Sandalwood Death (29 page)

The bloodbath had blotted out the lives of twenty-seven citizens of Masang Township. People carried their dead to the embankment, where they lined up to await the arrival of the County Magistrate. Under the direction of Second Master Zhang, young men went into the river to retrieve the bodies of Little Peach and her twin children, Bao’er and Yun’er, which the currents had taken five li downriver. They were laid out beside the other victims. Her upper body was covered by a tattered coat, leaving her horribly pale, stiff legs exposed. Sun Bing thought back to her opera roles as chaste women, in her pheasant hat, a sword at her hip, and embroidered shoes with red velvet flowers on the tips. She swirled and twirled her broad sleeves as she sang and danced, face like a peach and waist as thin as a willow branch. She sang like an oriole, exuding charm with her alluring looks.
My wife, how do I accept that the blush of spring has been shattered by a hailstone chime, and worse, how do I endure the blade of wind and sword of rime, my, my, my tears of blood fall in a steady stream . . . I see the red moon sink in the west, where a silver crescent once hung high in the sky~~the shepherd’s sad song, an old crow sings in the nighttime~~bong bong goes the gong, the palanquin shafts tremble, here comes the Gaomi County Magistrate to the scene of the crime . . .

Sun Bing watched as Magistrate Qian stepped out of his palanquin, bent at the waist. His back, which had always been as stiff and straight as a board, was strangely hunched; his normally smiling face twitched horribly. The beard, once lush and full as a stallion’s tail, looked more like the scraggly appendage of a donkey. And his eyes, usually bright and keen, were now clouded and dull. His hands clenched into fists one minute and slapped his forehead the next. A squad of bodyguards, swords at the ready, followed cautiously. Whether they were protecting him or keeping watch on him was unclear. One by one, he examined the corpses laid out on the embankment under the quiet, watchful gaze of surviving family members. As his eyes swept the line of solemn villagers, crystalline beads of sweat soaked his hair. His agitated pacing ended. He wiped his perspiring face with his sleeve and said:

“Village elders and worthy citizens, you must exercise restraint . . .”

“Laoye, we want you to plead our case . . .” Wails of grief rose from the villagers, who knelt at his feet.

“Fellow villagers, please rise. This tragic incident has struck your bereaved official like a knife to the heart. But we cannot bring the dead back to life, so please prepare coffins for your loved ones. The quicker they are buried, the earlier they will find peace . . .”

“Are you telling us they died for nothing? Are you saying the foreign devils should be free to tyrannize us?”

“Fellow villagers, I share your sorrow,” said the tearful County Magistrate. “Your fathers and mothers are my parents, your sons and daughters my children. Now I must ask you, village elders and worthy citizens, to settle your mood and not take matters into your own hands. Tomorrow I will travel to the capital to seek an audience with His Excellency the Provincial Governor. I will see that you get the justice you deserve.”

“We are going to carry our dead into the provincial capital!”

“No, you cannot do that, you mustn’t!” It was a worrying possibility. “Please trust me to vigorously argue your case. I am prepared to sacrifice my feathered official’s cap for you.”

In the midst of bitter wailing on all sides, Sun Bing watched as Magistrate Qian walked up, awkwardly avoiding the villagers, and sputtered:

“Sun Bing, please come with me.”

The music swirling around inside Sun Bing suddenly reached a fever pitch, as if the earth were opening up and mountains crumbling, a frenzied soaring. His brows arched upward, his tiger-eyes rounded, as he raised his club.
You sanctimonious dog of an official, shedding crocodile tears, empty promises to plead the villagers’ case, when all along your plan is to take credit for making an arrest in haste. You speak not for the people you serve, but are a willing conspirator with the murderers we faced. My, my, my wife and children are dead, my hopes all turned to ashes, for which my vengeance they will taste. That would not change even for His Imperial Majesty the Emperor, let alone a mere Magistrate. I, I, I rub my hands and clench my fists, eager to crush the head of an official by corruption debased
. He aimed his club at Magistrate Qian’s head.
I care, care, care not, for a lopped-off head means only a bowl-sized scar. You are an accomplice to the ferocious tiger who deserves only death
. Magistrate Qian nimbly leaped out of the way, and Sun Bing’s club merely stirred up the air. The bodyguards, seeing the danger facing their Magistrate, drew their swords and rushed Sun Bing, but they were no match for a man unafraid of death; he rent the air with a shout and leaped up like a crazed beast, as fiery sparks flew from his eyes. A roar of intimidation rose from the crowd as they advanced in anger. Sun Bing swung his club, now his weapon, and connected with a fat yayi who could not get out of the way fast enough; he tumbled head over heels down the riverbank. Magistrate Qian looked into the sky and sighed.

