The Corpse Reader

30

Cí and Feng were paralyzed. When he recovered, Feng started to ask Cí something, but Cí wanted to speak first.

“Honorable Feng,” he bowed.

“What are you doing here?” asked Feng.

“You know each other?” Kan was surprised.

“A little,” said Cí hurriedly. “My father used to work for Judge Feng.” He could tell Feng was struggling to understand what was going on.

“Very good!” said Kan. “That should make everything a little easier. Cí is helping me with some reports on the Jin. I thought your wife’s experiences might be useful to us.”

“And I’m sure you thought right! But let us sit and celebrate,” said Feng, still clearly confused. “Cí, I thought you were still in your village. How is your father? What brings you to Lin’an?”

Cí hung his head. He didn’t want to talk about his father. Really, he didn’t want to talk at all. He was overwhelmed with shame—and now not only at the possibility of bringing dishonor on Feng, but also at the fact he’d felt desire for his old master’s wife. But there was no way of avoiding the conversation now.

“My father died. The house burned down. Everyone died…I came to Lin’an thinking I would take the exams.” Again he looked down.

“Your father, dead! But why didn’t you come to see me?” he said, and asked Blue Iris to serve more tea.

“It’s a long story,” said Cí, trying to make it clear he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Well, let’s put things right,” said Feng. “Of course, when he mentioned this I didn’t know it was you, but Kan told me you’re staying at the palace. Now that you have business with my wife, I propose that you move here, with us. If Kan has no objections, of course.”

“On the contrary,” said Kan. “An excellent idea!”

Cí wanted to refuse. Gray Fox would be back any day now, and with him the knowledge of Cí’s fugitive status. But Feng was very insistent.

“You’ll come around. Blue Iris is an excellent hostess, and we’ll have a chance to remember old times. You’ll be happy here.”

“Really, I’d rather not trouble you. I’ve got all my books, all my belongings over there—”

“Pish! Your father would never forgive me, nor I myself, if I let you leave. We’ll have your effects transferred here immediately.”

They went on chatting, but Cí wasn’t listening. He gazed at Feng’s much older face and felt sick at the thought of staying under the same roof as this great man. He breathed a sigh of relief when Kan got up and asked Cí to accompany him back to the palace. Feng and Blue Iris showed them to the door.

“See you soon!” said Feng.

Cí replied in kind, but was secretly praying it would be more like never.

On their way back to the palace, Kan was overjoyed with the fortuitousness of it all.

“Don’t you get it?” he said, rubbing his hands. “Now you’ll have the chance to uncover Blue Iris’s secrets. You can investigate without seeming to, and it will be much more straightforward to follow that Mongol, too!”

“With all respect, councilor, it’s against the law for an investigator to live in a suspect’s home.”

“Against the law!” spat Kan. “That law is only there to protect investigators against corruption. But if the suspects don’t know they’re under investigation, how could they ever corrupt you? Plus there’s the fact you aren’t a judge.”

“Apologies. I’m happy to carry the investigation forward, but I won’t stay in that woman’s home.”

“What are you on about? This is a unique opportunity! We couldn’t have planned it any better!”

Kan’s predatory attitude only hardened Cí’s resolve. He was unwilling to betray Feng’s confidence, he said, and pointed out that Feng and his father had been friends.

“So you’re willing to let that woman ruin him?” said Kan. “Her treachery will come out sooner or later. And it will destroy him.”

“If you’re so worried about Feng, why don’t you just arrest Blue Iris?”

“You fool!” Kan’s good humor vanished. “Haven’t I already said we need her accomplices, too? Take her now, and they’d disappear before we could torture their names out of her. And there’s far more than some old man’s honor at stake here; we’re playing for the emperor’s very future.”

Cí thought hard about what to say next.

“Do as you please, but I can’t comply with this,” he said firmly. “I won’t put the emperor’s future before that of Judge Feng.”

Cí felt pierced by Kan’s glare. The councilor said nothing, but at that moment Cí felt a new and unknown terror arise.

