The Corpse Reader (20 page)

The thought of it made him nauseous; he hated the idea of making money from his unusual syndrome, but the situation with Third meant he might have to. Maybe it was the only thing of any value about him.

The canal’s dark, turbulent waters made their way toward the river. He thought of throwing himself in, but the picture of Third in his mind held him back.

He jumped to his feet, suddenly decisive. Maybe he was destined to end up dead in the river, but even if that was his fate, he didn’t need to give in so easily. He spat on the ground and headed off in search of Xu.

The fortune-teller wasn’t at the market stalls in the fisherman’s district or at the salting houses, nor was he at the brick market next to the silk shops along the wharves or the Imperial Market. Cí asked
everyone and anyone, to no avail. It was as if the earth had swallowed up the fortune-teller and spit out a hundred other tricksters and charlatans in his place.

Cí was ready to give up when he suddenly remembered Xu’s job at the Great Cemetery. He boarded a barge to get there.

On his way to the Fields of Death, he wondered if this was the right thing to do. Why try so hard to stay in Lin’an? His only interest here was in continuing his studies. Perhaps it would be better to flee to a city where no one knew him, and where there weren’t the likes of Kao on his trail. Here he was, though, trying to prolong a dream any idiot could have told him was now unattainable.

How could his father have dishonored the family and condemned him and Third to their current state? The same man who had taught him about honor and being virtuous in society had apparently thieved and betrayed Feng’s trust! It seemed unbelievable, but the man at the university had said the reports were beyond doubt. And Cí had read through them, memorizing the details of each accusation. For all his anger at his father, he still questioned whether his father could have been guilty of such acts.

He opened his eyes with a hard jolt of the barge as it moored clumsily at a jetty on the western lake near the cemetery.

As Cí made his way up the gentle incline to the Fields of Death, he was far from alone. It was a common thing to do at the end of the working week—to join together as a family and honor one’s dead, and many people were walking up the hill. Third came into Cí’s thoughts; the sun was starting to set, and he didn’t know if Moon would have fed his sister, or if Third’s cough had worsened. At the idea of Third going hungry and needing her medicine, Cí quickened his pace. Overtaking a number of people, he reached the huge
gate at the cemetery’s entrance. He asked a group of groundspeople if they knew where he could find Xu, but they didn’t, so Cí continued up the hill, to the highest part of the cemetery. The higher he went, the better kept the lawns were, and here in the most exclusive part of the cemetery, there were large gravestones and gardens with family mausoleums. Groups of wealthy families, dressed pristinely in mourning white, made offerings of tea and incense. He saw a gardener by a pavilion that had a sweeping, winglike roof and asked again about Xu. The man pointed up higher, in the direction of the Eternal Mausoleum.

Cí reached a squarish temple swathed in mist. A small man was digging a grave, spitting curses with every shovelful of earth extracted. Seeing Xu, Cí was suddenly nervous. He watched as the man stopped to rest, and then he approached slowly, still unsure that this was a good idea.

Just as Cí considered turning on his heels to go, the fortune-teller looked up and caught his eye. He planted his spade in the earth and straightened up. Then he spat on his hands and shook his head.

“What the hell are you doing here? If you’re after more money, I’ve spent it on women and wine, so you might as well go back to where you came from.”

Cí frowned. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me. You seemed a bit more enthusiastic yesterday.”

“Yesterday? I was drunk yesterday. And now I’ve got work to do.”

“Don’t you remember your offer?”

“Listen. Thanks to you, the whole of Lin’an knows how I worked it with the crickets. I have no idea how I got away this morning. If the others had caught up with me, I’d be in one of these,” he said, pointing to the grave.

“Sorry, but I wasn’t the one cheating people.”

“Ah, right! So what do you call going up against a giant knowing that, even if they cut you in two, it wouldn’t hurt a bit? Damn! Get out of here before you make me get out of this grave and kick you out.”

“But yesterday you wanted me to do it. I’m here to accept your offer. Don’t you get it?”

“Listen, the one who doesn’t get it is
you
.” The fortune-teller got out of the grave, brandishing the spade. “You don’t
get
that you’ve made it so I can never go back to the market. You don’t get that word’s spread about your special talent, and now no one’s ever going to bet against you. You don’t get that you’re cursed, you’re bad luck! And most of all, you don’t get that I’ve got work to do!”

Then a voice came from behind them.

“He bothering you, Xu?” An enormous man covered in tattoos had appeared out of nowhere.

“He was just leaving.”

“Well, get on with that grave,” said the man. “Otherwise you’ll be looking for another job.”

