The Corpse Reader (9 page)

He smiled and kissed her on the cheek. His thoughts turned to the Rice Man, who he thought might hold the answer to their problems.

Raising 400,000
qián
wouldn’t be easy, but during the night Cí had come up with an idea that he thought just might work.

Before heading out, he took the copy of the penal code he’d rescued from the debris and consulted the chapters on capital punishment and the commuting of sentences. Once he understood, he made an offering to his parents—a strip of the ham on an improvised altar. When he finished praying for them, he picked up Third and walked with her on his hip to the Rice Man’s ranch. The Rice Man owned the vast majority of the land around the village.

A well-built man covered in tattoos stood at the entrance to the ranch. He looked distinctly unwelcoming, but when Cí told him what he’d come for, the man led them through the gardens and up to a small pavilion that looked out over the rice fields on the mountainside. An old man was resting on a couch, being fanned by a concubine. He looked at Cí disdainfully, but his attitude changed when the guard announced Cí’s intentions.

“Here to sell Lu’s lands? Well, in that case!” The Rice Man offered Cí a seat on the floor. “I am sorry about your family. But you have to understand, that doesn’t change the facts. This is still a difficult time to be doing business.”

Especially for someone in my position.

Cí bowed in response before sending Third off to feed the ducks. Then he sat, careful to appear relaxed. He was prepared.

“Many people speak of your intelligence,” Cí told the Rice Man. “And I have also heard about your head for business.” The old man nodded vainly in agreement. Cí continued, “Doubtless, you
think my situation obliges me to undersell my brother’s properties. But I haven’t come to give anything away for free; I know what I have is valuable.”

The old man leaned back. Would he hear Cí out, or send him for a flogging? Eventually he gestured for Cí to carry on.

“I happen to know that Bao-Pao was trying to make a deal with my brother,” Cí lied. “He has been interested in Lu’s property since long before my brother came to own it.”

“I don’t see how this could be of interest to me,” the old man said with contempt. “I’ve got plenty of land as it is—I’d need to make slaves of the people of ten villages to cultivate what I already have.”

“Clearly. And that’s why I’m here, rather than speaking to Bao-Pao.”

“Boy, get to the point, or I’ll have you thrown out.”

“You have far more land than Bao-Pao. You are richer, but he is still more powerful than you. He’s the sergeant. You, sir, with all due respect, are only a landowner.”

The old man grunted. Cí, sensing he was on the right track, went on.

“Everyone in the village knows of Bao-Pao’s interest in the lands. And that Lu refused to sell, time and again, because of a family enmity.”

“Your brother won the lands one night at the tables. Do you think I don’t know this?”

“And my brother refused to sell them for the same reason as the previous owner: the creek passes through his borders, so there’s irrigation even when there isn’t much rain. You own the lower lands, which are supplied by water from the river, but Bao-Pao’s lands are on the higher slopes, so he has to use the pedal pumps for irrigation.”

“Which he can’t use because they pass through my property. And? I have all my land and plenty of access to water, too. Why would I be interested in your miserable little plot?”

“To stop me from selling to Bao-Pao.”

The Rice Man was silent.

“Think about it. The power he already has, plus how much he’d be able to grow if he had access to Lu’s stream…”

The Rice Man seemed to be trying to think of a comeback. He knew Cí was right. How much it was going to cost him was another matter.

“That property is worth nothing to me, boy. If Bao-Pao wants it, he can be my guest.”

He’s bluffing. Keep going.

“Third!” Cí shouted, getting to his feet. “Leave those ducks, and let’s go!” Turning back to the Rice Man he said, “Fair enough. I suppose it’s to be expected that the sergeant gets his way, and the landowner is powerless to stop him.”

“How dare you!”

Cí didn’t answer. He began making his way down the steps from the pavilion.

“Two hundred thousand
qián
!” the Rice Man shouted. “I’ll give you two hundred thousand
qián
for the land.”

“What about four hundred thousand?” asked Cí calmly, stopping and looking back at the Rice Man.

“Are you serious?” the old man sneered. “That land isn’t worth half what I’ve offered; anyone would know that.”

You might know it, but your green-eyed monster doesn’t
.

“Bao-Pao has offered three hundred and fifty thousand,” Cí lied again—it was all or nothing now. “The price of getting one up on him will be another fifty thousand on top.”

“No child tells me how much I should pay for a piece of land!” roared the old man.

“As you wish, sir. I’m sure it will make you happy looking out over Bao-Pao’s lands in the future.”

“Three hundred thousand. And if you try and go a grain of rice above that, you’ll be sorry.”

Cí began down the steps again but stopped—300,000
qián
was at least one and a half times the worth of Lu’s lands. Turning, he found the Rice Man on the step immediately above him. They both knew it was a good deal.

“One last thing,” said the Rice Man when they had the lease papers in front of them. “You can be sure that I’ll measure the property, down to the very last
mu.
And I swear, if there is even the tiniest bit missing, you’ll regret it.”