“Hear me out,” he breathed, “I have given this much thought, as the Son of Heaven is my witness. Countrymen, this event is tied up with foreign affairs, and you must not act rashly. Sun Bing, I must let you go today, but mark my word, you may be able to make it past the first of the month, as they say, but you will not make it past the fifteenth. You are on your own, so take care.”

Under the protection of his yayi, Magistrate Qian slipped back into his palanquin, which was hoisted up by his bearers, who beat a hasty retreat and were swallowed up by the dark of night.

The residents of Masang Township passed a sleepless night, with the rising and falling of wails from women and the sounds of coffin-making continuing till daybreak.

As the day began, with neighbors helping out, the dead were placed into coffins, which were lined up on the ground and sealed with nails.

Then, after the dead were buried, the survivors, whose senses were dulled, as if they had awakened from a terrible nightmare, gathered at the levee and gazed out at the railroad shed erected in one of their fields. Tracks had already been laid up to Liuting, the easternmost village of Northeast Gaomi Township, no more than six li from Masang. Their ancestral graves would soon be overrun, their flood-relief channel filled in, and their thousand-year feng shui destroyed. Rumors flew that their souls would be taken by having their queues cut off and laid beneath railroad ties; everyone’s head was imperiled. The so-called mother and father officials were running dogs of the foreigners, and bitter times lay ahead for the people. Sun Bing’s hair turned white overnight; the few scraggly whiskers on his chin were like dead, brittle grass. He bounced around the village, dragging his club behind him, like a feverish old opera character. People felt sorry for him, assuming he was not in his right mind, so they were surprised to hear him speak with clarity and wisdom:

“Fellow villagers, I, Sun Bing, caused this devastation when I killed that German engineer, and you have suffered, for which
I, I, I feel much anguish. I, I, I am terrified of what might happen.
So tie me up and deliver me to Qian Ding and ask him to explain the situation to the Germans. He can tell them that if they alter the path of the railroad, Sun Bing will die with no regrets.”

The people lifted Sun Bing up and bombarded him with a chorus of voices:

Sun Bing, oh, Sun Bing, you are brave, upright, and bold, a man whom officials, foreign and local, must behold. Masang Township has suffered over what you did, but we knew that someday this story would be told. Better now than later, for once those foreign devils complete their railroad, all talk of peace will grow old. They say that when the fire-dragon passes, the ground trembles, and that will surely bring down our homes. We’ve heard that the Righteous Harmony Boxers have fought the foreign devils in Caozhou. So, Sun Bing, take what you need and flee for your life. Go to Caozhou and bring back those Boxers to eradicate the foreign devils, the common people’s lives to enfold
.

They took up a collection for Sun Bing and sent him on his way that very night. With tears in his eyes, he chanted:

Fellow villagers, hometown water tastes fresher, hometown sentiments are more pure. I, Sun Bing, shall not forget your generosity, and will not return without the aid you seek, that is for sure
.

The villagers chanted in return:

Your voyage will be long and arduous, so take great care. You must keep a clear head and be prepared for anything, foul or fair. We will await your return with great anticipation, for then the heavenly soldiers will our rescue declare.

————

2

————

One afternoon twenty days later, Sun Bing swaggered back into Masang Township in a full-length white robe under silver armor, six silver command flags sticking up over his back. His face, beneath a silver helmet with a fist-sized red tassel, was stained bright red, and his brows were drawn in the shape of an inverted spear; he wore boots with thick soles and carried his date-wood club. He was followed into town by a pair of fearsome generals—one walked with a quick, nimble step, wore a tiger-skin apron around his waist, and had a golden hoop around his head. He carried a magic cudgel and uttered shrill cries as he bounced and jumped down the street, all in all a fine replica of Sun Wukong, the magic monkey of legend. The second general, sporting a huge paunch, wore a loose monk’s robe and a square Buddhist hat. The manure rake he dragged behind him was a dead giveaway—he was Marshal Zhu Wuneng, or Zhu Bajie, the legendary Pigsy.

