The Corpse Reader (10 page)

The magistrate covered himself up and began drying the rolls of his belly with a black towel.

“I’ll try and be a little clearer, boy: there is no way your brother’s getting out of this, OK? I should really have had him executed by now, according to the wishes of Shang’s family, so even if I were to send him to Sichuan, that would still be a lot. And what’s more, the only person with the authority to allow such a thing is the emperor himself.”

“I see,” said Cí. “In that case, I’ll take my money back and begin the appeal.”

“Appeal? On what grounds would you appeal? Your brother has confessed, and all the evidence is against him.”

“So you won’t mind if it’s the High Court Tribunal that decides the sentence.”

The magistrate bit his lip. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said the man. “I’ll forget your impertinence today, and you’ll forget we ever had this conversation. I’ll promise to do everything I can.”

“I’m not sure that’s enough,” said Cí. “Either you authorize a commutation, or I’m going to need my money back. I’ll have to take it to your superiors in the province prefecture.”

Suddenly angry, the magistrate looked at Cí as if he were trash.

“Or maybe I just give the order for your brother to have his throat slit? Do you honestly think a little runt like you can come in here, threaten me, and get away with it?”

Now it was Cí’s turn to be worried; this was getting out of hand. Why had he given the money up front?

“Please accept my apologies. I’m sorry if anything I’ve said has offended you, but I really need my money—”

Then there was another voice in the room. “
Your
money?” And Bao-Pao stepped into view. “You wouldn’t be referring to a sum obtained by selling a lot of land, would you?”

Cí remembered the tattooed guard at the Rice Man’s place. He had thought it strange, at the time, that the guard disappeared. The man obviously had more than one employer.

“Yes.”

“Well then, what you mean to say is
my
money,” said Bao-Pao menacingly, advancing on Cí. “Or did no one tell you? I altered Lu’s sentence this morning, adding a clause that has to do with the expropriation of property—”

“But…but I’d already sold it.”

“Property, unfortunately, that had already been ceded to me,” said Bao-Pao.

Cí went pale.

Retrieve what you can and get out of here as quickly as possible.

Bao-Pao had joined in to outmaneuver him; if the magistrate had wanted to, he could have had the property confiscated during
the judgment, but this way it meant Bao-Pao would end up with both the fine
and
the property.

Cí shrugged. “It’s only a shame that you didn’t get the second installment as well.”

“What second installment?” Both men were suddenly interested.

“Oh, the Rice Man was extremely keen on the property. He knew how much you both wanted it, so to ensure the sale, he agreed to pay me a second installment. Another three hundred thousand
qián
. Yes. Once he’d had a check done of the lands and made sure of the legality of the transaction, another three hundred thousand
qián
. Of course, I’d be more than happy to pass that amount to you both, if you follow through on your promise.”

“Another three hundred thousand?” Bao-Pao was astonished. He must have known that it was far more than the property was really worth, but greed was clearly getting the better of him, too. Then the magistrate stepped forward.

“And when did he say he’d pay you?”

“This afternoon. As soon as I showed him the deed of property—although he also wanted to see a copy of my brother’s sentence to make sure the property doesn’t have any debts, charges, mortgage arrangements, or other concerns attached to it.”

“So, without the expropriation clause.”

“If you want me to bring you that money…”

It took the magistrate only a moment to decide. He called for a scribe and told him to draw up a copy of the original sentence.

“With today’s date,” added Cí.

“Fine,” said the magistrate, signing and handing over the document. “Bring the money, and I promise to release your brother.”

It was obvious to Cí that the magistrate was lying through his teeth. Cí made an effort not to show it.

Cí had to make sure his parents were buried properly. Two of Bao-Pao’s slaves wheeled the coffins to the Mountain of Rest, a nearby burial place planted with bamboo. Cí looked for a spot that would face the sunrise, and where the wind would whisper through the trees. When the last shovelful of earth covered the coffins, Cí knew that his time in the village was over. If things had been different, he might have rebuilt the house, taken work in the fields, gone through the mourning period, and then married Cherry. Maybe after a few years, if children, money, and all life’s considerations had allowed, he might have gone back to Lin’an to take the Imperial exams and find a good husband for Third. But there was nothing left; it was time for him to flee.

He bade farewell to his parents’ bodies and asked for their guidance wherever he went. He pretended to Bao-Pao’s men that he was going to see the Rice Man, but when they could no longer see him, Cí went to the annex where his brother was being held.

Staying well hidden in the undergrowth, he checked to see how many guards there were; though there was only one, he had no idea how was he going to get past him. He had to speak to his brother before he went. For all the evidence against him, something in Cí’s heart told him his brother was no murderer.

