The Corpse Reader (15 page)

Cí took his sister’s hand and backed away, stumbling with worry and doubt. Clearly the magistrate had followed through on his threat to implicate Cí in Shang’s murder—or the Rice Man had reported him for stealing the 300,000
qián
the magistrate had appropriated. Sheriff Kao was the man they’d sent to get him.

The sheriff had probably warned the rest of the neighbors in the vicinity, so they walked near the walls to avoid being seen. Cí considered staying in one of the inns near the gate. It obviously wasn’t the most suitable area, but the rooms would be cheap, and no one would come looking for them there.

They came upon a dilapidated building with a sign advertising inexpensive rooms. Its uneven walls abutted a restaurant that stank of rot. Cí parted the threadbare drape at the entrance and went over to the manager, a brute of a man, half-asleep and reeking of alcohol. The manager didn’t even look at Cí; he just extended a palm and said it was fifty
qián
up front. This was all Cí had. He tried to barter, but the drunkard spat—he couldn’t have cared less. Cí was wondering if they had any other options when Third began coughing again. This ill, she couldn’t sleep on the streets, but if he accepted the price, there would be nothing left to buy her medicine.

At least until I find some work.

He wanted to think he’d be able to find some work. He paid and asked whether there was a key.

“Ha! You think the people who stay here have anything valuable enough that they’d need a key? The room is at the back, third floor. And one thing: I don’t care if you’re having sex with that child, but if she dies, you’d better get her out of here. We don’t want problems with the law.”

Neither did Cí, so he squelched the impulse to give the man the punch he deserved.

They walked along the hallway, where voices and laughter filtered through the drapes covering the doorways of the rooms, and went up some rickety stairs. The rancid smell of sweat and urine made Cí retch. There was hardly any light, though their room faced the river, which could be seen through cracks between the bamboo reeds that had been used to patch a wall. There was a stained mat on the floor—the last thing someone would want to sleep on. He kicked it aside and took a blanket out of his bag. And again, Third started coughing.

I must get medicine now.

The ceiling was so low he could barely stand up straight. How could that swindler charge so much for such a tiny space, filled only
with trash and the bits of broken bamboo left over from the wall repairs? He took some of these pieces and stacked them up, making an arch and covering it with the mat to form a shelter. Then he wiped some of the floor dirt on Third’s face in the hope that this would camouflage her in the dark.

“Listen, this is really important.” Third’s wide eyes were like lights embedded in her grimy face. “I have to go out, and I’ll be back really soon, but while I’m gone…do you remember how you hid the day the house burned? Well, I want you to do that again now. Don’t make a peep until I get back, OK? If you do a good job, maybe I’ll bring you some of that candy the fortune-teller had.”

Third nodded. Even if Cí didn’t entirely believe she’d do as he said, what choice did he have?

As they were covering her up, Cí said a prayer for his parents to watch over her. Then he rummaged through his bag for anything he might be able to sell. He’d get nothing for the four cloths and the knife he’d brought from the village. The only thing he had of any value was the
Songxingtong
, his father’s copy of the penal code. But he’d need to find someone interested in buying something so specialized.

He had to go to the book market stalls around the Summer Pavilion at the Orange Gardens. The network of canals was the quickest way to get around the mazelike city, so to save time, he hopped on a barge along the Imperial Canal.

He arrived at the market at the best time of day, when the students left class to drink tea and browse the recent arrivals from the printers in Hionha. Cí recognized himself among these aspiring government officials, who were dressed neatly in loose-fitting black shirts and hungry for knowledge—at least he recognized the person he’d been a year ago. He was envious of the conversations he overheard about the importance of knowledge, the invasions in the North, the most recent thinking on neo-Confucian trends. He had to remind himself what he was there for at that moment.

There were many copies of the penal code at the stalls specializing in legal texts. He found an edition similar to his, bound in purple silk, and he held it up to the vendor.

“How much?”

The vendor picked up the book and opened it admiringly.

“Hmm. I see you know a true piece of art when you see it: a handwritten
Songxingtong
, in Master Hang’s distinctive calligraphy, no less…ten thousand
qián
. I’m virtually giving it away.”

Cí refused with a smile—he’d forgotten how everything for sale in Lin’an was being “given away”—but judging by the number of noblemen browsing at this particular stall, the books probably were quite valuable. An old man with an oiled mustache and wearing a bright red gown and cap—the attire of a great master—picked up the edition Cí had been looking at. He asked the vendor the price and grimaced at the answer. But he kept looking at it, and then announced he’d get some money and come back to buy it.

Cí didn’t think twice.

“Please excuse the intrusion, venerable master, but I saw the book you were interested in.”

The old man stopped, looking somewhat alarmed.

