The Corpse Reader

23

Cí was up early, honoring his dead and cleaning Ming’s patio, like any other morning. After breakfast he hurried to the library and immersed himself in the compendium of forensic procedures he’d been working on, and which he was scheduled to present later that day. Halfway through the morning he realized he hadn’t included certain passages from the Zhubing Yuanhou Zonglun, or General Treatise of Causes and Symptoms of Illnesses, and he wanted to be sure to add some of the information it contained. The volumes he needed were in Ming’s apartments.

Unfortunately, Ming had been called away at the last minute to a meeting at the prefecture. If Cí waited for him to get back, he wouldn’t have his compendium ready in time for the presentation, but he was strictly forbidden from entering Ming’s apartments without permission.

This is a bad idea.

He pushed open the door to Ming’s library and felt his way forward in the darkness. He ran his hands over the shelves, and then shuddered when he came to the place where he knew the volume should be. There was a gap.

It wasn’t easy in the dark, but he didn’t want to light a lantern. Cí kept searching, and finally he found the volume he was looking for on Ming’s desk, underneath another silk-bound book.

This is a bad idea.

Just as Cí put his hand on the book, Ming entered. Startled, Cí dropped both books to the floor. The silk-bound volume fell open to some pictures of nude men.

“I…needed…the Zhubing Yuanhou Zonglun,” stuttered Cí. “For the presentation.”

They both looked down at the book with the naked men.

“It’s…an anatomy book,” said Ming, grabbing it up off the floor.

Cí nodded and dropped his head. He couldn’t understand why Ming would try to pretend. They both knew full well what books of physiognomy looked like, and they never depicted men in sexual positions. Cí stuttered an apology and asked permission to leave.

“Strange,” said Ming, barely containing his anger. “You ask me if it’s all right to exit, but you didn’t bother to see if I’d mind your entering.”

“Please excuse me. It was foolish.”

“Tell me,” said Ming, ignoring Cí’s request, “have you ever stopped to ask yourself why anyone would show you the kindness I’ve shown you?”

“Often.”

“Do you think yourself worthy of it?”

Cí frowned. “Not really, no.”

“And do you know where I’ve just come from? The prefecture. And they’ve just invited me to help on a case—an outrageous crime that even the sickest of minds would be hard pressed to execute. And when they asked me to go to court, do you know what I did? I said I wanted you as my assistant. I told them I have a truly exceptional student with unprecedented acumen when it comes to forensic work. I spoke about you as if you were my own son…and this is how you repay me? Betraying my confidence while I’m away? Snooping?” He slammed his hands on the desk. “After everything I’ve done for you!”

Cí was trembling and silent. Everything he should have said was tumbling through his mind: that he would never have entered without permission unless it had been of the utmost importance, that he’d wanted to present the compendium as completely as possible, precisely so Ming would be proud of him. He couldn’t make the words come out, and he turned away, trying to hide his tears.

“Not so quickly,” said Ming, grabbing him by the arm. “I gave them my word you’d present yourself at court. And so you will. But after that, don’t bother coming back. Get your things and never show your face here again.” And with that, Ming let go of Cí’s arm.

Under normal circumstances, Cí would have given anything for a chance to go to the Imperial Palace. But at that particular moment, all he wanted was to regain Ming’s favor.

It was with deep sadness that he walked with the group making its way along Imperial Avenue. Two officials led the way, drumming on tabors to announce the presence of the prefecture judge, and a multitude of townspeople milled around them, looking up at the man on his litter and hoping for any bit of gossip to do with torture or execution. Ming was at the rear, looking despondent. Cí couldn’t stop glancing back at him.

How could I have been so stupid?

Since their confrontation, they hadn’t spoken another word, except for Ming to mention that Emperor Ningzong himself was awaiting their arrival.

Ningzong, the Heavenly Son, the Tranquil Ancestor. Very few were allowed even to kneel before him, let alone look at him directly. Only his most trusted advisers were allowed to approach him, only his wives and children could ever touch him, and only his eunuchs were permitted to converse with him. He spent his days inside the Great Palace, protected by its imposing walls from the rest of the city. Shut up in his golden cage, the Supreme Herald’s time was taken up with interminable receptions, ceremonies, and rites that, according to Confucian strictures, would never change. It was well known that his position was one of great responsibility and sacrifice.

Now that Cí was about to cross the threshold, he was utterly intimidated. The group went through the entrance, and a world of sumptuous wealth opened up before Cí’s eyes. Beautifully carved stone fountains were situated throughout the gardens, and he caught a glimpse of a leaping roebuck. Iridescent-blue peacocks roamed free. Streams trickled between clumps of peonies and wide, old trees. The columns, eaves, and balustrades of the palace buildings glinted gold, vermilion, and cinnabar-scarlet. Cí marveled at the roofs with their extravagant cornices curling skyward. The buildings were perfectly aligned on a north-south axis and had the presence of an enormous soldier so confident of his strength that he would spurn any offer of protection. Yet there were still seemingly countless ranks of sentries standing guard on either side of the entrance that separated the palace from the city.

The hushed group came to a halt at the steps of the Reception Pavilion—the first of the palace buildings, which stood between the Palace of Cold and the Palace of Heat. A stout man with a soft, wrinkled face waited impatiently for them beneath a glazed-tile portico; his cap identified him as the venerable Kan, Minister of Xing Bu, the much-feared Councilor for Punishments. As they came closer, Cí saw the man had one eye missing, and the remaining eye blinked nervously.

A sullen-looking official carried out the formal introductions. Following the bows of greeting, he asked the group to follow him.

They walked along a passageway that passed through several galleries and auditoriums. In one gallery, snow-white porcelain vases contrasted against purple lacquer walls. Another glowed so green it resembled a jade mine. After this they came to an impressive pavilion, where the official leading them stopped.

“Honored experts,” he said, indicating the unoccupied throne behind them, “salute Emperor Ningzong.”

They all prostrated themselves before the throne as if the emperor were really there. This ritual complete, Councilor Kan took the floor, climbing up onto a dais and scanning the room with his one eye. There was a touch of terror in the man’s countenance.

“As you already know, you have been brought here on account of a truly shocking matter. A situation that I suspect will require you to summon more instinct than wit. It is a truly monstrous matter. I don’t know if the criminal we are facing should be counted as a human being or some vermin aberration of nature. Whatever the case may be, your task is to try and apprehend this abomination.”

He descended the dais and led them to a door where two colossal guards bore large axes. Cí couldn’t help but be dazzled by the ebony doorway, its lintel wrought with depictions of the Ten Kings of Hell. Stepping through, he was hit by the unmistakable smell of rotting flesh. Each person in the group was given a piece of cotton soaked in camphor to hold to his nose.

They arranged themselves around a bloody bulk in the middle of the room. Horror immediately registered on everyone’s face. The cloth was blood-soaked, particularly in the area of the chest and neck.

The head matron of the palace stepped forward at a signal and uncovered the corpse, drawing gasps. Beneath the sheet lay a mutilated, headless body. One member of the group vomited, and everyone else recoiled. Everyone, that is, except Cí.

Undaunted, he scanned the body of what appeared to have once been a woman but now looked more like a partially devoured animal. The tender flesh had been pitilessly defiled, the head severed completely, and bits and stumps of trachea and esophagus hung from the neck like a pig’s entrails. The feet had both been cut off at the ankles. Two grievous wounds stood out among the many on the torso: The first, above the right breast, was a deep, messy cavity that looked as though some beast had sunk its maw in and tried to eat out the lungs. The second was even more atrocious: a triangular incision straight across the navel and then down on both sides over the groin that left only a bloody gap. The entire pubic area had been removed in some strange ritual. They were informed that the missing parts of the body, including the head, were yet to be found.

The sight filled Cí with sadness. He noticed, in a stark and poignant contrast to the violence done on the body, the woman’s hands, which were very delicate, and a hint of her perfume, still discernible even amid the awful stink of decomposition.

Kan read out a preliminary report based on the matron’s examination. It included a rough idea of the corpse’s age (thirty or so), remarks on the state of the breasts and nipples (small and flaccid), and a note about the velvet texture of the pale, downy hair. The report also mentioned that the corpse had been found fully clothed, disposed of on a street near the Salt Market. There was a final speculation as to what kind of animal might have been capable of wreaking such havoc on a body: a tiger, a dog, or perhaps a dragon, it said.

Cí wasn’t convinced of the value of the matron’s comments. She was probably good at many things, but he seriously doubted she had much acumen when it came to corpses. The problem was, of course, that Confucianism forbade men from touching the dead bodies of women, and no one would disobey the law. They’d have to base their findings on those of the matron, and that was that.

With the reading of the report concluded, Kan asked those in attendance for their verdicts.

The prefecture judge went first, stepping forward and asking the matron to turn the body so he could look at the back. The rest of the group drew closer. The back itself was pale and free of wounds, the waist fairly thick, and the buttocks flabby and smooth. The judge began circling the corpse, tugging pensively at his goatee. He then went over to the clothes the corpse had been found in and held up a simple linen smock of the kind worn by servants. The prefecture judge scratched his head and addressed Kan.

