The Corpse Reader

21

Everyone in the room shot scornful looks at Cí. Gray Fox spat on the floor and turned his back on his partner.

Cí apologized and, in spite of the shock of seeing Kao’s corpse, gathered himself as best he could. He went up to the table to observe the other pairs at work. Whatever happened, he had to know how Kao had died.

The first pair pointed out the lack of apparent wounds, which led them to think the man couldn’t have died violently; perhaps, they said to each other, it had been a mere accident. The second pair focused on the small bite marks on the lips and eyelids—most likely from canal fish—and on details like Kao’s complexion and old scars, which Cí thought were unlikely to reveal the cause of death.

The second incense stick burned down, and it was their turn. Gray Fox approached the corpse as if he had all the time in the world—and as if the incense stick were measuring only his time and not Cí’s as well. Gray Fox circled the corpse and began his examination at the opposite end from what was typical—with the bluish feet. He palpated the knotty, muscular legs all the way up to the penis, which also appeared to have been nibbled by fish. Cí was watching the time closely; by the time a quarter of the incense stick had burned, Gray Fox hadn’t even examined the torso. Finally, he reached the head, and then asked Cí to help him turn the body over. Gray Fox was exasperatingly slow as he moved down the back of the body.

Cí glanced from the half-finished incense stick to Ming, but the professor was deep in conversation with one of the students and didn’t notice. By the time Gray Fox had finished, there was hardly any time left.

Having seen there were no wounds on the body, Cí followed his instinct and used his time to examine the head. He looked closely at the nape of the neck, the mouth, the eyes, the nostrils; failing to find any evidence of note, he moved on to the ears. Instantly he found something in the left one. Aware that the incense was about to burn out, he hurried over to his instruments to grab his forceps. But as he got back to the corpse, one of the guards stood in front of him; for a moment, Cí panicked that he’d been identified.

“Time’s up,” said the guard.

“But, sir,” Cí said to Ming, who had come back over. “Gray Fox used up much more than half our time.”

“Nothing I can do. The prefect is waiting.”

Cí looked around, desperate.

I have to find a way.

He bowed his acceptance and backed away, but left his forceps near the head. As everyone was filing out, he asked the guard if he could cover the corpse. Since Cí seemed to be acting out of respect, the guard let him.

As they left the Room of the Dead, Cí was satisfied.

On their way back to the academy, Ming apologized to Cí. “I wanted to give you more time, but it would have upset the prefect.”

Cí nodded. He was fully focused on the consequences of his discovery. The prefect, a dumpy, sweaty man, had impressed upon them the extreme confidentiality of the case and sent them off to write up their reports. They had two days—two days in which Cí would determine his fate.

At lunch, he hardly ate. Afterward they had to present their preliminary findings to Ming, and he still didn’t know what he should say. Surely the prefect knew what Kao’s job had been, but Cí didn’t know if the prefect knew—as he did—that Kao had been murdered. If he didn’t know, and Cí announced his conclusions, that would alert the authorities to the existence of a murderer, and Cí believed he would be the prime suspect.

He tried to swallow some food, but it lodged in his throat. The second pair was already meeting with Ming; soon it would be his and Gray Fox’s turn.

Gods, what should I do? What would father do?

A shove from Gray Fox jolted him out of his thoughts. It was time. Cí got up, straightened his clothes, and followed his partner.

It was Cí’s first time in Ming’s private study. He was surprised to find it so gloomy; there were no windows or paper screens to let in daylight. Old silks with anatomical pictures hung on the rosewood walls. Ming sat at an ebony desk consulting a volume in the semi-darkness, and from a shelf behind him a row of skulls peered out. The professor invited them to approach, and they both knelt down. Ming looked at them, and Cí noticed how weary his eyes were.

“I dearly hope you two have something useful to say. Your classmates haven’t drawn one sensible conclusion. I don’t think I’ve heard such a lot of nonsense in all my days. Well? What can you tell me?”

Gray Fox cleared his throat. He took out his notes and began.

“Most honorable Ming, I thank you with sincere humility for the opportunity—”

“Hold the sincere humilities and get on with it.”