Going back to his room, Cí realized he didn’t know what he could do other than flee. If he hurried, he could still manage it. Since he’d told Kan he wouldn’t move to Feng’s, he needed an excuse so that Bo would accompany him beyond the palace walls. Once they were outside, he’d find a way to slip off and would escape Lin’an forever. He called a servant to go and fetch Bo.

As he packed, regrets rained down; he knew he’d never have another opportunity like this, and he’d come so close to achieving his dreams. His thoughts shifted to his family and he thought of his father and Third, too. He wanted so much to become a judge—to prove to the world that there were ways to uphold the truth. It was all a lost cause now.

When he heard Bo at the door, he put his melancholy aside and grabbed a small case for his notebooks. He told Bo he needed to go back to the bronze workshop, and Bo seemed not to suspect a thing. They left the palace precinct and made their way to the first of the walls, where they were halted by a sentry. Cí gritted his teeth while Bo showed their seals of passage. The sentry took his time looking over the documents and then looked Cí up and down—excruciatingly slowly, it felt like to Cí. The man let them pass. At the next post, Bo took out the documents again. The sentry looked at Cí oddly. Cí began chewing his lip. It was the first time while accompanied by Bo that there had been any delay at the checkpoints. He waited, trying to stay calm. After a short while the sentry handed Bo’s documents to him, but when Cí reached to take his own documents from the sentry’s outstretched hand, the man wouldn’t let go.

“They have the Councilor for Punishment’s signature on them,” said Cí angrily.

“Follow me to the tower,” the sentry ordered Cí.

Cí did as the man said. On entering, he was surprised to find Kan waiting for him there. The councilor stood, took the documents, and crumpled them up.

“Where were you off to then?” said Kan disdainfully.

“The bronze maker’s workshop,” said Cí, heart pounding. “There were some clues I needed to follow up on. Bo’s coming with me.”

Kan arched an eyebrow. “What kind of clues?”

“Um…clues,” stuttered Cí.

“Maybe, maybe! Or, maybe, as I suspect, you’re toying with the foolish idea of making your getaway.” He paused and smiled. “And in case I’m right, I thought it might be worth mentioning that it would be very rude on your part if you were to go without saying good-bye to your master, Ming. He’s in the dungeon. Under arrest. And that’s where he’ll stay until you decide to obey me and take a room in Feng’s pavilion.

Cí was consumed with rage when he saw the state in which Ming was being kept. The old man was lying on a broken wicker bed. His face was impassive and his gaze distant. When he saw Cí come in, he tried to get up but was completely unable; his legs were bloody and bruised. When he spoke, Cí saw that his teeth had been bashed in, leaving a gory mess.

“They beat me…” Ming managed to say.

Cí could see he had no choice. He told Kan he’d go to Feng’s, and he demanded that Ming be attended to and transferred to a better cell.

Several servants helped Cí take his belongings to the Water Lily Pavilion. When they’d left, Cí stood astonished by the loveliness of his new quarters, a large room overlooking the lemon grove. Putting his things down, he went to his appointment with Feng, who was brimming with satisfaction at the turn of events. Cí bowed, but Feng took him in his arms and hugged him.

“Boy!” he exclaimed, ruffling Cí’s hair enthusiastically. “I’m so happy you’ve joined us!”

Once they were sitting and drinking a delicious black tea, Feng asked Cí to tell him about his father’s death. Cí told him the story and went on to outline his difficulties in Lin’an, the dealings with the fortune-teller, Third’s tragic death, his entrance into Ming Academy, and his later arrival at the palace. He told Feng everything apart from the circumstances that had brought him to this present juncture.

Feng could hardly believe all the things that had happened to Cí.

“All these hardships…I just can’t understand why you didn’t try to find me.”

“I tried…” Cí thought about admitting to being a fugitive. “Sir, I really shouldn’t be here with you. I’m not fit to share—”

But Feng shushed him. Cí had suffered quite enough, said the older man. He was just pleased they’d found each other now, so that they could share the good as well as the bad. Cí fell silent. Remorse gripped his throat. Eventually Feng broke the silence by asking him about the exams.

“You wanted to take them, didn’t you?”

