Sandalwood Death (39 page)

“Your humble servant met him once at Kang Youwei’s home.”

“Only once?”

“Your humble servant would not dare lie to Your Excellency.”

“What is your opinion of the man?”

“Your Excellency, your humble servant believes,” he said with conviction, “that Tan Sitong is a courageous and upright man. If he were your friend, he’d tell you when you were wrong, but he could also be your mortal enemy.”

“Just what does that mean?”

“Tan Sitong is a dragon among men. He would unhesitatingly die for a friend, and would not be a secret enemy. To kill him would ensure an envious reputation; to die at his hands would be a worthy death.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Yuan Shikai said with a sigh. “Too bad Tan Sitong was not someone I could use. Are you aware that he was beheaded in the capital’s marketplace?”

“Your humble servant knows that.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“It breaks my heart.”

“Bring them in.” With a wave of his hand, two of Yuan’s attendants carried in a large black lacquer food hamper with gold-inlaid borders. “I’ve had them prepare two separate meals for you,” Yuan said. “The choice is yours.”

The attendants opened the large hamper, in which were two smaller ones. They laid them out on the table.

“Go ahead,” Yuan said with a grin.

He opened the first box, which held a red floral porcelain bowl filled with six large braised meatballs.

He opened the second box, which held only a single bone with a tiny bit of meat.

He looked up at Yuan, who was smiling at him.

He looked down and thought for a moment before reaching in and picking up the bone.

Yuan Shikai nodded appreciatively as he walked up and patted him on the shoulder.

“Smart, very smart. The Empress Dowager Herself presented this bone to me. There is little meat left on it, but what there is has a wonderful flavor. Try it.”

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6

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With fires of rage blazing in his heart, he gripped the pistols with trembling hands and watched as Yuan Shikai negotiated the shaky gangplank with the help of his bodyguards. Strains of the welcome melody floated in the air as the senior officers fell to their knees to greet the great man. He, on the other hand, remained seated on his horse. Yuan Shikai acknowledged the greeting with a mere wave of his hand. An easy, magnanimous smile adorned his ample face as he swept the prostrated welcoming delegation with his eyes, resting in the end on the sole mounted figure. At that moment it was abundantly clear that Yuan Shikai knew, and that was part of his plan. He wanted Yuan Shikai to know who it was who killed him. He nudged his horse forward and drew one of his pistols; it took only a second for the horse’s muzzle to bump up against Yuan’s chest.

“Excellency Yuan,” he shouted, “this is to avenge the deaths of the Six Gentlemen!”

He took aim with his right hand and pulled the trigger, expecting to hear an explosion, smell gunpowder, and see the man’s head shatter, just as it had so many times in his mind’s eye. But not this time.

He drew the second pistol with his left hand, aimed, and pulled the trigger, once again expecting to hear an explosion, smell gunpowder, and see the man’s head shatter, just as it had so many times in his mind’s eye. But not this time, either.

Members of the official delegation looked on in amazement. If it had been any other than his gold-handled pistols, he would have had ample time to put bullets into every one of those future presidents and premiers, necessitating a complete rewriting of China’s recent history. But at that critical moment, his gold-handled pistols had betrayed him. Raising them to his eyes for a quick examination, he angrily flung them into the river.

“You whores!” he shouted.

Yuan Shikai’s bodyguards stormed up and dragged him down from his horse. The prostrated officers clambered to their feet, ran up, and began clawing and tearing at his body.

Yuan Shikai, unfazed, merely walked up, lightly kicked him in his face, which the guards had pressed down into the dirt, and said:

“What a shame, a true shame!”

“Excellency Yuan,” he said in an anguished voice, “you were right, a weapon is not one’s mother.”

With a smile, Yuan replied:

“Nor is it a woman.”

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

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1

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The day after the massacre in Masang Township, the County Magistrate sat in his document room composing a telegram to the Prefect of Laizhou, Cao Gui, the Circuit Attendant of Laiqing, Tan Rong, and the Governor of Shandong Province, Yuan Shikai, to report that the Germans had perpetrated grave crimes in Gaomi County. The tragic scene from the night before kept reappearing in front of his eyes; the wails and curses of the citizenry swirled endlessly in his ears. His brush moved across the paper like a whirlwind, as rage swelled unchecked in his breast, solemn umbrage guiding each passionate stroke. His aging legal secretary entered as if walking on eggshells and handed the Magistrate a newly received telegram. Sent by Governor Yuan Shikai to Laizhou Prefecture and forwarded to Gaomi County, it contained the Governor’s demand that the Magistrate take Sun Bing into custody and bring him to justice without delay. The Magistrate was also told to come up with five thousand taels of silver as restitution to the Germans for their losses. Finally, he was ordered to prepare compensation for the German engineer whose head had been injured in the incident, personally deliver it to the Qingdao church-run hospital, and ensure that no more such incidents arose.

