The Corpse Reader (34 page)

Ming listened impassively, delicately sipping at his steaming tea. He looked as though he’d heard the story a thousand times. When Cí finished, he put his cup down and looked Cí firmly in the eye.

“You’re twenty-two now. A tree must always be held responsible for the fruit it bears, but not the other way around. Nonetheless, I believe that if you look deep in your heart, you’ll find reasons to be proud of your father. I see those reasons in you, in your wisdom, in the way you carry yourself, in your manners.”

“My manners? Since I’ve been back in Lin’an, my life has consisted of farces and lies, one after another—”

“You’re young and ambitious, and that makes you impetuous sometimes, but I don’t see you as heartless. If you were, this remorse, which prevents you from ever sleeping properly, wouldn’t be a factor. And as far as your lies go…” Ming took a sip of his tea. “This might not be good advice, but I would say you just need to learn to lie better.”

Ming got up and made his way to the library, returning with a book Cí recognized only too well.

“A butcher who has memorized the
Songxingtong
? A gravedigger who, despite having only just arrived in Lin’an, knows where to buy something as rare as cheese? A poor country boy who’s forgotten everything—except for a detailed knowledge of wounds and anatomy?” He looked Cí in the eye. “Did you really think you could fool me, Cí?”

Cí didn’t know what to say.

“I saw something in you. Behind all the lies, I saw the shadow of sadness. Your eyes were innocent and helpless. And you were begging for help.”

That night, for what felt like the first time in his life, Cí slept. But the next day, news came that overwhelmed him.

Cí was up early, honoring his dead and cleaning Ming’s patio, like any other morning. After breakfast he hurried to the library and immersed himself in the compendium of forensic procedures he’d been working on, and which he was scheduled to present later that day. Halfway through the morning he realized he hadn’t included certain passages from the
Zhubing Yuanhou Zonglun
, or
General Treatise of Causes and Symptoms of Illnesses
, and he wanted to be sure to add some of the information it contained. The volumes he needed were in Ming’s apartments.

Unfortunately, Ming had been called away at the last minute to a meeting at the prefecture. If Cí waited for him to get back, he wouldn’t have his compendium ready in time for the presentation, but he was strictly forbidden from entering Ming’s apartments without permission.

This is a bad idea
.

He pushed open the door to Ming’s library and felt his way forward in the darkness. He ran his hands over the shelves, and then shuddered when he came to the place where he knew the volume should be. There was a gap.

It wasn’t easy in the dark, but he didn’t want to light a lantern. Cí kept searching, and finally he found the volume he was looking for on Ming’s desk, underneath another silk-bound book.

This is a bad idea.

Just as Cí put his hand on the book, Ming entered. Startled, Cí dropped both books to the floor. The silk-bound volume fell open to some pictures of nude men.

“I…needed…the
Zhubing Yuanhou Zonglun
,” stuttered Cí. “For the presentation.”

They both looked down at the book with the naked men.

“It’s…an anatomy book,” said Ming, grabbing it up off the floor.

Cí nodded and dropped his head. He couldn’t understand why Ming would try to pretend. They both knew full well what books of physiognomy looked like, and they never depicted men in sexual positions. Cí stuttered an apology and asked permission to leave.

“Strange,” said Ming, barely containing his anger. “You ask me if it’s all right to exit, but you didn’t bother to see if I’d mind your entering.”

“Please excuse me. It was foolish.”

“Tell me,” said Ming, ignoring Cí’s request, “have you ever stopped to ask yourself why anyone would show you the kindness I’ve shown you?”

“Often.”

“Do you think yourself worthy of it?”

Cí frowned. “Not really, no.”

“And do you know where I’ve just come from? The prefecture. And they’ve just invited me to help on a case—an outrageous crime that even the sickest of minds would be hard pressed to execute. And when they asked me to go to court, do you know what I did? I said I wanted you as my assistant. I told them I have a truly exceptional student with unprecedented acumen when it comes to
forensic work. I spoke about you as if you were my own son…and this is how you repay me? Betraying my confidence while I’m away? Snooping?” He slammed his hands on the desk. “After everything I’ve done for you!”

Cí was trembling and silent. Everything he should have said was tumbling through his mind: that he would never have entered without permission unless it had been of the utmost importance, that he’d wanted to present the compendium as completely as possible, precisely so Ming would be proud of him. He couldn’t make the words come out, and he turned away, trying to hide his tears.

“Not so quickly,” said Ming, grabbing him by the arm. “I gave them my word you’d present yourself at court. And so you will. But after that, don’t bother coming back. Get your things and never show your face here again.” And with that, Ming let go of Cí’s arm.

Under normal circumstances, Cí would have given anything for a chance to go to the Imperial Palace. But at that particular moment, all he wanted was to regain Ming’s favor.

It was with deep sadness that he walked with the group making its way along Imperial Avenue. Two officials led the way, drumming on tabors to announce the presence of the prefecture judge, and a multitude of townspeople milled around them, looking up at the man on his litter and hoping for any bit of gossip to do with torture or execution. Ming was at the rear, looking despondent. Cí couldn’t stop glancing back at him.