Cí nodded. He said he’d tried to obtain the Certificate of Aptitude but was denied because of his father’s dishonor. Tears came to his eyes.

Feng lowered his head in sorrow.

“So you found out. Such a terrible thing, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Not even when you were asking me about the changes in your father. You already had plenty on your plate at the time, what with your brother’s arrest. But maybe I can help you now, use my connections. That certificate—”

“Sir, I’d really rather you not do anything more for me.”

“You know how highly I’ve always thought of you, Cí. Now that you’re here, I want you to think of yourself as family.”

Feng went on to speak about Blue Iris, how they’d met, the difficulties of their courtship, and their happy marriage.

As Feng spoke, Cí glanced at the nüshi, who was relaxing in the gardens. Her sleek black hair was arranged in a bun, leaving her smooth, firm back in sight. Cí sipped at his tea, hoping the cup would hide his blushing. Finishing, he stood and asked permission to return to his room to study. The judge said he could go but stopped him to give him a sweet rice dessert.

“Thank you, Cí. Thank you for agreeing to come. You’ve made me so happy.”

Cí went and lay down on his feather bed and contemplated the richness of his surroundings. Normally he would have been delighted to find himself in such a place, but now he felt like a stray dog taken in by a kind master whom the dog would nevertheless turn on and maul.

Disobeying Kan would mean Ming’s death; obeying him meant betraying Feng. He tried to eat a little of the sweet rice but immediately spit it out. He tasted only the bitterness in his soul. Was it really worth living like this?

He lay there, tormenting himself, blaming himself for the damage he was going to have to do—either to Ming or to Feng.

Trying to focus instead on his work, he ran through the murders: Soft Dolphin, the eunuch, an elegant homosexual, a sensitive lover of antiques; the man with the corroded hands, in some way linked to the salt industry; the youth captured in the portrait, his face peppered with tiny wounds that Cí was yet to understand; the bronze maker, whose workshop burned down the same night he was decapitated…None of it added up, least of all how Blue Iris might be involved. She might have wanted revenge on the emperor, but how would she achieve that with these four seemingly unrelated deaths? What difference would they make to the emperor? When it came down to it, in spite of the similarities in the appearances of the murders, there was nothing yet to say the same person had carried them all out or even coordinated them.

When he was called down for dinner, he said he had a stomachache and sent the servant away. His dreams were inhabited by the seemingly inescapable image of Blue Iris.

The next morning he woke early and, after asking the servants to tell his hosts he’d be back to eat with them later, went to see how Ming was getting on.

Finding his old master in a cell that was no better than the last—damp, with rotten food and excrement in the corners—he couldn’t contain his rage. Cí demanded an explanation from the sentry, but the man seemed about as merciful as a butcher going about his work. Ming was lying down and complained about his leg wounds. Cí gave him some water and, wiping the dried blood from the man’s face with a wet cloth, tried to comfort him. The wounds didn’t look good. A younger man might recover from such treatment, but Ming…Cí tried to stay calm, but he thought he was in more of a state than Ming. He swore to Ming that he’d get him out of there.

“Don’t trouble yourself. Kan has never had much of a liking for effeminate men,” he said sarcastically.

Cí cursed the councilor—and himself—for getting Ming into this mess. Then he told Ming about the bind he was in.

“What’s the point in following clues in the investigations if I have no idea about the murderer’s motive?”

“You’ve considered revenge?”

“Kan suggested that, too. But he also seems to think a blind woman could be responsible!” He outlined the situation with the nüshi.

“Could Kan be right?”

“Of course he could. The woman’s rich enough to employ a whole army if she wants. But why? If revenge on the emperor is what she wants, why kill these poor swine?”

“And you haven’t established any other suspects? The deceased didn’t have enemies?”

“The eunuch, no, he just lived for his work. And the bronze maker, I’m making inquiries.”

Ming tried to get up but immediately felt a stabbing pain in his legs and couldn’t move.

“I wish I could help.” He groaned, then, having recovered a little, he took a key from a chain around his neck. “But maybe there’s something you can do for me. There’s a false door in my library, after the last set of shelves. My life secrets are all behind there—books, drawings, poems, things that would have no significance to anyone else but mean everything to me. Please, should anything…happen to me, make sure that no one else gets their hands on those things.”