The Magistrate jumped to his feet, pounded the table with his fist, and cursed, “The bastard!” Whether the curse was directed at Yuan Shikai or the German engineer was unclear, but he saw his assistant’s goatee quiver and noticed a phosphorescent glimmer in the man’s tiny eyes. He had never been fond of this secretary, but he relied heavily on him, for he was skilled at preparing indictments and appeals, was experienced and astute, knew all the ins and outs of official circles, and just happened to be the brother of the legal secretary at the Prefect’s yamen. If the County Magistrate wanted to ensure that the document he had written would not be sent back by the Prefect, the secretary was indispensable.

“Have them prepare my horse,” he said.

“May I ask where you are going?”

“To Laizhou Prefecture.”

“May I ask the purpose of the trip?”

“I want to see Excellency Cao and demand justice for the people of Gaomi County!”

With no attempt to maintain decorum, the secretary reached down, picked up the document, and scanned it quickly.

“Is this telegram intended for the eyes of Excellency Yuan?”

“Yes, and I’d like you to put a final touch to it.”

“Eminence, my eyesight and hearing are beginning to fail me. My mind is not as sharp as it once was, and at this rate I am afraid I will do you a disservice. I beg you to release me from my duties so I can return to my native home to live in retirement.” With an awkward little laugh, he reached into his sleeve and extracted a letter, which he laid on the table. “My letter of resignation.”

The Magistrate merely glanced at the letter and, with a sarcastic laugh, said:

“It seems the monkeys are abandoning the tree even before it falls.”

Rather than lose his temper, the secretary laughed politely.

“Tying two people together does not make them husband and wife,” the Magistrate said. “Since you desire to leave, trying to stop you would be meaningless. Do as you please.”

“I thank you for your generosity.”

“After I return from Laizhou, I shall see you off with a banquet.”

“I thank you for your kindness.”

“You may go,” the Magistrate said with a wave of his hand.

The secretary made it only to the door before turning to say:

“Eminence, I am only an advisor, but if you want my opinion, you must not go to Laizhou and you must not send this telegram.”

“And why is that?”

“I humbly submit, Your Eminence, that you are in the service of your superiors, not the people. A conscience has no place in the life of an official. You must choose one over the other.”

With a snide grin, the Magistrate replied:

“Well spoken and very incisive. If you have anything else to say, now is the time.”

“Arresting Sun Bing and quickly bringing him to justice is Your Eminence’s only path to survival.” The secretary’s eyes flashed as he went on, “But I know you cannot do it.”

“And so you are leaving,” the Magistrate said, “not to return home to live in retirement, but to steer clear of trouble.”

“Your Eminence is very perceptive,” the secretary remarked. “In truth, if you could abandon your personal feelings for Sun Bing’s daughter, capturing him would be as easy as turning over your hand. And if you did not want to do so yourself, I, your humble servant, would gladly render his services.”

“Do not trouble yourself!” the Magistrate said coldly. “You may leave.”

Grasping his hands in a salute, the secretary said:

“Very well, then, farewell, Your Eminence. I wish you well.”

“Take care of yourself, Yamen Secretary,” the Magistrate said before shouting out the door: “Chunsheng, ready my horse!”

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2

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At high noon the County Magistrate, in full official regalia, rode his young stallion out of town through the north gate, accompanied by his trusted personal attendant Chunsheng and his messenger, Liu Pu. Chunsheng, astride a powerful black mule, and Liu Pu, on his black mare, fell in close behind the County Magistrate’s white horse. After being stabled through a long winter, the animals were energized by the broad expanse of fields and the scent of spring in the air. They kicked their hind legs in frisky abandon and whinnied excitedly. Liu Pu’s mare nipped at the rump of the Magistrate’s horse, which bolted forward. The rough road surface had begun to thaw and was now coated with a layer of black, gummy mud that made for tough going. The Magistrate leaned forward in the saddle and held tightly to the horse’s untidy mane.

