The Corpse Reader (40 page)

They went to the Central Hospital. People died there with such frequency that Cí was sure there would be some corpses on which he could practice. He wanted to find out what kind of wound the lance would make when passed through the body fully. However, the sanatorium director informed them that the most recently deceased patients had already been taken away by their families. When Bo suggested they use a sick person instead, Cí thought surely he was joking, but the director didn’t see why they couldn’t. Still, Cí rejected the idea.

“I don’t know how I could have dared to suggest it,” said Bo apologetically.

“What about convicts who have been executed?” asked Cí.

The prison was located just outside the city walls. Its director, a military man covered in scars, seemed to relish the idea of skewering a dead prisoner.

“We strangled one just this morning,” he said brightly. “I know dead prisoners have been used in the past to test the effects of acupuncture, but nothing like this. At least the scum will be put to good use. And if it’s for the good of the empire, all the better.”

He showed them to where the body of the recently executed prisoner was being kept. It was sprawled out and in tatters.

“The bastard raped two little girls and threw them in the river,” the prison head told them.

Taking out his drawings, Cí tried to mark on this corpse the exact locations of the wounds he had found on the other corpses. He decided against undressing the body so as to better reproduce the conditions of the other deaths.

“And it would be best to stand him up,” he said.

The prison head ordered a number of soldiers to help, and they eventually hoisted the body up with a rope slung over a beam and then under the armpits. The dead man hung there like a rag doll. As Cí approached, wielding the lance, he felt a moment of compassion for the criminal whose half-open eyes seemed to issue a challenge from beyond death. Cí pointed the lance at the body and, bringing to mind the girls this man had killed, thrust the point into the body with all his might. There was a crack, but the blade snagged halfway through the torso.

Cí cursed. He removed the blade and prepared to thrust again. Summoning all his energy and bringing the girls to mind again, he
struck harder this time but still didn’t make it through the torso. He removed the lance and spat on the floor.

“You can take him down.” He kicked a stone in frustration, shaking his head.

He didn’t feel the need to explain anything to anyone there, but he thanked them for their efforts and said he was done.

When he met up with Gray Fox later on in the afternoon, Cí had no qualms about keeping his findings secret.

“The only thing I’ve really managed to ascertain is that, in the eyes of his colleagues, Soft Dolphin was an honest person, a good worker,” said Cí. “But that’s about all. What about you?”

“Honestly, this case is a poisoned chalice. A body without feet or head! They haven’t got the slightest idea, and then they’re going to make it seem like you and I are totally inept.”

“Any ideas how to move it forward?”

“I’ve decided to work on something else. The case with the dead sheriff. No way am I going to let these bastards smear my career in shit when it’s only just getting started. I’ve decided to go to Fujian myself and hurry things along. I have a feeling I can work this one out, and that’ll be a good early success to help me make my name.”

“But what about our orders?”

“Oh, I’ve chatted with Kan; he’s fine about it.” Gray Fox smiled nonchalantly. “Blood’s thicker than water and all that…You’re going to have to work this one out without me, I’m afraid!”

Cí couldn’t be happier that Gray Fox was going to be out of his hair, but at the same time he felt sure that Gray Fox would figure out that Kao had been tracking him, and that would be the end of everything.

“So, when do you leave?” Cí asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“Tonight,” said Gray Fox. “The longer I stay here, the more of this disaster gets pinned on me.”

“Well, good luck to you,” Cí said, turning to go up to his quarters. He had a lot to think about.

The perfume maker arrived, breaking Cí out of his state of deep concentration. He had been thinking about the corpse with the tiny scars on its face and had come up with a few ideas but had yet to reach a conclusion he found satisfactory. So when the perfumer said they were in luck, he was delighted.

“Smell this,” said the perfume maker, holding out a small vial. The fragrance was deep and sticky-sweet, almost like jelly; it had notes of sandalwood and patchouli, and its intensity intoxicated Cí’s senses.

“Essence of Jade,” said the perfume maker, replacing the stopper. “Which just happens to be a fragrance I’ve been making for the emperor for many a year now.”

