The Corpse Reader

27

As Cí went down into the Library of Hidden Archives, his heart contracted. The emperor had said Cí could be told about their suspicions but had made something very clear: Cí was allowed to consult the documents selected by Kan, but he mustn’t touch any other volume, on threat of death—by the worst of torture methods. Kan would be watching over him the whole way.

He followed the councilor through gloomy passageways. The light from Kan’s lantern had transformed the older man’s face into a gruesome mask. Cí was frightened; he felt his actions had turned Kan into an outright enemy. He scanned the spines of books as they passed: The Putting Down of the Yurchen Army Rebellion, Espionage Under the Yellow Emperor, Weapons and Armor of the Dragon Warriors, Systems for Causing Disease and Pestilence.

Kan stopped and pulled out a volume titled The Honor and Betrayal of General Fei Yue. “Do you know who this man was?” he asked, handing the book to Cí.

Cí nodded. Fei Yue was a national hero. Born to a lowly family, he’d joined the army at nineteen and seen action on the northern borders. His bravery and strategic acumen repelling the Jin invaders had won him promotion, and he became the assistant chief to the emperor’s private councilor. There was a popular legend that he and only 800 other men had fought off 500,000 on the outskirts of Kaifeng.

“But what’s betrayal doing in the title?” Cí asked.

Kan took the volume back. “It refers to a little-known fact, one of the Tsong dynasty’s most dishonorable episodes. Despite his devotion, at the age of thirty-nine Fei Yue was executed for high treason. It was years until it was revealed that the prosecution had been based on lies. Emperor Xiaozong, our current emperor’s grandfather, restored Fei Yue’s honor with the building of the Qixia Ling temple.”

“I’ve been there,” said Cí. “The one with the four kneeling statues, with their hands tied behind their backs.”

“Those are effigies of Prime Minister Qin Hui, his wife, and their lackeys, Zhang Jun and Mo Qixie. They had created the lies and accusations.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Ever since then, we’ve been in conflict with those damned Yurchen. We still haven’t managed to kick them out, and now it’s us paying tribute to those barbarians! Thanks to them, our territories have been about halved. They’re even occupying the old capital. All because we’re a peaceful people—which is precisely the problem! Now we regret not having a proper army!” He slammed his fist down on the volume.

“Mm, it is bad…” Cí cleared his throat. “But what has any of this got to do with the case?”

“A lot.” Kan took a deep breath. “The histories say that Fei Yue had five children whose destinies were marked by the same shame and dishonor that had been heaped on their father. Their careers, their marriages, their property—it was all like dust in a hurricane. Each of them was consumed by hatred and died before Fei Yue’s reputation was restored. But, according to this book, there was another child, one who managed to avoid all the disgrace by fleeing to the North. He went on to prosper. Now, it’s our belief that one of the descendants of that child has come back for vengeance.”

“By killing three men with absolutely nothing in common?”

“I know what I’m talking about!” growled Kan. “We’re about to sign a new treaty with the Jin. An armistice to ensure peace on the border—at the cost of more tributes.” He reached out to take another volume down but stopped. “And that’s where the traitor’s motives lie.”

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t—”

“That’s enough! There’s a reception this evening in the palace; the Jin ambassador will be there. Be ready. Dress appropriately. There you’ll meet your adversary, Fei Yue’s descendant. The one you’re going to have to expose.”

As Cí was being outfitted by the Imperial tailor in the green silk robes worn by all of Kan’s personal advisers, one question preyed on his mind: Why, if Kan already knew who the murderer was, would he be introducing Cí and not simply making the arrest? The tailor looked at Cí and adjusted the silver brocade of the cap. Cí raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the bronze mirror. Actually, he had one other question: How, without trying, did he manage to look like some music hall singer, the kind who tries to sneak into a banquet without an invitation? But he just shut his eyes and let the tailor get on with his work. He had to focus on what was ahead.

The ceremony at the Palace of Eternal Freshness began as the sun was going down. A servant had led Cí to Kan’s private apartments, and then he’d followed the councilor in his flowing robes toward the Hall of Welcome. On their way, Kan filled Cí in on protocol: he’d decided to say Cí was an expert on Jin customs, by way of explaining his presence.

“But I haven’t got the first clue about the barbarians—”

“Where we’ll be sitting, you won’t need to talk about them.”

Entering the Hall of Welcome, Cí turned pale.