After heading northeast for an hour, they crossed the fast-flowing Masang River and entered the broad expanse of Northeast Township. Gentle golden early afternoon rays of sunlight fell on dry, withered grass and on the downy green sprouts just now breaking through the surface. Startled jackrabbits and foxes leaped and bounded out of the path of the horses’ hooves. As they rode along, the travelers could see the raised roadbed of the Jiaozhou-Jinan rail line and the railroad workers laying track. Steel rails snaking across the landscape, a sight that sullied the vista of open fields under a towering blue sky, destroyed the Magistrate’s cheerful mood. Disturbed by scenes from the recent bloody massacre at Masang Township that flashed through his mind, he was having trouble breathing, so he dug in the heels of his boots to speed up the pace. His horse reacted to the pain in its sides by breaking into a gallop, causing its rider to bounce around in the saddle, which seemed to lessen his melancholy.

The riders did not enter Pingdu County until the sun was low in the western sky. In a little village called Qianqiu, they stopped at the home of a wealthy family to feed the horses and rest up. Their host, a white-haired old county-level scholar, displayed his respect for his superior, the County Magistrate, by offering tobacco and tea and ordering a welcoming banquet that included braised wild rabbit and carrots, stewed cabbage with bean curd, and, from his own cask, rice wine. The old scholar’s obsequious and generous welcome restored the Magistrate’s sense of well being. A nobility of spirit swelled in his breast; his veins felt the rush of hot blood. The old scholar invited them to spend the night in his house, but the Magistrate was determined to get back on the road. With tears in his eyes, the old scholar took the Magistrate’s hand and said:

“Eminence Qian, an upright official who unstintingly pleads on behalf of his people is as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. The residents of Gaomi County are truly blessed.”

“Elderly squire,” the County Magistrate replied emotionally, “as an official whose livelihood is in the hands of the Imperial Court, I am entrusted with service to the masses and am obliged to spare no effort in carrying out my duties.”

He mounted his horse as a blood-red sunset spread in the west. After bidding farewell to the elderly scholar, who saw him to the edge of the village, he whipped the flank of his white charger, which reared up, a mighty steed, and shot forward with a burst of power, like an arrow leaving the bow. Though the Magistrate did not turn to cast a backward glance, a host of phrases from classic poems of parting rose up in his mind: the setting sun, a dazzling sunset, wilderness, ancient roads, a withered tree, winter ravens . . . all encapsulating a sense of solemn tragedy, yet filling his heart with boldness.

As they left the village behind, they rode out onto a landscape that was bleaker and more extensive than anywhere in Northeast Gaomi Township, with few signs of humanity on the low-lying land. The animals raced proudly, heads high, on a gray serpentine path that was mostly hidden in dry waist-high grass that brushed noisily against the riders’ legs. As the evening deepened, a new moon sent its silvery beams through the purple canopy of a starry sky. The Magistrate looked heavenward, where he saw the outline of the Big Dipper, the glittering Milky Way, and a shooting star ripping open the darkening curtain. Damp, heavy air chilled the riders as the night wore on. The horses’ gait slackened, from a gallop to a canter, then to a trot, and finally to a lazy walk. When the Magistrate used his whip, the horse reared its head and ran a few yards before slowing again, weary and sluggish. The Magistrate’s agitation was waning; his feverish body was beginning to cool down. Moisture-laden air on that windless night attacked exposed skin like razor blades, so he hung his whip on the pommel, buried his hands in his wide sleeves, and draped the reins over his wrist before hunkering down and letting the horse go where it wanted. In the surrounding wilderness, the animals’ snorts and the sound of dry grass brushing against the men’s pants were almost deafening. The occasional muted bark of a dog in a distant village deepened the cryptic sense of mystery and struck the Magistrate’s nerves like pangs of sorrow. He had been in such a hurry to leave, he’d forgotten to put on the fox fur vest his father-in-law had given him. That had been one of the more solemn moments in his life, for the item, a relic by any standard, had been given to his father-in-law’s father-in-law, the great Zeng Guofan, by the Empress Dowager Herself. Although time, the elements, and insects had eaten away at the fur, wearing it imparted an indescribable sense of warmth. Thoughts of his missing fox fur vest took the Magistrate back in time, to recollections of the life he’d lived.