Cí tried to say something, but Ming silenced him with a wave of the hand.

“Promise me. If I die, bury them alongside me.”

Aloud, Cí agreed. To himself, he added one thing: if his master died, Kan would be next.

Cí went to Kan’s offices. He didn’t wait to be announced but burst in, surprising Kan, who was bent over a pile of documents at his desk. He began putting them hurriedly away, glaring at Cí. But Cí was more threatening still. He didn’t allow the councilor to speak.

“Either you let Ming out of that dungeon right now, or I’m going to tell Blue Iris everything!”

Kan sighed.

“Oh, that. I thought they’d already moved him.”

Cí didn’t believe a word.

“If you don’t have him moved, I’ll tell her. If he doesn’t recover, I’ll tell her, and if he dies—”

“If he dies it will be your fault for not doing your job properly! And if you don’t solve these murders, you’ll both be put to death. Let’s see: your findings so far might have satisfied the emperor, but not me. Boy, your chances are growing slimmer all the time, along with my patience. You’d better forget about that degenerate Ming and focus on your job. That is, if you don’t want to end up like him.”

Kan turned back to his work, but Cí wasn’t going anywhere.

“Deaf or something?” said Kan.

“When you let Ming out.”

Kan took a knife from his belt and was on Cí in a flash; the blade was at his jugular before he knew it. But Cí held firm, knowing that if Kan really wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.

“Only when you have Ming moved,” Cí repeated.

He felt Kan’s anger vibrate through the edge of the knife. Eventually, Kan released him.

“Guard!” he shouted, and the sentry appeared straightaway. “See that the prisoner Ming has his wounds attended to, and then have him brought up here. As for you,” he said, bringing his face right up against Cí’s, “you’ve got three days. If you haven’t found out who the killer is by then, a killer will find you.”

Leaving Kan’s offices, Cí found he could breathe again. He had no idea how he’d ever found the gall to challenge the councilor like that. The three days Kan had given him, he realized, corresponded with Gray Fox’s return. Cí dug his fingernails into his palms. The only way to save Ming was to uncover the assassin, even if it meant betraying Feng.

Bo met him in the hallway, and together they stopped by the dungeon to check that Kan’s orders were being followed. They found four servants and a doctor carrying Ming out on a stretcher.

Their next stop was the room where the remains of the bronze maker’s warehouse had been deposited. Whoever had brought the remains had ignored his instructions. Nothing had been labeled, and it had all just been left in a pile. Cí kicked aside a singed beam and cleared some iron pokers out of his way. Bo apologized and began helping Cí organize all the wood and the molds. Reconstructing all the damaged equipment wasn’t going to be easy. There were so many bits and pieces, many of them tiny, that the task seemed nearly impossible. But then Cí found a piece of a mold that struck him as promising.

“Forget the iron. Have you seen this?” He held up a piece of greenish ceramic. “It’s different from all the others.”

Bo considered the piece of ceramic with the same lack of enthusiasm he’d shown for all the other remains.

“Let’s look for more!”

They managed to find eighteen pieces of the green ceramic. Cí gathered them up in a bag and put them to one side. Bo asked why, and something in his voice made Cí cautious, so he said casually that he planned to do the same with all the molds and went back to sorting through the wreckage. Soon it was lunchtime, and when Cí left for the Water Lily Pavilion he took the bag with him.

Back in his room at the pavilion, he took the fragments from the sack and began piecing them together. It wasn’t only their greenish tone that had attracted his attention but the overall uniformity, which suggested they probably hadn’t been used much. He was still assembling the pieces when he felt someone watching him from the door.

“The table’s laid,” said Blue Iris.

Cí cleared his throat and quickly put the pieces away, as though he’d been caught stealing. Glancing up, though, he saw how vacant Blue Iris’s gaze was. It struck him how her figure was like an exquisitely crafted lute. He followed her to the dining room.

As they ate, Feng revealed to Blue Iris the extent of his and Cí’s bond.