The threesome first appeared on the levee, sunlit apparitions breaking through a patch of dark clouds. With glistening armor, they presented a strange sight, three heavenly soldiers who had, it seemed, dropped out of the cloud-filled sky. The first person to see the figures, Young Master Wu, failed to recognize Sun Bing, so when Sun smiled at him, he did not know what to make of the man, and was terrified. He watched them enter the shop in the west where stuffed buns were made and sold; they did not reemerge.

As night fell, the villagers, as was their custom, took their coarse porcelain bowls out into the streets to eat their rice porridge. Young Master Wu ran from the east end of the village to the west, spreading the news that a trio of demonic figures had shown up. Most of the time, people discounted anything young Wu said, since his mind was more than a little muddled and he tended to spread wild stories. They were unsure whether they should believe him now, or treat it as a snack to go with their evening meal. But then, from the west end of the village, the clang of a gong rang out, and they saw the clerk Sixi emerge spiritedly from the shop wearing a black cat-skin cap, his face painted like a leopard cat, the tail of the cap swinging back and forth behind his neck. He sang out loudly as he banged his gong:

This Sun Bing, no ordinary man, in Caozhou learned from the Righteous Harmony band. He returned with two immortals, Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie, to uproot railroad tracks, kill the traitors, and drive out the foreign devils, till peace is at hand. Nights for Boxer training at the bridgehead, where old and young, men and women, come to watch and learn as best they can. When the magic is mastered, no bullet, no knife can harm them, it prolongs their lifespan. With the magic absorbed, all men are brothers, and all eat for free. With the magic absorbed, the Emperor grants amnesty to each and every clan. When that is done, men attain high rank, their wives and children honorary titles, and all receive food stores and land.

“Aha,” Young Master Wu exclaimed in happy astonishment, “so that
was
Sun Bing! No wonder he looked familiar, and no wonder he smiled at me.” After the evening meal, a bonfire was lit at the bridgehead to light up the night sky, attracting all able-bodied villagers, their excitement tempered by curiosity. They were there to see Sun Bing display his boxing skills.

A burner with three sticks of glowing incense had been placed between a pair of candlesticks on an octagonal table standing near the bonfire. Two thick red tallow candles flickered and burned brightly, producing a distinct air of mystery. The bonfire crackled and turned the river surface into a sheet of quicksilver. The shop door was shut tight. People were on edge.

“Sun Bing,” someone shouted, “you have been gone only a few short days. Do you think we do not know you? What good is served by acting so mysteriously? Come out and display your divine boxing skills for us.”

Sixi squeezed through the shop door and said softly:

“Not so loud. They are inside drinking the ashes of a magic charm.”

Then, with shocking abruptness, the door flew open, like the mouth of a rapacious beast. Silenced by the sight, the people waited wide-eyed for the appearance of Sun Bing and the two immortals he had brought back with him with the anticipation normally displayed for the arrival on the opera stage of a famous singer. But Sun Bing did not emerge. Silence, complete silence. Fast-flowing water crashed noisily into the bridge pilings; bonfire flames crackled like red silk snapping in the wind. The crowd was growing impatient when the silence was broken—no, shattered. The thundering, high-pitched voice of a Maoqiang old-man actor tore through the night air, a slight hoarseness enhancing its appeal:

I left my native place to avenge an evil deed
. The individual words were as clipped as joints of green bamboo, climbing one by one into the clouds above, then settling slowly to earth, where they somersaulted back into the sky, higher than before, until they were out of sight. Sixi’s gong rang out wildly, abandoning all rhythm. Finally, Sun Bing emerged from the shop. He looked the same as when he’d first appeared in the village: white robe and silver helmet, painted face and extended eyebrows, thick-soled boots and a date-wood club. Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie followed close on his heels. Sun Bing took a turn around the bonfire, running so fast his feet seemed not to touch the ground, building upon the normal gait of the old-man role by adding the acrobatic moves of the sword-and-horse role, and highlighted by short, fast-moving steps that seemed as natural as drifting clouds and flowing water. He began to kick and twist, to tumble and turn somersaults, then ended his exhibition by striking a heroic pose and singing: