The Corpse Reader

31

Feng had said he’d be away for only a few days, but Cí couldn’t imagine being alone with Blue Iris for any amount of time. He spent the afternoon trying to reassemble the bronze maker’s green mold but couldn’t stop thinking about her. And when the bell rang for dinner, he realized he’d made no progress whatsoever.

It would have been too much of a discourtesy not to attend dinner, so Cí quickly washed, shaved, and went down. Blue Iris was waiting for him. He sat across from her, not daring to look straight at her. He glanced up and couldn’t help but admire the sight: her sheer blouse gave him a clear view of large expanses of her skin. When she handed him a plate of soybean shoots, it was her breasts in particular, or their outlines, that magnetized his gaze. He knew she couldn’t see him drinking her in, so he looked, more intensely than ever before.

“What are you looking at?” she said.

“Nothing!”

“Nothing? Don’t you like the food? There are even figs somewhere here…”

“Oh, yes!” he said, taking one of the strange, dark little fruits. “Of course.”

“So would you like to hear about the work I used to do?”

“Very much,” he said. Reaching for more fruit, his hand brushed hers, which sent shivers through his entire body.

“If you really want to hear about the life of a nüshi, you might want to drink a little more. It is a tale full of bitterness.” She sighed, and there was anguish in her voice. “When I entered the emperor’s service I was a child, but not for much longer; one doesn’t stay innocent doing such work. He must have seen something in me, and he wasted no time seizing it. I grew up among concubines. They were my sisters, and they taught me how to live in those conditions, living only to please the Heaven’s Son. They gave me all the necessary refinements, the subtleties, the arts. Instead of learning to play, I learned to kiss and lick…Instead of laughing, I learned how to please.

“Confucian texts? The classics? Not for me. The books that were read to me as a child were all about the art of pleasure: the Xuannüjing, or Manual of a Dark Woman; the Xufangneimishu, or Preface to the Secret Bedroom Arts; the Ufangmijue, or Bride’s Secret Formula; the Unufang, or Recipes of a Simple Lady. As my body changed and I became a woman, a deep hate was also taking hold of me, as intense as my experience of blindness. And the more I hated him, the more he wanted me.

“I learned to be better than all the rest in pleasuring him. I honed my skills in the bedroom knowing that the greater his desire, the greater my revenge would also be.

“That was my desire.” She seemed to turn her pupils on Cí. “I soon became his favorite. He longed for me night and day. He coveted me, licked me, penetrated me. And when he’d taken all of my body, when there was nothing physical left for me to give, his desire shifted to possessing my soul.”

Cí contemplated her crestfallen face. He felt grief grip his stomach. The tears were flowing freely down her smooth cheeks.

“You don’t have to go on,” he said. “I—”

“You mean you don’t want to hear more? You don’t want to hear what it’s like to feel used, empty, your self-respect in tatters?

“I became a husk of a person. My youth was a wounded time, and I hated it completely. The funny thing was the other concubines’ envy. Any one of them would have changed places with me, even with my blindness. But, unlike all of them, I couldn’t have children.” She laughed bitterly. “I got what I’d set out to achieve, and the price was my dignity. When it reached the point where he called out my name in the night, when he needed me like life itself, that was when I began denying him. But the happiness I felt at that control quickly became sadness; my only desire had been achieved, and there was nothing left. He cried, he screamed, he beat me. He claimed to have fallen ill, but of course there was no cure any doctor could provide. His proud penis became nothing more than a soft silk sheet, and no concubine, no courtesan, not one prostitute in the whole kingdom was able to give him what I’d been giving him.”

Cí listened dumbly. His hand hovered over hers and he strongly wanted to comfort her, but he stopped himself and was relieved, once more, that she couldn’t have seen the gesture.

“Really,” he said, “you don’t have to go on if you don’t want to.”

“Even so, I stayed by his side. He made me nüshi so I’d teach the others my skills. I did as he asked because it meant I could watch his deterioration firsthand. I watched him grow old, and I watched him go out of his mind at the same time.

“When Ningzong came to power, I moved on to a different plan. Ningzong and I were indifferent to each other. I stayed until his father died. It was during that time I met Feng.”

She stopped crying. Cí imagined that she’d cried most of her tears during the days she’d spoken about. She served two glasses of liquor.

“And then?” asked Cí.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her answer struck him like a hammer blow.

They both fell silent. Then she got up, begging Cí’s pardon for her behavior, and retired to her room.

Cí stayed there with his drink, his head a whirlwind of desire and ideas. He found himself swigging straight from the bottle. He thought about Feng. He thought about Blue Iris. Everything was spinning. He grabbed the bottle and headed to his room.

Cí was woken by a noise in the middle of the night. Rubbing his pounding temples, he turned onto his back, and though the room was dark, he saw the liquor bottle empty beside him. He thought he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He glanced up and there, silhouetted in the doorway, was the naked form of Blue Iris.

She came in and shut the door behind her. He shuddered as he watched her, this goddess, approaching him. She stopped next to the bed. Cí didn’t move, but there was no way to hide his heavy breathing, his excitement.

Blue Iris moved the sheet aside and slipped in beside him. They were a hair’s breadth apart. He could feel her warmth. The intensity of her perfume made it harder still to think. Then her hand was on his leg, moving slowly upward toward his waist. He didn’t move, praying she’d leave him alone at the same time that his body was crying out for her to go on. Then she brushed her breasts against him, and it was all too much.

He’d never experienced sensations like these.

He kissed her neck, burying himself in her. His lips sought the spaces in her, the soft corners, her clavicle and shoulders. She groaned with pleasure.

And when they kissed, it felt to him as though he were quenching a thirst that had been with him all his days.

She clung to him. Her panting breath goaded him. He wanted to be inside her, and he told her so in whispers. But she moved her lips down Cí’s torso and belly—past his scars and to his erect penis. When she wrapped her lips around him, he thought he would die from pleasure. He shut his eyes, hoping he could record this moment, so it would be something he could always conjure. Then he felt Blue Iris wrapping her legs around him as if to say she needed him inside her. He tried to get up, but she prevented him and crouched over him instead. She placed a hand over his eyes, and with her other hand guided him inside her. He gasped and tried to move away the hand that was blinding him, but she insisted, coming close and licking his lips.

“Equals,” she whispered.

“Equals,” he whispered back, and left her hand where it was.

She lowered herself onto him. He was overcome by the heat of her. She moved, arched, kissed him as though taking her last breaths, as though she needed him if she were going to stay alive.

Then her body began shaking in a prolonged and pleasurable torture that became quicker and more violent. He felt her losing control, which prompted him to do the same, and he let go inside her.

Afterward she stayed beside him, as if they had been stitched together. Cí tasted the salty tears on her cheeks. He hoped they were tears of happiness.

But no.

When he woke in the morning, Blue Iris was gone. And when he asked the servants where she was, they had no idea.

He had breakfast alone, in the same little room where they’d dined together. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his hangover, but only seemed to inhale the bittersweetness of Blue Iris again.

Feng came into his thoughts; Cí knew he’d never be able to face his old master. He couldn’t even look at himself in the magnificent bronze mirror that overlooked the space. He finished his tea and went to bathe, hoping the running water would cleanse these feelings: he wanted the pleasure he’d felt with Blue Iris, but he also knew for certain that he’d forfeited his soul.

He stopped on his way upstairs, captivated by the beauty of the antiques and the paintings adorning the walls. Soft Dolphin’s collection paled in comparison. The exquisite calligraphies of ancient poems, whose curved frames offset the blood-red silk covering the walls, were particularly sublime. The texts were by the celebrated Taoist Li Bai, the immortal poet of the Tang dynasty. He slowly read one:

I think of night.

The moon shines in front of the bed.

Above the frost is the doubt.

I look up and there is a full moon.

I look down and miss my life.

He continued up the stairs, reading the other poems as he went until he came to a smaller text that said the composition was part of a series of eleven. But Cí noticed there were only ten. A crude portrait of the poet hung where the eleventh should’ve been; the mark left by the old picture frame was clear to see.

He gulped. It couldn’t be.

He was about to confirm his suspicion when there came a noise from behind him, making him jump. He turned, coming face to face with Blue Iris, who was wearing a striking red dress.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Nothing…” When he tried to stroke her hand, she pulled it away.

“I hear you were looking for me,” she said. “I was out for my morning walk.”

Cí turned back to the place where the eleventh frame had been replaced.

“Amazing poems,” he said. “Were there always ten?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see them.”

Cí frowned. “Has something happened? Last night you were…”

“Night is darkness; day brings clarity. What are your obligations for the day? We still haven’t discussed the Jin.”

Cí cleared his throat. He didn’t really know what questions to ask. Maybe he could consult Ming—that way, he could also check to see if Kan was continuing to make sure the old man was cared for. Cí excused himself, saying he had to visit a sick friend first, and then attend an appointment, but maybe they could meet at midday.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll wait for you here.”

Cí left feeling weighed down by worries. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt less and less convinced of Blue Iris’s innocence.

Ming had been taken to a modest but clean room in the same part of the palace as Bo’s offices. He looked somewhat improved, though the violet bruising on his legs was worrying, and when Cí asked if any doctor had been to see him, Ming shook his head.

“I don’t need one anyway,” he grumbled, straightening up between groans. “I’ve managed to wash myself, and the food isn’t that bad.”

Cí looked at the tiny bowl with leftover rice in it. He kicked himself for not bringing fruit and wine. He decided to tell Ming everything about the situation with Blue Iris and his growing doubts about her. He listed various suspicions about the ex-nüshi, but then defended her.

Ming listened attentively.

“From what you say, this woman seems to have ample motives.”

“They’re really only circumstantial, though. Also, why shouldn’t she detest the emperor, given what she went through at his hands? But I know that from there to deciding to kill…it’s quite a leap…You should meet her,” he added, looking down.

“And who says I haven’t? The strange thing is that while you’ve spoken at length about her charms, you don’t see that you might be getting your thoughts and desires mixed up.”

Cí felt his whole face turn red.

“What do you mean?” he retorted. “Blue Iris couldn’t truly hurt someone.”

“Really? So I suppose you know why Emperor Ningzong removed her from service?”

“Because she made his father ill. She drove him mad because she stopped sleeping with him.”

“I wonder who gave you that version of events! I find it very odd that you don’t know the story. It’s common knowledge. The old emperor didn’t go mad because she stopped allowing him to have her,” Ming said, looking reproachful. “He went mad because she poisoned him.”

Cí’s stomach turned. He didn’t want to believe it and cursed himself for falling for her charms. How stupid could he have been? His soul for one short night of pleasure? He was about to ask Ming for more details when a sentry came in and leaned up against a wall, as if to indicate he wasn’t leaving. They wouldn’t have any privacy now. Cí decided to give up, said to Ming that he must allow a doctor to look at his legs, and left the room feeling terribly confused.

He tried to look at the situation from another point of view. When it came down to it, her motive was strong, and she hadn’t even tried to hide her hatred for the emperor’s father. The perfume was a direct link to the victims. But he still hadn’t found out why Blue Iris might have wanted to kill four people—three of whom seemed distant from the emperor. At least, he needed to find out why one of them had been killed; he was convinced that if he solved one case, the others would quickly follow.

He decided to go to Soft Dolphin’s quarters again. There was something he needed to check.

Guards were still posted there, and, as always, Cí’s pass was checked and his name recorded. Once inside, he headed straight to the room containing the antiques. The majestic poem that had first drawn his attention was in the same spot, and he wasn’t wrong. It was by Li Bai, the one that had been missing from Blue Iris’s collection: number eleven.

He noted that the white frame was curved, just like those he’d admired in the nüshi’s pavilion. Taking it down, he checked the mark it had left on the wall, and then did the same with the other canvases hanging there. This done, his face was a mixture of rage and satisfaction. On his way out, it occurred to him that it might be worth looking in the register, and the sentry let him. Cí didn’t recognize most of the names, but he soon came across the one he’d been looking for: The calligraphy couldn’t have been clearer. Two days after the disappearance of the eunuch, Blue Iris had visited these rooms.

His heart pounded. Suddenly the truth was within reach.

He still had time before his meeting with Iris to take another look at the remnants from the bronze maker’s workshop.

Everything seemed to be falling into place. But when he reached the room where the remnants were being kept, there was no guard outside. He walked slowly into the darkness and thought he was being careful, but he tripped over something and fell. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the objects he and Bo had so carefully sorted were scattered around. He cursed whoever had done it. He went back to the door and opened it wide to let in some light. What had been taken? He went over to where they had stacked the molds and was horrified to see they’d all been smashed up into tiny pieces. It looked like a club, now lying on the enormous anvil beside him, had been used. Suddenly there was a sound above him; he grabbed the club and peered up toward the attic where he and Bo had piled the pieces of iron.

Seeing nothing up there, he went back to inspecting the remains until he found a bag containing the plaster used to extract the positives from the molds. He put it aside and then heard another sound, a crack, louder this time. Again he looked up toward the attic and caught a glimpse of a crouching figure. And that was all he saw, because suddenly an avalanche of joists, railings, and pieces of wood fell on him, burying him.

Cí dared to open his eyes only when the dust started to settle. He could hardly see anything, but at least he was alive. He was thankful to have slipped under the anvil, which had sheltered him. But his leg was caught beneath an iron bar and he couldn’t move, much as he tried. Gradually, rays of light began filtering from the doorway through the dusty air, and suddenly a figure was in front of him. Cí couldn’t say anything. He was sure it was the same person who had caused the attic to collapse, and he couldn’t get away. He gulped, his saliva thick with dust. He grabbed a metal bar and prepared to defend himself. He was about to strike out when the person spoke.

“Cí? Is that you?”

It was Bo. He felt a flash of relief, but he didn’t let go of the metal bar.

“Are you OK?” asked Bo, beginning to clear the debris trapping Cí. “What happened?”

Bo managed to get Cí free and helped him out of the room. Cí sucked in the dust-free air. Still feeling suspicious of Bo, he asked why he had been there.

“A sentry came and told me the door had been forced open and the room ransacked. I came to see.”

Cí was far from convinced. Whom could he trust? He had trouble walking, though, and asked Bo to help him back to the Water Lily Pavilion. He was worried his attacker might come after him again.

On their way, Cí asked what progress there had been in taking the portrait around.

“Nothing yet,” said Bo. “But some news on the hand. The flame tattoo wasn’t actually a flame tattoo.”

“Meaning?”

“I had Chen Yu, a well-known tattooist at the Silk Market, examine it. He’s thought to be one of the best, so I believed him when he said it.”

“Said what?”

“The salt had erased part of the tattoo. There would have been a circle also. It wasn’t a flame at all, he said, but a yin-yang.”

“The Taoist symbol!”

“Exactly. But Chen Yu was even more specific,” Bo continued. “In his opinion, the man must have been an alchemist monk, because the pigment was cinnabar, which can only point to occultists. They use cinnabar in their experiments to formulate the elixir of eternal life.”

As soon as Cí got back to the pavilion, he pulled out the green ceramic fragments he’d been piecing together. What had just happened at the palace made it clear he was going to have to be careful with his evidence.

He shut the door behind him and took out the piece he’d found just now. He had a feeling it was going to complete the puzzle. He was putting the pieces away again when Blue Iris came in without knocking.

“They told me you’d been in an accident,” she said, sounding worried.

“Yes, and a pretty unusual one, too. Actually, I’d say it was more like an attempt on my life.”

Blue Iris’s eyes grew wide, which emphasized their strange grayness.

“What—what happened?”

Cí thought it was the first time he’d ever heard her say something lacking conviction.

“I thought you might be able to tell me!” he said, grabbing her by the wrists and throwing her onto the bed.

“Me! I don’t under—”

“No more lies! I wanted to believe Kan was wrong, but he was right all along!”

“What is this?” she cried. “Let go of me! Let go or I’ll have you flogged!”

He let go and she leaped from the bed, backing away from him in the corner of the room. Cí pushed the door shut and went toward her, trapping her in the corner.

“That’s why you seduced me, isn’t it? Kan warned me about you. He told me all about your plot against the emperor. I wanted to believe he was wrong, and it nearly cost me my life. But your ruses are all played out now. Your lies won’t help you anymore.”

“You’re crazy! Let me go!”

“The eunuch’s work had to do with the salt monopoly. I haven’t yet figured out if he uncovered something in the accounts and you bribed him, or if it was blackmail. But you knew all about his love of antiques, and you offered him one he couldn’t refuse! And once you had him in your grip, that’s when you had him killed!”

“Get out!” she sobbed. “Out of my house!”

“You were the only one who knew I was going to look at the remnants from the bronze workshop! You sent someone to kill me, too—probably the same person who took the life of Soft Dolphin and all the others!”

“I said get out!” she cried.