The fortune-teller grabbed the spade and began digging again. Cí jumped in beside him.

“What are you up to?” Xu asked.

“Can’t you see?” he said, scooping out earth using his hands. “Helping.”

The fortune-teller looked at him for a moment and sighed.

“Go on, take this,” he said, handing him a hoe.

They dug side by side until the hole was the length of a body and half as deep. Xu worked silently, but when they finished, he sat back on the grave edge, took a dirty flask from his bag, and handed it to Cí.

“Not afraid to drink with someone who’s cursed?” asked Cí.

“Go on. Have a drink, and let’s get out of this damned hole.”

The deceased and his family arrived. At a signal from a man who appeared to be the family elder, Cí helped Xu lower the coffin into the grave. It was almost in place when Cí lost his footing, and the coffin dropped the last couple of feet, its top coming half-open on impact and dirt falling inside.

Cí couldn’t believe it.

Gods in heaven! What else can possibly go wrong?

Cí jumped down into the grave and tried to get the top back on, but the fortune-teller pushed him away. Xu tried moving the coffin himself, but when it fell he’d sprained his finger and could barely use it.

“Get away from him, you idiots!” cried the widow. “Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

With the help of some of the men from the family, Cí and Xu lifted the coffin out. They all went to the mausoleum to repair the coffin and clean the body again. Seeing how swollen Xu’s finger was, Cí took the jasmine-soaked sponge from him and dabbed at the dead man’s muddy shirt. The family members were happy to let him; the general belief was that the bad luck from touching a dead body only affected the person doing the touching.

Cí had dealt with so many dead bodies that he wasn’t superstitious. But as he continued with the sponge, he noticed some marks at the neck.

He turned to the family elder. “Did someone apply makeup to the body?” Cí asked.

The man shook his head, surprised.

“How did he die?”

“Fell off a horse. Broke his neck.”

Cí checked the dead man’s eyelids.

“Mind telling me what you’re up to?” asked Xu. “Why don’t you stop annoying them so we can finish this job?”

But Cí wasn’t listening. He turned back to the elder and said, “Sir, there is no way this man died that way.”

“What—what do you mean?” stuttered the man. “His brother-in-law saw it all.”

“What you said may have happened, but it’s clear that, perhaps after being thrown from a horse, he was also strangled.”

He showed the elder the purple bruises on either side of the neck.

“These were hidden underneath some makeup. Not the best job, either. In any case, these bruises clearly correspond to a pair of powerful hands. Here and here,” he said, pointing to the bruising.

The elder asked if he was sure. Cí said there could be no doubt about it. The family agreed to postpone the burial and go straight to the local magistrate to report the findings.

Cí made a splint for Xu’s finger. When he was done, Xu asked, “Are you crazy or something?”

“Clearly!” Cí said with a laugh.

“Fine! Let’s talk business.”

Cí raised an eyebrow. A short while ago Xu had told him no one would ever bet against him, but now the fortune-teller grinned like a beggar who’d been gifted a palace. Cí didn’t care—his only concern was to obtain a few coins up front so he could pay the innkeeper and get medicine for Third. Night wasn’t far off, and he was growing more and more worried. He told Xu the story of what had happened at the inn, but the man laughed it off.

“Money worries? We’re going to be rich, kid!”

He handed Cí enough money to cover a whole week at the inn. Still chuckling, he took Cí by the hand.

“Now, swear on your honor that you’ll meet me back here tomorrow, first thing.”

Cí counted the money and said that he would.

“Am I going to be fighting?”

“Something far more dangerous, and far better.”

For most people, the idea of never feeling pain would seem like a gift from the gods. But Cí knew it was also the stealthiest of enemies. Going along the canal on a barge, he prodded his ribs, checking for any breaks or serious bruising. Then his legs—first rubbing softly, before digging his fingers deeper. The left leg seemed fine, but there were violet-colored bruises all over the right, around the wound. There was nothing he could do but continue to apply the ointment, so he pulled his pant leg down and looked in his bag at the sweet rice buns he’d bought for Third. Picturing her happy face, he smiled. He’d counted the money from the fortune-teller several times now; he could hardly believe how much there was—enough at least for a week’s stay.

When Cí got back he found the innkeeper outside arguing with a shady-looking youth. The innkeeper gestured that Third was upstairs and went back to his argument; Cí went straight up, taking the stairs two at a time. He found Third sleeping peacefully. He didn’t want to wake her to eat, so he stroked her brow softly; she was still running a fever, but it wasn’t nearly as high as it had
been. He lay down next to her, said a prayer for his lost family, and, finally, shut his eyes to rest.