How could I have been so stupid?

Since their confrontation, they hadn’t spoken another word, except for Ming to mention that Emperor Ningzong himself was awaiting their arrival.

Ningzong, the Heavenly Son, the Tranquil Ancestor. Very few were allowed even to kneel before him, let alone look at him directly. Only his most trusted advisers were allowed to approach him, only his wives and children could ever touch him, and only his eunuchs were permitted to converse with him. He spent his days inside the Great Palace, protected by its imposing walls from the rest of the city. Shut up in his golden cage, the Supreme Herald’s time was taken up with interminable receptions, ceremonies, and rites that, according to Confucian strictures, would never change. It was well known that his position was one of great responsibility and sacrifice.

Now that Cí was about to cross the threshold, he was utterly intimidated. The group went through the entrance, and a world of sumptuous wealth opened up before Cí’s eyes. Beautifully carved stone fountains were situated throughout the gardens, and he caught a glimpse of a leaping roebuck. Iridescent-blue peacocks roamed free. Streams trickled between clumps of peonies and wide, old trees. The columns, eaves, and balustrades of the palace buildings glinted gold, vermilion, and cinnabar-scarlet. Cí marveled at the roofs with their extravagant cornices curling skyward. The buildings were perfectly aligned on a north-south axis and had the presence of an enormous soldier so confident of his strength that he would spurn any offer of protection. Yet there were still seemingly countless ranks of sentries standing guard on either side of the entrance that separated the palace from the city.

The hushed group came to a halt at the steps of the Reception Pavilion—the first of the palace buildings, which stood between the Palace of Cold and the Palace of Heat. A stout man with a soft, wrinkled face waited impatiently for them beneath a glazed-tile portico; his cap identified him as the venerable Kan, Minister of Xing Bu, the much-feared Councilor for Punishments. As
they came closer, Cí saw the man had one eye missing, and the remaining eye blinked nervously.

A sullen-looking official carried out the formal introductions. Following the bows of greeting, he asked the group to follow him.

They walked along a passageway that passed through several galleries and auditoriums. In one gallery, snow-white porcelain vases contrasted against purple lacquer walls. Another glowed so green it resembled a jade mine. After this they came to an impressive pavilion, where the official leading them stopped.

“Honored experts,” he said, indicating the unoccupied throne behind them, “salute Emperor Ningzong.”

They all prostrated themselves before the throne as if the emperor were really there. This ritual complete, Councilor Kan took the floor, climbing up onto a dais and scanning the room with his one eye. There was a touch of terror in the man’s countenance.

“As you already know, you have been brought here on account of a truly shocking matter. A situation that I suspect will require you to summon more instinct than wit. It is a truly monstrous matter. I don’t know if the criminal we are facing should be counted as a human being or some vermin aberration of nature. Whatever the case may be, your task is to try and apprehend this abomination.”

He descended the dais and led them to a door where two colossal guards bore large axes. Cí couldn’t help but be dazzled by the ebony doorway, its lintel wrought with depictions of the Ten Kings of Hell. Stepping through, he was hit by the unmistakable smell of rotting flesh. Each person in the group was given a piece of cotton soaked in camphor to hold to his nose.

They arranged themselves around a bloody bulk in the middle of the room. Horror immediately registered on everyone’s face. The cloth was blood-soaked, particularly in the area of the chest and neck.

The head matron of the palace stepped forward at a signal and uncovered the corpse, drawing gasps. Beneath the sheet lay a mutilated, headless body. One member of the group vomited, and everyone else recoiled. Everyone, that is, except Cí.

Undaunted, he scanned the body of what appeared to have once been a woman but now looked more like a partially devoured animal. The tender flesh had been pitilessly defiled, the head severed completely, and bits and stumps of trachea and esophagus hung from the neck like a pig’s entrails. The feet had both been cut off at the ankles. Two grievous wounds stood out among the many on the torso: The first, above the right breast, was a deep, messy cavity that looked as though some beast had sunk its maw in and tried to eat out the lungs. The second was even more atrocious: a triangular incision straight across the navel and then down on both sides over the groin that left only a bloody gap. The entire pubic area had been removed in some strange ritual. They were informed that the missing parts of the body, including the head, were yet to be found.

The sight filled Cí with sadness. He noticed, in a stark and poignant contrast to the violence done on the body, the woman’s hands, which were very delicate, and a hint of her perfume, still discernible even amid the awful stink of decomposition.

Kan read out a preliminary report based on the matron’s examination. It included a rough idea of the corpse’s age (thirty or so), remarks on the state of the breasts and nipples (small and flaccid), and a note about the velvet texture of the pale, downy hair. The report also mentioned that the corpse had been found fully clothed, disposed of on a street near the Salt Market. There was a final speculation as to what kind of animal might have been capable of wreaking such havoc on a body: a tiger, a dog, or perhaps a dragon, it said.