“Of course, sir.” He cleared his throat. “But perhaps Cí should wait outside. As you know, a second judge shouldn’t have his judgment…influenced by another’s.”

“By the gods, will you just get on with it?”

Gray Fox cleared his throat again.

“The first thing to consider is why the case is surrounded by such secrecy. This is highly unusual, and it leads me to think that the deceased must have been a man of some importance, or had links with people of importance.”

“Go on,” said Ming, nodding.

“If that is the case, the next question is why the authorities would be interested in students’ opinions. We must assume that to ask us, they do not know the cause of death, or at least are unsure of their own conclusions.”

“Yes, yes, it could be.”

“Because he was already undressed, we lacked an important source of information, but at least we can surmise from the smoothness of his hands that he was no laborer. At the same time, his short nails tell us he wasn’t a literary person.”

“Good observation.”

“I thought so, too,” said Gray Fox, modest as ever. “And finally, as to the cause of death: The corpse showed no signs of violence, no bruises or wounds, nothing to suggest poisoning. Nor was there any excretion from any of the seven orifices that might have suggested the death was by unnatural causes.”

“And so…”

“And so, we ought to conclude that his death was caused by having fallen in the canal. In my view, the fact that he died of drowning is not the important thing; it’s that he died drunk, as indicated by the fact he was found clutching a liquor bottle.”

“Mm…” Ming’s interest gave way to a frown of disappointment. “Your conclusion, then?”

“Um…” Gray Fox was unsettled by Ming’s response. “As I was saying, the unfortunate man undoubtedly had an important office…His death, clearly unexpected, appeared to them a mishap, and that was what they called us in to confirm.”

Ming puffed out his cheeks. He thanked him and turned to Cí.

“What about you?” he asked, clearly not expecting much.

Gray Fox interrupted. “If we could see the deceased’s clothes, or talk to the person who found him—”

“It’s Cí’s turn now,” said Ming.

Cí stood up. Gray Fox had made the same decent observations he had planned to point out in order to withhold his own terrible discovery. Now, if he merely repeated what Gray Fox had said, he would seem like a dolt in Ming’s eyes. Nonetheless, that was exactly what he decided he had to do.

Afterward, Ming raised an eyebrow.

“That’s all?” he asked.

“That’s all that could be surmised from the corpse. Gray Fox’s observations were, in my opinion, well founded and astute. They match as much as I could determine.”

“In that case you should have paid better attention. All of the students have come to the same conclusions. We don’t keep you here to parrot the stupidity of others.” Ming was silent a moment as he scrutinized Cí. “And even less to try and trick us!”

Cí blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, really? Do you honestly think I’m stupid?”

Cí had no idea how much Ming knew he knew. “I don’t understand—”

“By the gods! Stop acting, for once! Don’t you think I was watching when you discovered whatever was in the ear? That I didn’t see what you were doing when you covered the body over, or the satisfaction on your face afterward?”

Cí said nothing.

Ming snorted. “Get out of my sight, both of you! Out!”

As they scrambled out, they could hear Ming muttering, “Damned little liar…”

Cí spent the rest of the day in the library meditating over what seemed an intractable problem. He kept coming to the same conclusion: he was going to have to renounce his dream and flee Lin’an. Finally he picked up a brush and began writing down every detail of what he had really surmised, without deciding what he’d actually do with the report. How he envied Gray Fox. He’d seen him laughing with some classmates, and they’d been drinking, too. It didn’t seem as though the failure mattered in the slightest to Gray Fox. Before going in for dinner, he had come tottering over to Cí. His eyes shining and a stupid grin on his face, he’d offered Cí a drink.

“Come on, partner,” he said when Cí refused. “Forget about Ming. Drink!”

Alcohol was an amazing thing, thought Cí; this was the first time in his months at the academy that Gray Fox had addressed him with something other than an insult. He declined the drink again.

