working at the cemetery and helping with cremations at the Buddhist monastery; he’d even worked at one time as a gravedigger at the prisons in Sichuan, where torture and death were commonplace. He had much of the practical experience Cí lacked.

“Did I see executions there!” he bragged. “Proper killings they were—none of this kid stuff. If prisoners’ families didn’t bring them food, neither did the government.”

Of course, this reminded Cí of Lu’s awful death. It was some comfort to know it probably wouldn’t have been any better for him if he had survived and made it to Sichuan.

Cí, as hungry for knowledge as ever, tried to glean as much information from Xu as he could, but he also had to study if he was to stand a chance with the Imperial exams. As winter approached, he mentioned to Xu that he wanted to buy more books.

“Fine by me,” said Xu. “But it comes out of your wages.”

Even though the price of food and medicine was rising, Cí still had ample money to keep Third fed and medicated. He could get the books, but after working such long days he didn’t have much time to study.

Spring came to Lin’an, and Cí had become calmer and more confident in his work. He could immediately identify the purplish bruising from a blunt instrument; he could distinguish the smell of rotting flesh from the sweeter smell of gangrene; his fingers were more proficient in finding hard spots beneath skin tissue, the little ulcers of a rope burn on someone’s neck, the tenderness of old age, moxibustion burns, even the tiny scars made by acupuncture needles.

He was feeling more and more sure of himself.

And that was his big mistake.

On a rainy day in April, a large retinue of well-dressed nobles made their way up the cemetery hill carrying a coffin. Two servants came ahead of them to ask Xu about determining the cause of death. The man, who had been an official in the War Ministry, had died following a long illness, but its cause was unclear, and they wanted to know if the death could have been avoided.

Xu negotiated a price and fetched Cí from the grave he was working to repair. Cí’s clothes were filthy and he wanted time to change, but Xu told him they had to hurry and that he should get his mask and come immediately. Cí realized the gloves he’d been using to hide his scarred hands were covered in mud.

And I left the other pair on the houseboat.

He couldn’t afford to let himself be identified by his scars.

“You know I can’t do it without the gloves,” he said.

“Damn it, Cí. Hide them—put them up your ass for all I care. You could do it with your hands tied behind your back nowadays.”

He should have said no, but his increased confidence led him to agree. From what Xu had told him, Cí figured old age would probably be the cause of death, which would eliminate the need for much examination. He put the mask on in the pavilion and went out to receive the cortege while keeping his hands tucked into his sleeves. He took one look at the corpse and knew a stroke had killed the man.

Fine. We’ll just do our routine.

He bowed to the retinue and approached the coffin. The neck was swollen, the wrinkled face was peaceful, and the funeral outfit smelled of incense and sandalwood. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He didn’t need to handle the body. All the family wanted was something specific, and that was what he’d give them. Making sure his hands were well hidden, he pretended to examine the face, neck, and ears, passing his sleeves across them.

“Death by stroke,” he announced finally.

The family members bowed in thanks, and Cí bowed back. Straightforward. But as he withdrew, there was a shout behind him.

“Take him!”

Before he knew it, two men had grabbed him and a third was searching him.

“What is it?” asked Cí, struggling.

“Where is it?” one of them said. “Where have you put it?”

“We saw the way you were hiding your hands under your sleeves,” said another. “Thief!”

Cí looked to Xu for help, but Xu was keeping his distance, looking out for himself as always. His captors demanded he give back the pearl brooch he’d stolen. Of course, he hadn’t stolen it, but Cí knew they wouldn’t believe anything he said. They stripped him naked and found nothing—still they weren’t satisfied. They threw his clothes in his face and told him to cover himself.

“You’d better tell us where it is; otherwise you’re getting a beating.”

A boy had already been sent into town to report him to the authorities, but the rest of the family didn’t seem willing to wait. The two men twisted Cí’s arms behind him.

“I didn’t take anything! I barely even touched him!”

A punch to the stomach doubled him over. He gasped for air.

“Give it back. Or you’re dead.”

Another man approached with a noosed rope. Cí cried out, “It’s a mistake. I haven’t taken anything!” He felt a knot being tied around his throat. Then an imperious voice boomed out.

“Let him go!”

The men took their hands off Cí as the head of the family stepped forward.

“You don’t know how sorry I am,” said the man, bowing remorsefully. “I just found it in the coffin. It must have fallen off in transit.”

