The Corpse Reader (6 page)

Leaving Feng, Cí wandered through the narrow streets, trying to ignore the windows that shut as he walked by, the neighbors who turned their backs and shouted insults. What did it matter? The rain-slicked stone paths seemed to be a reflection of his soul, his empty, desolate spirit. He could still smell Shang’s putrefying flesh. Everything he saw—the tiles blown from roofs by the wind, the rice terraces snaking up into the mountains, the empty barges bobbing uselessly on the river—reminded him of his ill fate. The wound on his face made him feel diseased.

He hated the village, hated his father for tricking him, hated his brother for his brutality, hated the neighbors for spying on him, hated the incessant rain, which seemed to soak him inside as well as out. He felt near hatred for his dead sisters—for dying and leaving him with Third. He hated himself. What could be worse than betraying your own family?

The downpour intensified. Cí hurried toward a building for shelter; as he went around the corner, he almost ran straight into an entourage of men led by a coolie who maniacally beat a tambourine. The man behind him brandished a sign that read:
BEING OF WISDOM—JIANNINGFU MAGISTRATE.

Eight porters followed, carrying the magistrate’s litter. Four slaves with the luggage came next. Cí bowed, but the retinue ignored him.

He watched fearfully as they passed. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the magistrate, who came to the village from time to time to resolve disputes over inheritances or tax issues. But he had never been called to deal with a murder, nor had he ever arrived so promptly. Cí hurried after the retinue, which headed in the direction of Bao-Pao’s. He overtook the group and positioned himself by an open window so he could observe what was about to transpire.

Sergeant Bao-Pao received the magistrate as if he were the emperor himself, bowing low in deference. Once the formalities were over, Bao-Pao told him about Feng’s investigation.

“You still haven’t managed to capture this man Lu?” Cí overheard the magistrate ask.

“The storm is making it difficult for the tracker dogs. But we’ll catch him soon enough…Shall we eat?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” He sat down at the head of the table, and Bao-Pao sat opposite him. “Isn’t the accused the son of your civil servant?”

“Yes. Your memory is as prodigious as ever.”

The magistrate laughed heartily. Bao-Pao was serving him more tea as Judge Feng entered.

The judge excused his late arrival with a bow. “I was only just advised of your arrival.”

Beneath Feng in both age and rank, the magistrate got up and offered him his seat, but Feng waved it away and sat next to Bao-Pao. Feng updated them on his discoveries, though it appeared to Cí that the magistrate was more interested in the carp than the information.

“It is—”

“Delicious!” said the magistrate.

Feng raised an eyebrow.

“As I was saying,” continued Feng, “it is a tricky case. The accused is the son of a former employee, and unfortunately, his own brother discovered the body.”

“Ooh, Bao-Pao told me about that,” said the magistrate, helping himself to more food. “What a stupid kid.”

Cí wanted to kill him.

“I’ve prepared a detailed report,” said Feng, “which you’ll want to see before your examination.”

“Eh? Well, all right. But I mean, if it’s so detailed, why do we need a second investigation? Especially,” he said with a laugh, “seeing all this food we’ve got to get through!”

Feng signaled to his assistant that he would retire with his reports. He asked the magistrate if he wanted to interrogate Cí, but the magistrate said no and continued wolfing down his food. Suddenly he stopped chewing and looked Feng in the eye.

“Let’s forget the bureaucracy and go out and catch this bastard.”

Before dinner was over, a group of bloodhounds led by Bao-Pao’s men found Lu on Green Mountain, on the road to Wuyishan. He had 3,000
qián
in his pocket, and he defended himself like a cornered animal. Bao-Pao’s men managed to subdue him, but only by giving Lu the beating of his life.

Word that the trial was scheduled for that night arrived at the house while Cí was still explaining to his father what had happened.

“Lu would never…” Cí’s father howled. “And you, how could you? You
helped
accuse him?”

“But I had no idea…” Cí hung his head. “Feng will help us. He promised…”

Cí’s father, furious, didn’t wait for Cí to finish, but gathered Third in his arms and, along with his wife, left the house.

Cí followed at a distance. It was strange that the trial was set so quickly, but it seemed as if the magistrate was in a hurry for resolution. The judicial flag was up at the assembly hall when they arrived, and silk lanterns hung on either side of an empty desk and chair.

Bao-Pao’s men brought Lu in—his head and arms in a
jia
, the heavy wooden stocks used for criminals; the shackles on his bloody feet and the pine handcuffs signaled that he was dangerous. The magistrate, wearing a silk gown and a
bialar
cap, entered. A sheriff introduced the magistrate and read the charges.

“If the accuser is in agreement…” boomed the magistrate.

Shang’s eldest son touched his forehead to the ground to indicate he agreed. The sheriff asked him to confirm his place in the proceedings, and he read haltingly from the document in front of him before thumbprinting his signature.