“Know what?” said Gray Fox. “I hated you, right up until this afternoon. Clever Cí, brilliant Cí…But you weren’t clever or brilliant today, were you? How did you put it? ‘Gray Fox’s observations were, in my opinion, well founded and astute.’ Ooh, I liked that. Here.” He thrust the drink at Cí again and laughed heartily.

Cí took a drink, hoping it would make Gray Fox leave him alone, and felt the heat of the rice liquor invade his throat and stomach. He wasn’t used to drinking such strong stuff.

“Brilliant!” laughed Gray Fox. “A bunch of us are going out later for dinner at the Palace of Pleasure. We’ll toast Ming’s health! Why don’t you come?”

“No, thank you. I wouldn’t want Professor Ming to find out.”

“What if he does? We aren’t prisoners here, you know. Ming’s just a bitter old man; nothing’s ever enough for him. Come on, we’ll have a great time! Meet us after the second evening gong, down by the fountain. All right?” He left the pitcher of liquor there and went swaying off, singing to himself.

Cí grabbed the clay pitcher. For all his contemplation, he still didn’t know what to do. If he revealed what he knew, he’d rise in Ming’s estimation again, but the risk was huge. If he kept his mouth shut, he’d forsake his dream of joining the judiciary…He took another drink. And another. There was something comforting in the liquor, and gradually his mind clouded over and his problems floated away.

The second gong struck, and Cí was surprised to find himself still in the library. How much longer would Ming let him stay at the academy?

And could he possibly care less?

He heard the sound of laughter from the gardens, got unsteadily to his feet, and went downstairs. Four students, each of them with a drink, stood around Gray Fox by the fountain. Cí stopped and watched them for a minute before heading toward his room. But he heard Gray Fox calling after him, his voice amiable and persuasive. Then Gray Fox was next to Cí with his arm around him, cajoling him, saying they’d have a great time. Cí reasoned that at least it would be a chance to iron things out with Gray Fox.

At the Palace of Pleasure, Cí encountered women more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. He and Gray Fox and the other students were seated at a booth. Cí looked around at the whirl of rich young men, students, merchants—and the dancers. The painted “flowers” gyrated like water lilies on an eddying pool as lutes whipped up the excitement further. The women went around the room, giving men glimpses of their small, bound feet and driving them wild. Gray Fox greeted friends and staff as if he owned the place. Soon two smiling women joined them, and Gray Fox was pouring more drinks.

“Nice, aren’t they?” said Gray Fox as he stroked one of the girls’ legs. “Listen,” he told them, “this is Cí, the Corpse Reader, my new partner. He talks to ghosts, so be nice to him, very nice, or he’ll turn you into donkeys!”

Cí wasn’t entirely comfortable with his lusty thoughts when the two girls came and sat on either side of him. It had been a long time since he’d touched a woman, and he’d forgotten what their soft skin felt like, and what the caress of their perfumes could do to him.

The food arrived, and there was so much, and such variety, that the well-known saying about Lin’an—that here you could eat anything that flew except the comets, anything that swam except boats, and anything with legs except tables—seemed entirely apt. Snails in ginger, eight-gem pudding, pearl crabs, fried rice, ribs with chestnuts, freshwater fish, dragon-teeth oysters…The warm rice wine kept flowing, and Cí drank it all down. Gray Fox—the change in whom astonished Cí—kept encouraging Cí to indulge.

He hardly needed encouragement. The two “flowers” were seeing to that.

The first time he felt one of their hands slip between his legs, he spat out his drink. The second time, he tried to set them straight: their perfume and their red lips stirred him in all the right ways, but he didn’t have the money to thank them for their attentions. They didn’t seem to care, and they started kissing his neck.

Pleasure crackled down Cí’s spine and goose bumps spread over his flesh. Gray Fox and the others were laughing and cheering for him to go off with the girls.

It didn’t take him long to decide. The last couple of swigs of rice wine had transported him into a hazy, vertiginous world of caresses and sweet smells. He was about to kiss one of the girls when a hand clutched his shoulder.

“Let go of her and get yourself another one!” roared an older man carrying a stick.

Gray Fox intervened. “What? Leave him alone!”