“It’s what the emperor wears? I’ve had the privilege of being in his presence, but I didn’t get close enough to smell him.”

“No, no,” said the perfume maker, as if it were common knowledge. “The emperor doesn’t wear Essence of Jade.”

The perfume maker explained how he made the fragrance using secret ingredients and in secret proportions. The only people allowed to wear it were the emperor’s wives and concubines.

“And could anyone from your workshop have gotten hold of some of the fragrance?”

“Impossible!” He was genuinely offended. “I’m the only one allowed to have anything to do with Essence of Jade. I not only mix it myself but bring it to the court in person.”

“And might anyone have tried to imitate your mix?”

“They might have, but it’s punishable by death to do something like that with a product the emperor himself favors.”

“And you’re absolutely sure this is the scent on the corpses? Even with all the other odors?”

“Boy, I would know this smell if it were stuck in the middle of an army of elephants. But there was one other smell I picked up. An unusual smell, very acrid. But I’m afraid I couldn’t work out what it was.”

Cí made a note.

“All right,” he said. “And what about this Essence of Jade? Who in the palace do you deal with when delivering it?”

“A woman…” The perfume maker’s eyes opened wide as if he were imagining her there before them, naked. He cleared his throat. “A
nüshi
. She handles all of the emperor’s encounters with his concubines. Generally I stock her up every first moon or so with thirty vials like this one. Don’t forget, the harem’s made up of more than a thousand women! I can promise you she keeps a close eye on the batches; she wouldn’t let it be squandered.”

Cí thanked the perfume maker and showed him out, then made his way toward the interior gardens.

Before long he was in the vicinity of the Palace of Concubines, which he knew full well he was forbidden from going anywhere near. He hid behind a tree and peeked out at the beautiful latticework stretching all the way to the end of the building. He imagined that the delicacy of the edifice mirrored the beauty of the women inside. Graceful silhouettes, apparently naked, moved behind the
paper window screens. He couldn’t help but stare; it had been a long while since he’d lain with a “flower.” But he needed to purge the sensual thoughts from his mind and concentrate. Cí had to find a way to speak to the
nüshi
.

First, though, he needed to check on the artist’s progress.

Cí was very pleased when he saw how lifelike the portrait of the young corpse was. The artist had perfectly reflected every single line and feature—except for one thing, a grave error.

“I should have been clearer with my instructions,” said Cí. “I need you to render him with the eyes open.”

The portrait artist was surprised and extremely apologetic, bowing repeatedly. Cí said the fault was partly his own. Fortunately, the artist said it wouldn’t be too hard to remedy.

“Could you also add some scars?” asked Cí.

Cí described in detail the type, size, shape, and distribution of the scars, specifying that the artist should avoid painting around the eyes. He waited for the changes and additions to be made and, looking at the amended work, expressed his satisfaction.

“It’s tremendous, really.”

The portrait artist bowed proudly, handing Cí the silk canvas to roll up and put in its fabric container. Cí headed off to his quarters, where he took the portrait out and admired its lifelikeness again. The only problem was that it would be impossible to duplicate and distribute. But Cí still thought it would be useful in helping him understand where those scars had come from.

Cí had reached a point where he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Ming was the one person Cí knew who always had new ways to approach a problem. Although he wasn’t sure how the professor would receive him, Cí had to go and ask for his help.

When he tried to leave the palace, however, the sentry barred his way. Cí, holding out his pass, didn’t understand.

“Take it up with the councilor,” spat the unfriendly guard. “He’s the one who said you weren’t allowed to leave.”

Cí clenched his jaw and kicked a pebble, picturing it to be Kan’s head. He decided he had to address this with the emperor; if the case was going to progress even an inch, Cí needed someone above him who wasn’t intent on obstructing his every move. Cí went to the office of the emperor’s personal secretary. He introduced himself and asked how he might go about arranging an audience with the emperor, but the secretary, an old, sleepy-looking man, acted as though a fly had just landed in his eye. It was unusual, insulting in fact, that a worker would even imagine he might be able to speak directly with the emperor.