He noticed a small window at the back of the annex. He quietly rolled a barrel into position and climbed up on it; the window was too small to fit through, but he peered into the dark interior, and, as his eyes adjusted, he saw a figure curled up in the corner. He was tied up, his clothes bloody, and his face—his tongue had been cut out and there were no eyes in the sockets.

Cí fell off the barrel. His mind roiled with what he’d seen. He stumbled around for a moment, then vomited. There was no way that tortured, broken figure was still alive. There was nothing left of Lu—only the bitterness Cí would always carry.

He had to get out of the village. The Rice Man would be expecting property that wasn’t his anymore, either that or money
Cí didn’t have, and neither he nor the magistrate would care about his excuses. He ran to Cherry’s to tell her his plans and ask her to wait until he’d proved his innocence. But her answer was unequivocal: she could never marry a fugitive, let alone someone who had neither property nor work.

“Is this about my brother?” cried Cí through her window lattice. “If that’s it, you don’t have to worry anymore. He’s been punished. Do you hear? He’s dead. Dead!”

He waited, but Cherry didn’t reply. It would be the last time they ever spoke.

Cí found Third as he’d left her: content and oblivious to any danger. Cí praised her for guarding the ham and cut her a slice as reward. To stand out less, he changed out of his white mourning clothes and into a coarse burlap gown that had belonged to his father. He packed the few remaining coins, the penal code, some clothes, and the ham; then he hid the 5,000-
qián
note in the lining of Third’s jacket.

“How would you like to travel on a boat?” He didn’t wait for her to answer but began tickling her. “You’re going to
love
going on a boat.”

Cí tried to appear cheerful, even though he felt far from it as they walked to the river dock. Initially he had thought they would travel to Lin’an overland, along the northern road, but that was the busiest route. Even though the trip by river was longer, it would also be safer. At harvest time, numerous rice barges and smaller boats carrying precious wood left from the dock for the maritime port of Fuzhou. From Fuzhou they could follow the coast up to the capital. Cí planned to board one of these barges with Third.

To avoid the crowds, they went to the southern dock, where loading and unloading took place. He came across a large, half-sunken-looking barge where an old man with blotchy skin—the captain, presumably—was urinating over the edge as he watched his two sailors preparing the vessel. Having overheard someone saying Lin’an was its destination, Cí waited for the captain to disembark and then asked him if he and Third could travel on the barge. The captain was suspicious: though it wasn’t unusual for villagers to travel on the barges, they usually negotiated with the shipping agents.

“The thing is,” said Cí, “I owe the shipping agent some money, but I don’t have it at the moment.” He offered the captain a handful of coins.

“That’s hardly enough!” said the captain. “And anyway, you can see how full the barge is already.”

“Please, sir. My sister’s terribly ill, and I can get the medicine she needs only in Lin’an.”

“So go overland.”

“Please…She won’t survive the trip overland.”

“Listen, boy, do I look like a charity? If you want to come along, you’re going to have to come up with the cash.”

Cí, keeping the 5,000-
qián
note secret, said the coins were all he had. The captain wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll work during the voyage,” offered Cí.

“What good will you be?”

“I’ll work hard, I promise. And I can get more money in Lin’an.”

“Who’s waiting for you there? The emperor with a sack of gold?” But then he glanced at Third, who was pale and tired after the night in the barn and the walk to the docks, and the captain’s heart seemed to soften. He spat on the ground and turned away. “Damn it! All right, you can come. But you have to do everything I
say, and when we get to Lin’an, you’ll be the one unloading
all
the cargo, got it?”

Cí couldn’t thank him enough.

The barge moved slowly, like a fish trying to extricate itself from mud. Cí helped the sailors guide the barge with thick bamboo poles, while the captain, whose name was Wang, stood at the rudder shouting and cursing. Cí wasn’t convinced they’d ever get anywhere—the barge was so low in the water with cargo. Gradually, though, the current grew stronger, and they picked up speed. Cí felt briefly soothed by the thought of leaving the village behind, once and for all.

Cí spent the day helping steer the boat away from the banks with the barge poles and fishing with a borrowed line. A sailor at the prow checked the depth of the river, and another at the stern propelled them along with a pole whenever the current slackened. When the sun went down, the captain dropped anchor in the middle of the river, lit a lantern to attract mosquitoes, and, having checked to see that the cargo was all stowed properly, announced they would start again at dawn. Cí settled down between two sacks of grain next to Third. They ate some boiled rice prepared by the crew, honoring their parents’ spirits before they began. The onboard conversation soon died down, until the only sound in the night was the lapping water. Cí continued to ask himself what he could have done to anger the gods, what it was that had provoked them to ravage his family.