Dozens of tables brimmed with delicacies. The smells of stews, fried shrimp, and sweet-and-sour fish mixed with scents of peonies and chrysanthemums. The air was cooled by a series of intricate windmills that stood beside bronze receptacles mounded with ice brought down from the mountains. The walls were red, blood-bright, and the open latticework drew the eye toward Japanese pines, white as ivory; towering bamboos; and stands of jasmine and orchids. A man-made waterfall cascaded into a lake below.

Cí couldn’t hide his astonishment. Even the greatest of imaginations would have struggled to dream of the luxury that spilled out around him.

An army of servants stood like statues—all cast from the same mold—in perfect lines, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Behind them, on a dais lined with yellow satin, was the imperial table, which bore ten roasted pheasants. Hundreds of beautifully dressed people stood milling and conversing at the foot of the dais.

Kan gestured for Cí to follow him, leading the way through the sea of aristocrats, well-known poets, senior officials, and their families. Kan told Cí that the emperor had elected to give the occasion a festive air so it wouldn’t seem like a defeat.

“Really, he has made the reception coincide with the party, and not the other way around.”

Their table was arranged according to the eight-seat custom. The seat situated farthest to the east would be occupied by the most important guest, and that was Kan. The rest sat according to rank and age, with the exception of Cí, who was told to sit next to Kan. Women sat at separate tables to allow the men to discuss business.

Kan whispered that he’d given up his seat at the imperial table so that protocol wouldn’t be such an issue. Then he pointed out the other people at the table: two prefects, three lawyers, and a famous bronze maker.

Soon a gong sounded, announcing the arrival of the emperor.

Preceded by timpani and trumpets, Ningzong came in with a large retinue of courtesans and a group of soldiers. The guests rose. The emperor drifted forward like a distant ghost, seemingly unaffected by the admiration and splendor surrounding him. He took his seat on his throne and gestured for his guests to sit as well. Waiters swarmed forward, and soon the room was a busy dance of trays, drinks, and food.

“This is Cí, an adviser of mine,” said Kan.

The other men at the table bowed their heads.

“And what kind of adviser are you?” asked the bronze maker. “Our Councilor for Punishments is hardly a man to take advice!”

Kan scowled, but the rest of the men, along with the bronze maker, found this exceedingly funny.

“I’m—I’m an expert on the Jin people,” he stammered.

“Oh? So what can you tell us about those dirty dogs apart from the fact they do nothing but bleed us dry? Is it true they’re set to invade?”

Cí pretended to have something stuck in his throat and glanced at Kan, but he wasn’t going to help.

“If I tell you anything,” he said finally, “Kan will have my throat cut, and we wouldn’t want that. I’ll get blood all over the nice table and probably lose my job to boot!”

Everyone at the table erupted in laughter—all except Kan. But Cí could see he was also relieved. At least their cover hadn’t been blown.

“Well, young man,” said the bronze maker, clearly pleased with him, “allow me to recommend the chicken; it’s fragranced with lotus leaf. Or if you like spicy food, the Songsao fish soup is quite delicious. It’s a little sour, but that’s excellent in summertime.”

“Or the butterfly soup, that should be excellent too,” suggested one of the lawyers.

“Or the Dongo pork chop,” said the other.

One of the prefects began serving drinks. “Grape liquor!” he exclaimed. “Better than that rice wine!”

“But with the food,” said the bronze maker, “there’s really no need to hurry. I’ve heard there will be one hundred and fifty dishes served tonight.”

Cí thanked them for the suggestions but decided on some simple meatballs in ginger and the warm, spiced cereal wine to which he was accustomed. His attention was drawn to a tray of noodles with goat cheese, an unusual dish.

“It’s a northern recipe,” spat Kan. “In honor of the Jin ambassador.”

One of the men proposed a toast, to try to divert the conversation, but just then the ambassador entered the room.

No one stood up.

Cí turned in his seat and watched the man come forward, with his earth-colored skin and unusually white teeth, flanked by four officials of a similar complexion. The ambassador reminded Cí of a jackal. The small retinue came to within five paces of the imperial table, got down on their knees and prostrated themselves. Then the ambassador motioned his men forward to deliver the gifts they had brought.

“Hypocrites!” murmured Kan. “First they steal from us, and now they pretend to honor us.”

The Jin retinue was seated at a table not far from the emperor. A whole roast pig was brought to them, a dish favored by their kind. They might have been beautifully dressed, but when they began eating, there was no doubt in Cí’s mind that they were indeed savages.

