The Corpse Reader (7 page)

Just confess, brother.

With the next turn, the contraption creaked. An animalistic wail shook the room. Cí couldn’t watch. When he opened his eyes again, blood was pouring from Lu’s mouth. Cí was just about to shout for mercy when Lu crumpled over.

The magistrate ordered the guards to cease. Lu signaled to the magistrate, who ordered the guards to take the mask off.

“I…confess…” croaked Lu.

Hearing this, Shang’s eldest son rushed over and kicked Lu, who barely seemed to notice. The guards pulled the son away and then raised Lu onto his knees to thumbprint the confession paper.

“In the name of the all-powerful Heaven’s Son,” the magistrate announced, “I declare Lu Song has confessed to the murder of the worthy Shang Li. Execution will be by decapitation.”

The magistrate stamped the sentence and concluded proceedings by ordering the guards to take the defendant out. Cí tried to say something to his brother, but Lu pushed him away. Their father was prostrate before Shang’s family, begging forgiveness, but they ignored him and left. Cí went over to help his father, who waved him away before getting to his feet and dusting himself off. Without a word, he exited the hall, leaving Cí alone with his bitter thoughts.

But then he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Cherry, who had crept away from her family.

“Try not to be too upset,” she whispered from beneath her hood. “My family will see you’re not all like Lu.”

“Lu has dishonored us,” Cí managed to say. He tried to push her hood back.

“I have to go,” she said. “Pray for us.”

Although he knew he’d now be free of his brother, Cí felt overwhelmed with remorse. He felt in his brother’s debt. Because he’d protected him when they were younger? Because he worked hard for the family? The tragedy of the moment made Cí forget how Lu had abused him, and all his ignorance and roughness. Cí didn’t even care, just then, that Lu was a criminal. He was his brother, and that was all. The Confucian teachings had drummed into Cí respect and obedience for his elders; he somehow couldn’t acknowledge the idea that Lu was a murderer. Violent, yes, but a killer?

When Cí woke the next morning, everything seemed the same at first—it was still raining, and lightning could still be seen off in the distance—but then he remembered: Lu was gone.

He found Feng and his aide at the stables. Feng told Cí that he was leaving immediately on a mission that would last several months; he would be traveling overland to Nanchang, and from there they’d take boats along the Yangtze River to the northern frontier.

“But how can you go now, with Lu about to be executed?”

“That won’t happen straightaway,” said Feng, explaining that, in cases of capital punishment, the Imperial High Tribunal in Lin’an had to confirm the verdict. “Lu will be at the state prison until the confirmation is sent. And that won’t happen before autumn.”

“And what about an appeal?” implored Cí. “Could we lodge an appeal? You’re the best judge in the land, and—”

“Cí, there’s nothing to be done. The magistrate knows about these matters, and he’d be deeply offended if I tried to interfere.”
Feng passed a bundle to his aide and paused a moment. “The one thing I could perhaps do is recommend they transfer your brother to Sichuan, to the west. I know the governor at the salt mines there. If they work hard, prisoners are allowed to live longer.”

“But what about the proof? No one in their right mind would kill for three thousand
qián
—”

“You said it:
in their right mind
. Do you really think that’s what Lu is? That story about winning money when he left the tavern…” Feng made a dismissive gesture. “Is an angry drunk able to make rational decisions?”

“Will you speak to the magistrate?”

“I’ll try.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.” Cí knelt down.

“I’ve never told you this, but I think of you like a son, Cí,” Feng said, making him stand up. “The God of Fertility has never given me one of my own. All small-minded people want are possessions, money, fortune, when the most valuable thing is a descendant to look after you in your old age and honor you once you’re gone.” Lightning flashed outside. “Damn this storm! That was nearby,” he muttered. “I must go. Say good-bye to your father for me.” He placed his hands on Cí’s shoulders. “When I’m back in Lin’an, I’ll make the appeal.”

“Promise you won’t forget about Lu.”

“Don’t worry.”

Cí knelt and touched his forehead to the ground—to hide his bitterness, as much as in respect. When he got up Feng was gone.

Cí wanted to speak to his father, who had shut himself in his room. Cí’s mother told him to leave his father alone, that anything they
did to try to help Lu would only bring more dishonor to the family. Cí decided it was up to him to do something about the appeal.

He asked for an audience with the magistrate, and when he was ushered in to see him, Cí was surprised to be offered something to eat.

“Feng has told me a lot about you,” said the magistrate. “It’s a real shame about your brother; such a sad affair. But these things happen—don’t dwell on it. Take a seat and let me know how I can be of service.”

Cí was shocked by how pleasant the magistrate was being.

“Judge Feng said he’d talk to you about the mines in Sichuan,” said Cí, bowing. “He said it might be possible to send my brother there.”