“Councilor for Punishments,” he said, “such a loathsome crime…In my opinion, it would be irrelevant for me to talk about the type and number of wounds. Given the strangeness of the wounds, I am in clear agreement with my colleagues on the idea that an animal might be responsible.” He stopped and meditated on his next remark. “But the wounds also lead me to think that we might be dealing with the work of a sect: the followers of the White Lotus, Manichaeans perhaps, Nestorian Christians, or maybe the Maitreya Messianists. Driven by some abominable desire, the killers cut off the head and feet in some bloody ceremony and then allowed some beast to devour the lung. The motives could be varied, though, given how twisted the mind of a killer has to be: an initiation ritual, a punishment, a demon offering, an attempt to remove some elixir contained in a gland or an organ.”

Kan nodded and seemed to weigh the judge’s words for a moment before inviting Ming to take the floor.

Ming came forward. “Most worthy Councilor for Punishments, permit me to bow down in the face of your magnanimity,” he said, bending low, and Kan gestured for him to continue. “I am only a lowly professor and therefore hugely grateful that you thought of me in relation to this awful event. I hope that, with the assistance of all the spirits, I might cast a little light on this dark affair. I would also like to apologize in advance to those who might be offended if my assessment differs from those given so far. Should that be the case, I commend myself to your benevolence.”

Ming went over and looked at the corpse’s back before asking the matron to turn it back over. Seeing the wound around the sex, he couldn’t help but flinch, but he leaned close to the body and began examining this and the other wounds slowly and in turn. He then asked for a bamboo stalk with which to probe the wounds, and Kan gave his approval. After some final checks, Ming turned to the councilor.

“Wounds are always faithful witnesses. Sometimes they can help us establish the how, sometimes the when, and sometimes even the why. Having an understanding of corpses allows us to evaluate the depth of an incision, the intent behind a blow, or even the force of that blow. All of this is well and good, but if you want to solve a murder, the fundamental thing is to enter into the murderer’s mind.”

He paused briefly, and the room seemed to hum with the group’s anticipation.

“It may be mere speculation, but I see the removal of the pubic area as indicative of a depraved mind, a lustful impulse that unleashed a rare feat of violence. I couldn’t comment on whether these are the acts of any cult or sect, though the wound on the breast might suggest that. What I am absolutely convinced of is that the removal of the head and feet had nothing to do with any ritual—it was to make it difficult to identify the corpse. Someone’s face, obviously, is the easiest way to tell who they were, and their feet contain the secrets of lineage and office.”

“Would you mind elucidating?” said Kan.

“This woman was no peasant, let me assure you. The delicacy of her hands, her well-kept nails, and the vague hints of an expensive perfume all indicate nobility. The murderer tried to make us think otherwise by dressing her in a servant’s clothes.” Ming paced the room slowly. “I’m sure no one in this room needs me to tell them that, from a young age, the feet of upper-class girls are bound in order to prevent their growth and render them beautiful. What people might not know, though, is that with binding the big toe is often stretched back over the top of the foot, while the other toes are bent under the foot. This produces somewhat different, and painful, deformities in each woman. Though men never get to see them, the women’s servants do, in private. Therefore the motivation to remove a woman’s feet is to prevent her from being identified by a servant who knows her peculiar deformities only too well.”

“That is certainly very interesting,” said Kan. “What about the wound to the breast?”

“Well! The prefecture judge pointed to the indubitable cruelty evidenced there, and I’d agree that the wound looks very much like teeth wounds from a large animal. But we don’t know that the wound was necessarily inflicted immediately after the moment of death. Any dog passing down the alleyway where the corpse was dumped could have stopped and devoured that part of her, and at any point.”

Kan frowned and glanced at the hourglass standing on one side of the room.

“Very well,” he said. “Thank you, in the name of the emperor, for your efforts. We’ll call upon you if we have any further need of you. Now if you’ll please follow my assistant, he’ll show you out.” And with this he turned on his heel.

“Excellency! Please!” It was Ming. “You’ve skipped the Reader…I spoke about him to the prefecture magistrate, who agreed that he should accompany us here.”

“The Reader?” said Kan.

“The Corpse Reader,” said Ming, pointing to Cí. “The best student I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I wasn’t informed.” Kan shot a malevolent glance at his assistant. “And frankly, I wonder what he could possibly add that your expertise might have missed.”

“It might seem strange, sir, but he has the ability to see things where, for any other person, whoever it may be, there is only darkness.”

“Yes, I do find it strange.” He muttered something but then turned to Cí. “Fine, but get on with it. Anything to add?”

Indeed I do.

Cí stepped forward, picked up a knife, and, before anyone could stop him, plunged it into the corpse’s belly.

“I can add that what we have here is no woman,” he said, lifting out innards and holding them above the corpse. “This body belonged to a man.”