By midmorning Cí was at the market with the objects he’d saved from the house, but getting anything like the 500
qián
he needed was going to be difficult. He reached the 500
qián
by throwing in the iron pots and the knives, which he had hoped to keep. Hardly anyone in the village could read, so the books were desirable only for burning. In exchange for them, he got the use of an abandoned barn—a place for Third to rest. He kept only the food and his father’s copy of the penal code. After the market, he left Third at the barn and charged her with guarding the ham.

“Watch out for cats! And if anyone comes, scream really loudly.”

Third stood beside the ham and made a face like a ferocious animal. Laughing, Cí promised he’d be back soon. He closed the barn door and set off in the direction of Bao-Pao’s residence.

When he arrived at the annex where the corpses were being kept, he began thinking about the funeral arrangements for his parents. His father’s coffin had been made a long time before, as stipulated by the
Book of Rites,
the
Liji
. When people reached their sixties, the coffin and all the objects necessary for a funeral were supposed to be
serviced once a year; when they were in their seventies, once every season; in their eighties, once a month; and when they were in their nineties, every day. His father had been sixty-two, but his mother had not reached fifty yet, so Cí would need to have a coffin made for her. He found the carpenter busy speaking with other victims’ families; it was going to cost Cí a lot to get a coffin quickly.

He went over to his parents’ bodies and bowed. They hadn’t been washed, so he scrubbed them down using a bundle of wet straw. He hoped his parents would forgive the fact that he didn’t have candles or incense. He prayed again for their spirits, promising them he’d look after Third. It hit him then that his life would never be the same, and he realized how very alone he was. But he was wasting time—time the Being of Wisdom had given him to negotiate his brother’s release—and after bowing once more to his parents’ corpses, he left the annex and headed out into the overcast day.

A servant led Cí to the magistrate’s private apartments. The magistrate was in the bath, being washed by one of his aides. Cí had never seen such an enormously fat man. When he entered, the magistrate sent his aide away.

“Very punctual—just the kind of person I like to do business with.” He reached out for a tray of rice pastries and offered them to Cí, who declined.

“I’ve come to talk about my brother. Your honor guaranteed me that you would commute the death sentence if I paid the fine—”

“I said I would try. Have you brought the money?”

“But, your honor, you promised—”

“Hold on! Have you got the money or not?” The magistrate got out of the bath, totally naked. Though somewhat embarrassed, Cí refused to be intimidated.

“Three hundred thousand. It’s all I have.” He laid out the notes on top of the rice pastries.

The magistrate counted the money enthusiastically. “We did say four hundred thousand…” He raised an eyebrow but held on to the money.

“But you’ll set him free?”

“Set him free? Don’t make me laugh. We only discussed transferring him to the Sichuan mines.”

Cí grimaced. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to cheat him, but there was a lot more at stake this time. He managed to appear unruffled.

“Maybe I misheard, but I understood that the money corresponded to the compensation established by the Ransom Scale.”

“The Ransom Scale?” The magistrate feigned surprise. “Please. The scale you refer to has entirely different quantities. Commutation requires
twelve thousand
ounces of silver, not the pittance you’ve brought.”

Cí was quickly realizing there would be little point in appealing to the magistrate’s good will. Luckily, he’d come prepared. He took some notes from his bag and read them aloud to the magistrate.

“Twelve thousand ounces if the offender is an official in the higher levels of government, up to the fourth echelon; five thousand and four thousand for anyone up to the fourth, fifth, and sixth echelons.” He found himself gaining in confidence as he read. “Two thousand five hundred for anyone in the seventh echelon, as well as inferiors and those with degrees in literature; two thousand for any person with a degree.” He tossed the notes down triumphantly on the rice pastries. “And one thousand two hundred ounces of silver for a normal individual, as in the case of my brother!”

“So!” exclaimed the magistrate. “A legal expert, all of a sudden.”

“Looks like it.” Even Cí was a little surprised at his own forthrightness.

“Your knowledge of numbers, however, is somewhat less impressive, seeing as twelve hundred ounces of silver is worth only eight hundred and fifty thousand
qián
.”

But Cí kept on. “I knew that. Which is why I also knew you were never going to reduce the sentence. You just came up with a fee you thought I might be able to raise. Tell me, what will your superiors in Jianningfu think about this?”

“Quite the learned little man…” And the magistrate’s tone hardened. “Let’s see, then, since you know so much: Is there any chance that you might also have been involved in your brother’s crime?”

Cí remembered what the magistrate had said about the murder having something to do with ritual magic.

Vermin. This man is pure vermin.

He changed his approach. “My humblest apologies, venerable magistrate—my nerves must have gotten the better of me. It was a bad night. I barely know what I’m saying.” He bowed. “But please allow me to point out that the amount I’ve brought is more than the penal code asks.”