Cí said nothing. He dusted himself off and walked away.

That night he lay on the roof of the houseboat and meditated on the incident, which was a reminder that he was walking a fine line in this work. The slightest slip—even paying more attention to hiding the burns on his hands than anything else—could mean serious trouble.

Not a good day. Soon it would be the New Year, and he’d turn twenty-one. The violence felt like a bad omen.

Two days later, things went from bad to worse.

He and Xu were polishing a coffin in the Eternal Mausoleum when they heard a strange murmuring outside. At first Cí attributed it to the man who hummed incessantly when he raked the leaves. Soon, though, he realized the sounds were coming from dogs. His hair stood on end; his last encounter with a dog had been with Sheriff Kao’s hound, and people didn’t typically bring dogs into the cemetery. He hurried over to the door and peeked out.

Kao was heading up the hill with a bloodhound. Instinctively, Cí crouched down.

“I need your help!” he implored Xu. “The man who’s coming—go and stall him for me. I need to figure out what to do.”

Xu looked outside. “A sheriff! You in some kind of trouble?”

“No! Just don’t let him know I’m here.”

“And what about the dog?”

“Please, Xu, I’m begging you!”

Xu went outside just as Kao reached the mausoleum entrance. Xu stood back as Kao restrained the dog.

“Lovely animal,” he said, shutting the door behind him and bowing. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I suppose so,” growled Kao. “Are you the man they call the fortune-teller?”

“Yes, Xu is my name.”

“A couple of days ago a robbery was reported. Do you know anything about it? They said a brooch was stolen here in the cemetery.”

“Oh, that! Let me see…Yes, it was all a big misunderstanding. There was a family, prickly they were, and they thought we’d taken a brooch from a corpse. But it was found—it had just fallen into the coffin. That was all.”

“Yes, that’s what I heard.”

“So is there a problem?”

“The report mentioned a young man who was helping you. He was in disguise and had burn marks on his hands and torso. This fits the description of a fugitive I’ve been tracking: a young male, tall and slim, good-looking, hair tied up…”

“That little bastard!” spat Xu. “I’ve been cursing myself for hiring him. He vanished yesterday and took some money from me. I was going to report it at the end of the week.”

“Mmm,” grunted Kao. “So I suppose you have no idea where he is now?”

“No, I mean, he could be anywhere…What’s he wanted for?”

“Stealing money. There’s also a reward on his head.”

Xu’s tone changed. “A reward?”

Just then there was a noise from inside the mausoleum.

“Is there someone in there?”

“No, I swear—”

“Out of the way!”

Though he’d bolted the door, Cí could see Xu wasn’t able to detain Kao. The cemetery suddenly seemed very small; even if he escaped through a window of the mausoleum and ran, the hound would surely catch him. There was no way out. He was trapped.

“Nothing in there but the dead!” he heard Xu cry, as Kao began battering on the bolted mausoleum door.

“I’ll make sure of that,” roared Kao.

The door was sturdy, and the bolt seemed as though it could withstand the pounding Kao was giving it. Standing back, Kao spied a large board on the ground. Grabbing it, he smiled at Xu. The first impact made splinters fly; two more and a large crack appeared in the door. Kao was about to strike again when the door opened from inside. A figure stepped out, dressed in a necromancer’s outfit, arms raised and trembling.

“The mask, take it off! Now!” shouted Kao. The dog was straining at the leash.

The man’s hands were trembling so much he couldn’t undo the knots on the mask.

“Get on with it! The gloves, take them off!”

The man began taking the gloves off, peeling them away one finger at a time. First the right, then the left. Kao’s face went from triumph to stupefaction in an instant.

“But…but you…”

The hands were wrinkled, but there wasn’t a single burn on them. Overcome with rage, Kao ripped the mask off, coming face-to-face with an elderly, and clearly very frightened, man.

“Out of my way.”

Kao pushed past the imposter and went into the mausoleum, kicking anything and everything in his path. He howled: the place was empty. He came back out and grabbed Xu.

“Damned liar! Tell me where he is or I’ll stuff your head down your throat!”

Xu swore he didn’t know.

“I’m going to have eyes on you day and night. If that boy comes back to you, I swear you’ll regret it.”

“He won’t be coming back. He robbed me. If I do ever see him, I’ll be the first to give him a beating.”