But the man ignored Gray Fox, grabbing the girl by the arm as though he were going to rip it from her body and knocking the table of food over at the same time. Cí jumped up to stop the man, but in an instant the man struck Cí across the face with the stick. Cí fell to the floor, and just as the man was about to deliver another blow, Gray Fox leaped on him. Immediately five or six members of the restaurant staff dived in to separate them.

“Goddamned drunkard!” said Gray Fox, wiping blood from a cut on his hand. “They should be stricter about who they let in.” He helped Cí to his feet. “Are you all right?”

Cí wasn’t sure what had just happened, but whatever it was, it hadn’t cleared the alcohol from his brain. Some staff helped the two of them over to a quiet corner; the others in the group stayed with the two women.

“Buddha! That imbecile almost wrecked our whole night. Want me to call over one of the girls?”

“No…” said Cí. “It’s fine…” Everything was spinning.

“You sure? She seems to know what she’s doing, and she has the most delectable feet. I bet she wriggles like a frying fish. Don’t worry. We’re here to have fun!” And he signaled to a waiter to bring more drink.

Cí was soon enjoying himself again, and he and Gray Fox chatted as though they’d been friends their whole lives. Their commentary on the ridiculous old men drooling over the dancing girls, and the way the girls made mocking faces even as they took their money, had Cí in fits of laughter. They drank on until eventually their conversation lost all sense.

Then Gray Fox’s face changed, and he started talking about his loneliness. From a very young age he’d been sent to the best schools, so he’d always been surrounded by great wisdom, but he lacked the affection of his brothers, his mother’s kisses, and the intimacy of friendships. He’d learned self-esteem but also never to trust anyone. His life had been like that of a prize horse, shut up in golden stables, ready to kick the first person who came near.

“You have to forgive me,” said Gray Fox. “I’ve acted so badly toward you, but until you arrived at the academy the one thing I had was Ming’s admiration. When you came, all that attention shifted to you.”

Cí didn’t know what to say; the drink was making his thoughts blurry.

“Forget about it,” Cí said. “I’m not that good.”

“Yes, you are. Like this morning, you found something in the corpse’s ear—no one else noticed it. I feel like an idiot.”

“Don’t say that. Anyone could have found it.”

“I didn’t though,” said Gray Fox, hanging his head.

Cí understood Gray Fox’s feeling of defeat. He fished around in his bag and pulled out a small piece of metal.

“Watch this,” said Cí. He slowly moved the piece of metal closer to a small iron dish on the floor until suddenly the dish leaped up to meet it.

“A magnet?” asked Gray Fox, trying to pull the dish off.

“Yes, and if you’d had one at the examination you would have found what I found: the metal bar inserted in the ear. The metal bar that killed the sheriff because it was pushed straight through to his brain.”

“Killed? Sheriff? What are you saying?” Gray Fox became animated again and took another drink. “So…the flask of liquor he was clutching…”

Cí pointed to an old man passed out on a divan across the room from them. He had a cane.

“See how he isn’t gripping it? The cane is just resting lightly in his hands. When someone dies, it’s like that; their last breath takes all their life force with it. The only way he could have been gripping the flask was if someone had introduced it into his hands after death and waited for the onset of rigor mortis.”

“A red herring?”

“Essentially,” said Cí, draining the last of his drink.

“You really are a devil,” chuckled Gray Fox.

Cí didn’t know what to say. The drink was making him blurrier and blurrier. A toast, he thought.

“To my new friend,” he said, lifting his cup.

“To mine,” said Gray Fox.

When more drinks came, Cí said he couldn’t possibly. Cups, customers, dancers—everything was spinning. But then he saw a svelte figure approaching and thought he recognized the almond eyes on the face that leaned down to kiss him. And the wet lips full of desire.

As Cí let himself be pulled in by the woman, Gray Fox got up.

If Cí had watched his new friend go, rather than abandoning himself to caresses, he would have been surprised to see Gray Fox suddenly seeming entirely sober as he walked with determination to the door, handed some coins to the man who’d attacked them earlier, and left the Palace of Pleasure.