“You felt protected by what had happened to your ancestors; the emperor would never risk accusing the granddaughter of the betrayed hero. But your thirst for revenge knew no limits. You lied when you told me the emperor’s father died of lovesickness. You poisoned him, the same as you did me yesterday with your seduction!”

Blue Iris tried to get past him to the door, but he blocked the way.

“Admit it!” he roared. “Admit that you lied to me. That you made me believe you felt something for me.”

“How dare you! You were the one who lied to me! What’s your real job? You who are so loyal to Feng that you slept with his wife.”

“You put a spell on me!” Cí howled.

“Pathetic,” she spit. “I don’t know how I ever felt anything for you.” Crying, she tried to push past him again.

“Think your tears will save you? Kan was right about you.”

Blue Iris’s eyes, wet with tears, were also inflamed with rage.

“I thought you were different,” she said. “But you’re not. You think I’m just a used-up nüshi whom you can condemn, use, despise. That all I’m good for is toying with in the bedroom. Yes, I seduced you, so what? You don’t know me. You have no idea of the hell I’ve lived through.”

Cí’s mind turned to his own hell. He knew very well what it was to suffer, but that understanding certainly didn’t make him think she wasn’t guilty. She had no right to reproach anyone, especially after what he’d just found out.

“Kan warned me,” he said again.

“Kan? He’d sell his own children if he thought it would benefit him. What did he tell you?” She slapped Cí on the chest. “That I tried to poison the emperor? Wrong! Much as I might regret it now, I didn’t. Do you really think I’d have been allowed to live if I did something like that? Kan didn’t tell you the real reason he despises me: the thousand times he tried to take me, and the thousand times I rejected him. I bet he didn’t tell you he proposed to me! He didn’t tell you what it means to a councilor to be refused by a lowly nüshi…”

At this, she fell to her knees, overcome with tears.

“I found your name in the registry for Soft Dolphin’s quarters. I don’t know how you managed it, but you gained access. There was a canvas there with the eleventh of Li Bai’s poems—an antique I know belongs to you, an heirloom that belongs on your walls. The one on Soft Dolphin’s wall is something he never could have afforded.” Cí waited for her denial, but Blue Iris had fallen quiet. “I read the stamps of ownership. Those verses belonged to your grandfather.”

“Ask Kan! He kept dozens of vials of Essence of Jade to woo me with. And the poem—my husband gave it to Kan, so again it’s Kan you should be asking about how it ended up on Soft Dolphin’s walls. Yes, I’ve been to Soft Dolphin’s quarters. I went to retrieve some porcelain figures I gave him. Yes, he was a friend of mine. Which was why, I thought, Kan told me he’d disappeared. If you don’t believe me, ask Kan.”

Having let Blue Iris leave, Cí tried to get things clear in his head. Once he’d calmed down, he took out the mold again to try to finish piecing it together. He followed the numbers he’d written on the pieces to arrange them, but one of the pieces crumbled in his hands. His hands were shaking like those of a frightened child. He swiped the pieces across the floor.

He regretted pushing the woman who’d loved him so sweetly the night before. He’d felt so sure of her guilt, but then the way she’d reacted didn’t seem like the behavior of someone who was guilty. Cornered, perhaps, but to blame? There was plenty of proof against her, but there were plenty of holes in the case, too.

What on earth could make her want to kill those men? He turned it over and over. Maybe the answer lay in the ceramic pieces. Or maybe Kan was the only one who really knew.

He went back to working on the mold, more carefully this time. Little by little, it took shape, becoming a prism about the size of someone’s forearm. He moved a leftover piece aside, noting that it seemed to be some kind of internal spoke, then joined the two halves of the mold together with a belt. Then he mixed up some plaster and poured it in. Now he had to wait for it to harden. Eventually, when it seemed solid, he undid the belt and parted the mold.

It looked more like a scepter than anything: two palms in length and about as wide as a sword hilt. Cí could just about fit his hand around it. What could it be for? He decided to put it aside, hiding the scepter and the spokelike interior piece under a loose floorboard and the mold in his wardrobe.

Cí left the Water Lily Pavilion for some much-needed air.

His specialties were corpses and scars, not intrigue and rancor; he knew how to find invisible clues on dead bodies, not how to unpack madness and lies.