Kao left the cemetery in a whirl of oaths and curses.

When Cí told Xu how he’d paid the gardener to dress up in the outfit, Xu couldn’t help but laugh.

“But how on earth did you manage to not be found?”

“Got the gardener to shut me in a coffin—and make it look like it was nailed shut.”

Xu told Cí what had happened with Kao. “I think you’re going to have to tell me why they’re after you. He mentioned a reward,” Xu said, smiling, “but I don’t think it can be as much as you and I are making together!”

Cí hesitated—he knew his story was barely believable. He also sensed something in Xu he didn’t know if he trusted.

“Maybe it’s time for us to stop,” said Cí.

“No way. We’ll change the disguise to something that makes you stand out less. Pick the clientele better. And make it clear they can’t go telling the world about us.” He winked. “I’m not an ambitious man. We’ve got plenty of clients for now.”

But Cí still had the feeling that Xu would do whatever suited him. He’d said that this was by far the most lucrative enterprise he’d been involved in.

“I’m not sure, Xu. I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account.”

“Don’t worry. We’re in this together. Really. But let’s forget about our little shows for a while, do something else.”

Cí nodded.

But two days later, Cí found out that he and Xu weren’t really in it together at all.

It was cold that morning, and Xu’s wives began complaining that Third was nothing but a nuisance. She was a slow learner, her head was always in the clouds, she got the prawns and the shrimp mixed up, and she ate too much. Plus they always had to look out for her health, which Cí knew was getting worse.

“Maybe we sell her,” shrugged Xu. It was a common thing to do when families were hard up, he pointed out. Of course, Cí wouldn’t hear of it.

“Marry her off, then,” suggested one of the wives.

Xu was all for it. He didn’t see how Cí could object. It was simply a question of finding a man who liked that she was still so young. When it came down to it, Xu thought girls were a nuisance until the day they married.

“It’s what we did with ours. Third’s eight years old—just tart her up a bit so she doesn’t look so sickly. I can think of plenty of guys who’d love a little puppy like her.”

Cí went and stood by Third. It wasn’t unusual for girls to be offered in marriage at a young age—sometimes it was their best chance in life—but Cí couldn’t accept the idea of Third being slobbered over by some old man.

But Xu kept on pushing.

As always, Cí’s only recourse was to offer money. But he was running out of that fast. Third’s medicine seemed to be having less effect; she needed more and more all the time. Since Xu had taken over the necromancer duties, and since he had gotten numerous tellings wrong, their joint income was much lower. In fact, before this conversation started, Cí had been about to ask for a loan.

“You’re going to have to go back to earning proper money yourself,” said Xu, pointing to the necromancer’s outfit. Cí looked at it; though Xu had said he would modify it, he had barely done so. Cí took a deep breath and frowned. He worried about Kao’s coming back, but if he wanted to save his sister, he had no choice.

That afternoon a group of students and their professor came to the cemetery. Seeing them coming, Xu told Cí how they would sometimes have visits from Ming Academy. For a fee, they were allowed to examine any unclaimed corpses. Luckily, there were three there at the time. Xu was exultant.

“Get dressed,” he said. “These youngsters are so easy to get money out of, if you don’t mind groveling a bit.”

Cí did as he was told, the thought of Third spurring him on.

He watched from a corner, waiting for Xu’s signal. The professor, a bald man dressed in red who seemed somehow familiar, arranged the students around the first body. Before they began, he reminded them of their responsibilities as future judges: respect for the dead and honor in their judgments were of utmost importance. Then he lifted the sheet covering the corpse, revealing a baby girl, a few months old perhaps, who had been found dead in a canal that morning. The professor embarked on a round of questions for the students to discern the cause of death.

“Drowned, no question,” said the first, a fresh-faced youth with a smug air. “Swollen belly, no other marks.”

The professor nodded, inviting the next student to speak.

“A typical case of drowned child. The parents threw her in the canal to avoid caring for her.”

“They might not have been able to,” chided the professor. “Anyone else want to say anything?”

Cí saw that the professor noticed one of the students—Cí had overheard him called Gray Fox, a fitting name given his gray-streaked hair—kept yawning, but the instructor said nothing. He covered the baby’s corpse and asked Xu to bring the next. Xu took the opportunity to bring Cí in and introduce him as the resident necromancer. The students looked at his outfit with disdain.