“You should have seen him in those days! He was a bundle of nerves as a child, and sharp as anything. His father worked for me, and I took him on as an assistant. I think he might have run from school to my offices; every day, he seemed to be there earlier and earlier waiting to join me on my rounds.” Feng’s face lit up at the memory. “He used to drive me crazy with all his questions! My goodness! A simple ‘Because I say so’ was never enough!”

Cí couldn’t help but smile. Those had been the best days of his life.

“And he turned into a brilliant assistant. The best I’ve ever had.” Before Cí could object, Feng went on. “The case in his village, for example.”

“Oh?” said Blue Iris. “What happened there?”

Again Cí would have liked to stop his old master right there, remembering how things had turned out with Lu, but Feng was on a roll.

“Cí not only discovered a corpse but was absolutely key in solving the case. It seemed like a real dead-end case, but Cí never gave up. He helped me and eventually, together, we managed to break the deadlock.”

Cí could remember clearly the moment when Feng had swished away the flies and they had swarmed around his brother’s sickle, and how that had led to Lu’s confession.

“I’m not surprised Kan decided to employ you, then,” said Blue Iris, “although it seems a little strange he’s got you working on the Jin. Their dietary habits, wasn’t it?”

“Really?” Feng was surprised. “I would have thought he’d been making the most of your considerable talent as a wu-tso.”

Cí choked, quickly blaming the rice wine. He tried to be as offhand as he could and said something about having studied the northern barbarians a little at the Ming Academy. Luckily, Blue Iris didn’t pursue the matter.

For the rest of the meal, Feng filled Cí in on his successes since they’d parted, his move to the Water Lily Pavilion, and how he owed it all to Blue Iris.

“My life changed the moment I met her,” he said, stroking his wife’s hand, though she responded by retracting her hand and excusing herself, saying she’d bring the tea.

They both watched her make her way to the kitchen—without the aid of the walking stick she always carried. Cí began thinking about her skin; he couldn’t help it. Feng broke the silence.

“You’d never guess she was blind,” he said lightly. “She could run the length of this place and wouldn’t bump into a thing, I bet you.”

Cí nodded. He felt like a traitor on so many fronts. If he didn’t tell Feng the truth, or at least part of it, he was going to burst.

First he made Feng promise not to tell anyone.

“Not even Blue Iris,” Cí said.

Feng swore on his ancestors’ souls.

Cí told him about the circumstances of his departure from the village. He told him he was a fugitive. He told him about Gray Fox’s imminent return. Then he went on to detail the case he was really working on, and the progress he’d made, and Kan’s conviction that it had something to do with a plot against the emperor.

“Interesting,” said Feng. “I’m thinking how I might be of help…This other youth, Gray Fox was it? Hmm. I wouldn’t worry about him. When he gets back, he and I are going to have a little talk.”

Cí looked in Feng’s eyes. All that trust—and Cí was on the verge of betraying it. He felt a pang in his stomach. He was just about to reveal the part of the story about Kan’s suspicions of Blue Iris when they heard her coming back with the tea.

Again, Cí was captivated by her movements, even performing such a simple task as pouring drinks. There was a deep calm in her, and it acted on him like a balm.

When they’d drunk their tea, Feng issued some whispered instruction to a servant. “Here,” he said when the servant returned, handing over a sheaf of papers to Cí. “These, I believe, are yours.”

“But—but,” stammered Cí.

Feng nodded.

It was the Certificate of Aptitude he needed to take the Imperial exams, and there was no mention of his father’s dishonor, nothing about any obstacles. It was clean. He would be allowed to take the exams. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked again to his old master.

Just then, the servant came in, saying a group of businessmen were there to see Feng. When Feng came back, he reported that one of his goods convoys had been attacked near the border.

“The attackers were repelled,” he said, “but we’ve lost men, and some of the goods, too. I have to go immediately.”

Cí felt even worse. He’d have given anything to admit the part of the story about Blue Iris, but he wasn’t going to have a chance now. As they embraced, Feng whispered in his ear.

“Be careful with Kan,” he said. “And look after Blue Iris for me.”

And with that, he was gone.