Though the food kept coming, Kan stopped eating, and Cí decided it might be a good idea to do the same. The rest of the men at the table soon turned to the desserts, which arrived on delicate bamboo plates. There was lotus rice in syrup, and frozen watermelons and other fruits that had been carefully emulsified; there was also a good deal more drink. Much of both ended up on the table or in laps. Kan whispered to Cí that, when the fireworks began, he would point out the suspect.

Cí’s heart skipped a beat.

Moments later a gong sounded, and it was announced that the emperor had concluded the banquet. Tea and after-dinner wines would be served in the gardens.

The guests got up, many of them somewhat unsteadily. Cí had to support the bronze maker.

“A promising evening!” said Kan, suddenly pleased. “Time for the fireworks.”

In the terraced gardens, Cí noticed how the sexes remained separate: the men gathered around the drink tables on the principal balcony, and the women were beside the lake, preparing the ceremonial tea. The reflection of the moon in the water was broken by the passage of elegant imperial swans. Lanterns lit the undersides of Japanese pine canopies. Cí thought that when the time came to face his enemy, the darkness might be his ally. His hands trembled as if he were heading into battle. When Cí asked about the presumed assassin, Kan whispered that he must be patient.

After briefly chatting with some strangers, Kan signaled that Cí should follow him.

Despite his considerable size, Kan skipped up stairs leading to the lake as stealthily as a cat. Cí followed, trying not to bump into groups of people socializing at the tables. They went over to the edge of the water. There, a cage filled with hundreds of fireflies lit a group of old men and courtesans who were seated and drinking tea.

“Don’t mind if we join you, do you?” said Kan, kneeling in a gap without waiting for an answer.

The smile of one of the older women was their welcome.

“This is your home, after all,” she murmured. “And who’s this you have with you?”

She and Kan clearly knew each other. Cí was awed by the woman’s serene beauty.

“This is Cí, my new assistant.”

The councilor sat next to the woman and made space for Cí.

There were four men and six women, all having a good time and laughing. The men were quite elderly, but their good manners and expensive clothes seemed to compensate in the courtesans’ eyes. Except for the woman who had welcomed them, who was perhaps forty, they all seemed very young, and none exhibited the more mature perfection of the first woman.

While the beautiful hostess served tea, Cí carefully observed the men, since he was expecting Kan to point out the murder suspect from among them. The man across from him was sinewy and looked lecherously at the youngest courtesan. Cí thought the man would swallow her down in one gulp if he could, not stopping to savor her—just as he was doing with the gourd of liquor he was slurping. The other three men didn’t seem at all dangerous. Just a few drunken old men slobbering over girls young enough to be their granddaughters.

Cí sipped his tea and focused on the first man, who noticed him staring.

“What are you looking at?” he spat. “You like boys, do you?”

Cí stared at the floor. He knew he shouldn’t be drawing attention to himself.

“I—I thought I knew you,” he said, taking another sip of tea.

The men continued drinking, and the courtesans laughed as the men caressed them. Cí was uncomfortable. What was Kan waiting for? What did he have in mind? Cí glanced at the man he thought most likely to be the suspect, who just at that moment began getting rough with the courtesan next to him. Then he slapped her.

Cí got up to intervene, and the man turned on him.

Cí was alarmed and thought the man was about to attack him, but Kan held up his hands, gesturing for everyone to calm down.

The lovely hostess intervened. “How dare you?” she said to the violent man. Her voice was firm and commanding.

“What?” The man was infuriated.

Cí felt himself tensing up, but Kan held him back. Then the hostess brought a small vial from her lap.

“That’s no way to woo a young girl,” she said quietly. She poured the liquid from the vial into a cup and handed it to the man.

“What’s this?” growled the man, sniffing it.

“A love stimulant. It’ll do you good.”

The man downed the drink and immediately spit it out.

“Gods! What filth is that?”

The hostess smiled a perfect smile.

“Cat piss.”

Everyone laughed except for the man, who stumbled away from the table. The other men, who seemed perhaps to work for him, followed grumblingly, and behind them went the courtesans. Now it was just Cí, Kan, and the hostess at the table.

Kan, chuckling and wiping his mouth, turned to Cí.

“Allow me to introduce our hostess, the one and only Blue Iris, descendant of General Fei Yue.”

The woman bowed her head. Cí was dumbstruck. He saw something truly terrifying in her eyes.