“By the grace of the Supreme Emperor Ningzong,” began the magistrate, “heir to the Heavenly Empire. In his honorable and praiseworthy name, I, his humble servant, the Being of Wisdom from Jianningfu Prefecture and magistrate in this tribunal, have read the charges against the abject criminal Lu Song, who robbed, murdered, and profaned the body of Shang Li. I declare that, in accordance with our thousand-year-old
Songxingtong
, there are a number of facts in Judge Feng’s astute report. The certainty of these facts is such that I now hand the floor to the accused so that he can declare his own guilt. If he does not, he will be made to suffer until he offers a full and complete confession.”

Cí’s heart sank.

The sheriff shoved Lu to his knees. Lu’s eyes were sunken and blank. When he opened his mouth to speak, Cí saw he was missing a number of teeth.

“I didn’t kill anyone…” Lu managed to say.

Lu had been badly beaten. No matter what he’d done, Cí thought the abuse was too harsh.

“Consider your words carefully,” said the magistrate. “And be advised that my men are very handy with certain implements.”

Lu didn’t respond. Cí thought that maybe he was drunk. One of the guards shoved Lu again, and he toppled forward, striking his head on the floor.

The magistrate calmly read Feng’s notes. His gaze settled on Lu.

“The accused has certain rights. His guilt has not yet been decided, so we therefore give him the chance to speak for himself. Tell me, Lu, where were you on the day in question between sunrise and midday?”

“Working,” said Lu, though without much conviction.

“Where?”

“Don’t know. In the fields.”

“Ha! But two of your workers have already contradicted this. According to them, you were nowhere to be seen all morning!”

Lu stared dumbly back at the magistrate.

“You won’t remember, but Lao, the innkeeper, says you were drinking late into the night. You got drunk, played dice, and lost a lot of money.”

“Not possible,” said Lu scornfully. “I never have anything
to
lose!”

“The innkeeper confirms that you lost it all anyway.”

“Which happens when you play dice.”

“Be that as it may, when you were apprehended and searched you had three thousand coins on you!” The magistrate squinted.
“Let me refresh your memory—with something other than liquor. That afternoon, when you fled following the murder—”

“I wasn’t fleeing; I was on my way to Wuyishan market. I—I was on my way to buy a new buffalo. My imbecile brother managed to break the other one’s leg!”

“With three thousand
qián
? Everyone knows a buffalo costs at least forty thousand!”

“It was going to be a down payment.”

“It was money you’d stolen! You just agreed you lost all your money at dice, or that you never had any, and your own father has confirmed that you’re in debt.”

“I won that three thousand off someone after I left the inn.”

“Oh! And who might that have been? I imagine they’d be willing to testify?”

“No…I don’t know…I’d never seen him before. Some drunkard who wanted to play, and I won. He told me they were selling buffalo cheap in Wuyishan. What should I have done? Given him his money back?”

Judge Feng approached the evidence table and asked permission to speak. Then he turned to Lu, untied the purse from the accused’s belt, and showed it to Shang’s eldest son, who didn’t look at the coins but stared at the purse itself.

“That was my father’s,” he spat.

As terrible as the situation was, Cí couldn’t help but admire Feng’s shrewdness. There was a custom among peasants to personalize their purses.

The magistrate nodded and looked over the documents again. “Tell me, Lu,” he said, “do you recognize this sickle?”

Lu had shut his eyes in seeming disinterest.

“According to the report,” continued the magistrate, “Judge Feng concluded that this is, without a doubt, the murder weapon.
Even though this, along with the money, would be sufficient to condemn you, the law still obliges me to ask you to confess.”

“But I’ve already said—”

“Damn you, Lu! Out of respect for your father you haven’t been tortured yet, but you’re leaving me little choice.”

Lu laughed maniacally. “I couldn’t care less!”

A guard hit him across his back with a cane. The magistrate made a gesture, and two guards dragged Lu over to a corner.

“What now?” Cí asked Feng.

“He’ll need the gods on his side if he hopes to resist the Mask of Pain,” replied the judge.

Cí was trembling. He knew about the Mask of Pain, yet he also knew that if someone was accused but didn’t confess, any proof against them would be worthless.

The sheriff came forward with the sinister-looking wooden mask; it was reinforced with metal and had two leather straps hanging down. At his command, two of the guards grabbed Lu, who writhed and kicked as they tried to tie the contraption to his face. Cí went numb as he watched his brother howl and bite. Several of the women turned away in fright, but when the guards secured the mask, applause broke out. The sheriff approached Lu, who, having been struck a few more times, had stopped struggling.

“Confess!” shouted the magistrate.

Although he was in chains, Lu was stronger than the guards restraining him, and he suddenly lashed out, hitting the nearest one with the stocks and rushing toward Cí. The guards intercepted Lu and subdued him with another beating before chaining him to the wall. The sheriff struck Lu across the face.

“Confess, and you might be able to eat rice again!” said the sheriff.

“Take this off me!”

At a gesture from the magistrate, the sheriff tightened a handle on the mask, making Lu howl. The next turn of the handle applied pressure directly to his temples, and Lu let out another cry. A couple more turns, Cí knew, and his brother’s skull would crack like a nut.