“We’re not interested in tricksters,” said the professor. “None of us here believe in necromancy.”

Cí withdrew, disconcerted. Xu whispered to him to take off the mask and stay alert. The next corpse was an ashen old man who had been found dead behind a market stall.

“Death by starvation,” said one of the students, looking closely at the corpse with its protruding bones. “Swollen ankles and feet. Approximately seventy years old. Natural causes, therefore.”

Again, the professor agreed with the evaluation, and everyone congratulated the student. Cí saw how Gray Fox went along with it but was clearly being insincere in his praise. Xu and Cí brought the third corpse in a large pine coffin. When they removed the lid, the students at the front recoiled, but Gray Fox came forward, immediately quite interested.

“Looks like a chance for you to show your talents,” said the professor.

The student replied with an ironic smile and approached slowly, his eyes glittering as though the coffin contained a treasure. Cí watched as the student took out a sheet of paper, an inkstone, and a brush. His approach was very similar to the one Cí had seen Feng take in examinations.

First Gray Fox inspected the corpse’s clothes: the undersides of the sleeves, inside the shirt, trousers, and shoes. Then, having removed the clothes and scrutinized the body, he asked for water, which he used to clean the blood-spattered skin thoroughly. Next he measured the body and announced that the deceased was at least two heads taller than an average man.

He began examining the swollen face, which had a strange puncture on the forehead that exposed a bit of the skull. Instead of cleaning it, the student extracted some mud, saying the puncture was most likely the result of a fall, the head having struck the edge of paving stones or cobblestones. He made a note and then described the eyes, which, half open and dull, were like those of a dried fish; the prominent cheekbones; and the wispy mustache and strong jaw. Then he mentioned the long gash that ran from one side of the throat, across the nose, and all the way to the right ear. He looked closely at the edges of the cut and measured the depth. Smiling, he wrote something else down.

He moved on to the muscular torso, noting eleven stab wounds; then he scanned the groin; the small, wrinkled penis; and the thighs and calves, which were also muscular and hairless. Cí helped him turn the corpse over; aside from the bloodstains, the back was unmarked. The student stood back, looking ever more pleased.

“So?” said the professor.

The student took his time before answering, looking at each person individually. He clearly enjoyed performing. Cí raised an eyebrow but paid attention.

“This is obviously an unusual case,” began the student. “The man was young, very strong, and ended up stabbed and with his throat slit. A shockingly cruel murder, which seems to point to there having been a very vicious fight.”

The professor gestured for the student to continue.

“At first glance we might think that there were several assailants—there would have been several of them to overcome a hulk like this—and the many stab wounds attest to that. The number of injuries indicates the fight lasted some time, before someone delivered the decisive wound to the throat. After that, the victim fell forward, causing the strange rectangular mark on the forehead.” Here the student paused for effect. “And the motive? Perhaps we ought to think of several: from a simple tavern brawl to an unpaid debt or old feud or even a dispute over some beautiful ‘flower.’ But the most likely motive is robbery, given the fact the body’s been stripped of all valuables, including the bracelet that should have been…here,” he said, pointing to a tan mark at the wrist. “A magistrate would have done well to order the immediate vicinity searched, paying particular attention to taverns and any troublemakers either showing wounds or throwing money around.” The student closed his notebook, covered the corpse, and stared at the group, waiting for his applause.

Cí remembered what Xu had said about the possibility of tips if they groveled, and went over to congratulate the student, but the student looked at him with disdain.

“Stupid show-off,” muttered Cí, turning away.

“How dare you!” Gray Fox grabbed his arm.

Cí shrugged him off and squared up to the student, ready to argue, but before he could reply, the professor was between them.

“So, it seems the sorcerer thinks we’re loudmouths,” said the professor. Looking at Cí more closely, his face changed. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so, sir. I haven’t been in the capital long,” he lied. As he said it, though, he realized the professor was Ming, the man to whom he’d tried to sell his copy of the penal code at the book market.

“Are you sure? Well, anyway…I think you owe my student an apology.”

“Or maybe he owes me one.”

At Cí’s impertinence, a murmur went around.

Xu stepped in. “Please, sir, forgive him. He’s been quite out of sorts lately.”

But Cí wasn’t backing down. He wanted to wipe the smile off the conceited student’s face.

He turned to Xu and whispered, “Put a bet on me. Everything you’ve got. It’s what you know best, right?”