“Ah, yes, the mines…” The magistrate popped a piece of pastry in his mouth, then licked his fingers. “Listen. In the old days there was no need for laws; it was enough to have the five audiences. The background to a case was presented, the changes on the faces of the audience members were observed, their breathing and their words listened to, and in the fifth audience their gestures were scrutinized and counted. You didn’t need anything else to discern the blackness of someone’s spirit.” He took another mouthful. “But things are different now. Nowadays, a judge may not, let’s say…
interpret
events with the same…
informality
. Understand?”

Cí didn’t entirely, but he nodded politely anyway.

“Now, in terms of your request for him to be transferred to Sichuan…” He wiped his hands on a napkin and got up to look through some documents. “Yes, here it is: in certain cases, the death penalty can be changed to exile if, and only if, a family member pays sufficient compensation.”

Cí listened attentively.

“Unfortunately, in your brother’s case, there’s no room to maneuver. He is guilty of the worst of crimes.” He paused a
moment to reflect. “In fact, you should be thanking me. If I had decided that Shang’s decapitation had anything to do with ritual magic, not only would Lu be facing death by a thousand cuts, but your whole family would be exiled forever.”

I could think of worse fates.

Cí pressed his fists together. He understood that in the eyes of the law the convict’s parents could share the guilt, but he wasn’t sure what the magistrate was getting at.

“Bao-Pao mentioned to me that your family has property. An area of land worth quite a lot.”

Cí nodded.

The magistrate cleared his throat, chuckling. “Bao-Pao also suggested that, under the circumstances, it might be better for me to speak with you than with your father.” The magistrate shut the door and then settled down again at the table.

“Apologies,” said Cí, “but I’m not sure I understand.”

The magistrate shrugged. “The first thing on my mind is a decent meal, but perhaps while we eat, we can come to some agreement on
the sum
that might be needed to free your brother from his predicament.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Cí thought about the magistrate’s proposal—400,000
qián
was exorbitant, but at the same time it was nothing if it meant saving Lu’s life. When Cí entered his house, his father was looking through some papers. His father hid them away in the red chest and turned on Cí.

“The next time you come in without knocking, you’ll be sorry.”

“You keep a copy of the penal code, I presume?” replied Cí. Cí knew his father would think him impudent, so he continued before any rebuke could come. “We have to talk. There might be a way to help Lu.”

“Says who? That swine Feng? Buddha! Why don’t you forget about your brother? He’s brought shame on this family.”

“It doesn’t matter who told me. The important thing is that we might be able to use our savings to spare Lu’s life.”

“
Our
savings?” said Cí’s father, his eyes wild. “Since when have you saved any money? Forget about your brother and keep away from Feng.”

“But father! The magistrate told me if we bring four hundred thousand
qián
—”

“I said forget it! You have no idea! In six years as an accountant I didn’t make more than one hundred thousand! From now on it’s just us, so you’d be better off saving your energy for the fields.” He crouched down and covered the chest with a cloth.

“Father, there’s something about the crime that doesn’t add up. I can’t just forget Lu—”

Cí’s father slapped him. At that, Cí turned and left the house, ignoring his father’s shouts to come back, and trying to understand how his father had become a menacing old man.

He walked through the rain to Cherry’s house. The funeral altar had become a soggy pile of candles and flowers. He straightened it a bit, then walked past the main entrance on his way to the shack where Cherry often went. He knocked three times with a stone—their code—and waited. He waited for what felt like forever, but then she knocked back.

It was difficult for them to spend time together. The strict rules governing engagement defined precisely the events and festivals at which they were allowed to see each other. Nonetheless, they managed to cross paths from time to time, arranging to go to market on the same day, or brushing hands at the fishing platforms, or stealing looks when no one else was watching. Even though he was never allowed inside, the visits at the shack gave them privacy.

He wanted her. He fantasized about the touch of her pale skin, her lovely round face, her full hips. But it was her feet that he dreamed most about—they were always hidden. He knew Cherry’s feet had been bound by her mother since birth to make her seem like she was from an upper-class family, and he imagined they were as small and graceful as his young sister’s.

The hammering rain brought Cí back to the present—a night when not even dogs would have been sleeping outside. It was raining as though the gods had burst the banks in the heavens. As he sat in the darkness, he was sure it must be the worst night of his life. He remained there, preferring being drenched to returning home and confronting his father again. He whispered to Cherry through the slatted wall that he loved her, and she knocked once to signal she had heard. They couldn’t talk much for fear of waking her family, but it was enough that she was so close. He curled up against the wall, preparing to spend the night sheltered under the eaves of the shack. He fell asleep thinking about the magistrate’s offer.