The more he thought about it, though, the clearer it became that Kan had manipulated him from day one. If what the councilor had said about Blue Iris contained any truth, he’d surely have taken action against her already. And now it seemed his dislike for her might have different motivations. Kan could easily have accompanied her to Soft Dolphin’s rooms, and if he really did have access to Essence of Jade, it would also make sense for him to have left traces of the perfume on the corpses to incriminate her. Why he might have done so, thereby incriminating himself, Cí couldn’t understand. And Blue Iris had made no secret of her resentment toward the emperor, which made her an easy person to frame. On top of that, Kan was the last to be seen with the bronze maker, he had kept an appointment with the Jin ambassador, and he offered only obfuscation when it came to giving explanations. Maybe the councilor really was the person to turn to for answers.

What to do? Cí clearly couldn’t go to Kan, who would only try to get in his way. Maybe he was the murderer, or the one who had given the orders. Or maybe he had nothing to do with it and had just tried to take advantage of the killings to get back at someone who had humiliated him.

Maybe Cí needed to speak to the emperor. Perhaps that was the only way to get answers before it became far too dangerous. And for that he needed Bo’s help.

“Protocol’s protocol, Cí, and we all have to respect it.”

Cí had gone straight to Bo’s quarters, where he found the official just finishing his bath. Perhaps it was because he’d been interrupted, but Bo didn’t seem very disposed to help.

“If you try and circumnavigate protocol, heaven help you.”

The ritual nature of the emperor’s every movement was well known. But what Cí also knew was that if he was going to solve this case, he couldn’t have more delays.

“I’ve solved the crimes.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. “It can’t wait, and I definitely can’t talk to Kan about it first.”

Bo looked skeptically at Cí.

“Have you forgotten,” asked Cí, “the attic’s collapsing on my head? If you don’t help me, I might not be around tomorrow to tell anyone what I’ve found.”

Bo agreed, gritted his teeth, and went to his superior, who within a matter of hours had passed the request up the chain of command. Bo learned that, although there was consternation among the officials over Cí’s request, one of the elders grasped its importance and took the petition to the emperor himself.

To Cí, the time passing felt like years. Then he was summoned.

The elder official’s face was cold as stone as he considered Cí. Finally he spoke.

“His Majesty will receive you in the Throne Room.” He lit a stick of incense the length of a fingernail and handed it to Cí. “This is the time you have allotted to speak. Not a moment longer.”

As Cí followed the man to the Throne Room, he licked a finger and touched it to the side of the incense, hoping it would slow its burning a little. Suddenly the elder stood aside, and Cí was face to face with the emperor.

Cí was dazzled by the emperor’s golden tunic. Before he could think of what to say, the elder official hissed at him to kneel. Cí, regaining his composure, got down and kissed the floor. The incense was already burning low, and the elder was taking an eternity with the formalities. When he was finally ushered forward, everything came out in a jumble: his suspicions about Kan, all the lies, and the councilor’s blatant attempts to frame Blue Iris.

The emperor listened in silence. His pale eyes scrutinized Cí. His waxen face was utterly devoid of emotion.

“You are accusing one of my most loyal men of dishonorable acts.” Ningzong’s voice was slow and deliberate. “An Imperial Councilor who would willingly chop off his own hand if I said so. If your accusations turn out to be wrong, the penalty will obviously be death. And yet, you’re still here. Keeping the embers of a tiny stick of incense between your fingers…” He brought his hands together and placed them over his pursed lips.

“Yes, Majesty.”

“If I give the order for Kan to be brought here and he refutes your allegations, I’ll be obliged to have you executed. If, on the other hand, you think better of it and decide to withdraw your accusation, I shall be magnanimous. I shall forget the nerve you have shown in coming here. I want you to think properly about this. Are you prepared to uphold your accusation?”

Cí took a very deep breath. The incense was all but gone.

“Yes,” he said without having to think about it at all.

An official was sent to fetch the Councilor for Punishments. When he burst back into the Throne Room, he looked as if he’d seen a devil; he was bathed in sweat and shaking all over. He ran and threw himself at the emperor’s feet, and the emperor recoiled as if touched by a leper. Several guards were on the man immediately, pulling him away. He was incoherent. His dilated pupils spoke pure terror.

“He’s dead, Your Majesty! Kan has hanged himself in his room!”