“I’m in a hurry. If you want to know about joining the academy, you can speak to my secretary.”

“It isn’t that,” said Cí. “The book you were looking at—I have an almost identical copy I can sell you for far less.”

“A handwritten
Songxingtong
? Are you sure?”

Cí took it out and showed him. “Five thousand
qián
,” he said.

The old man examined it carefully before handing it back.

“I’m very sorry, but I don’t buy from thieves.”

“Sir, the book was my father’s, and I swear I wouldn’t be selling it unless I really had to.”

“Right. And your father is…?”

Cí frowned; he was worried about revealing his identity. The old man started to walk away.

“Sir, I swear I’m not lying…I can prove it!”

The old man stopped again. Cí knew it was risky enough to address a stranger this way, let alone detain him. The old man could easily shout out to the police, who were always patrolling the market. But he turned around and challenged Cí.

“Go on, then.”

Cí shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

“The
Songxingtong
, Section One.” Cí began to recite the opening paragraph. A few sentences later, the old man interrupted him.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’ve seen this trick a hundred times. What about a part that isn’t right at the beginning?”

“Anything!” said Cí. “You can pick, or even ask me a question! Any part you like.”

The old man squinted at Cí and, seeing he was serious, began leafing through the book. Holding it open at a certain point, he cleared his throat.

“Very well, wise man: On the division of days…”

That part! It’s been months since I’ve read it.

“OK,” he said, stalling for time. “No problem…”

He shut his eyes again, and could hear the old man begin to tap his foot.

“The days are divided into eighty-six parts!” Cí almost shouted. It came flooding back. “A workday is made up of the six hours between sunrise and twilight. Night is another six, making a total of twelve hours every day. A legal year has three hundred and sixty full days, but a person’s age is counted based on…the number of years since his birth was announced at the public register—”

“OK, OK.”

“I swear, sir, the book belongs to me. And I need the money for my sick sister. Five thousand
qián
, please.”

The old man looked the book over again. Cí knew it was beautifully bound and handwritten with the most careful of brushstrokes—the lettering was almost vibrant. Aside from the words, just looking at it was an emotional, poetic experience.

“I’m sorry,” the old man said, handing the book back finally. “It’s truly magnificent, but I can’t buy it. I promised the vendor I’d buy his, and keeping my word is worth more to me than saving some money. It would also be wrong to buy it cheap because you’re desperate. Here’s what we’ll do: take a hundred
qián
, and keep your book. I can tell it would pain you to sell it. And don’t be offended about the money; consider it a loan. I’m sure you’ll get it back to me when you’ve figured out your situation. My name is Ming.”

Cí didn’t know what to say. He felt ashamed but knew he had to take the money anyway; he swore he’d repay Ming before the week was out. The old man nodded with a knowing smile before going on his way.

Cí took off in the direction of the Great Pharmacy, which he knew was the only place he had any chance of buying Third’s medicine for less than a hundred
qián
.

When he arrived, there were a number of families shouting and complaining. Going past the private entrance, he went up to the charity counters, where there were two groups, the second of which included children who were running all over and making noise.

As he lined up in this second group, his heart skipped a beat: there was the sheriff with the pockmarked face, Kao! He was inspecting the parents with children, one by one. He must have learned of Third’s illness.

Cí was about to sneak away when he bumped into the sheriff’s hound. It turned to sniff him, and Cí feared someone in the village had given it a piece of his clothing to smell. Cí backed away, and the hound began to growl. It thrust its snout toward Cí’s hand, and
Cí was on the verge of turning and running when the dog began licking his fingers.

The noodles! Cí hadn’t washed his hands since eating the noodles. He let the hound lick him, then turned and made his way slowly toward the first group.

A shout made him jump. “Stop right there!”

Cí obeyed, heart in mouth.

“If you’re here to get medicine for a child, go back to the other line!”

Cí breathed a sigh of relief—it was just the attendant. But as he turned to go back to the other line, he found himself face-to-face with Kao, who recognized him instantly.

The second it took for the sheriff to shout a command seemed to last an eternity. The hound leaped up to tear a strip out of Cí’s throat, but Cí was already off and running. He dove into the crowded street, knocking over carts and baskets to try and block Kao and his dog. He sprinted in the direction of the canal.

Swerving between carts, he crossed the bridge, but just when he thought he was safe, he slipped and fell, dropping his father’s book. He tried to grab it, but a beggar appeared out of nowhere and snatched it up. Cí thought about pursuing him, but the sheriff and the hound were close behind. He got up and started running again.

He grabbed a hoe as he ran past a tackle stall, and then leaped onto an abandoned barge on the canal, thinking he would cross it and jump onto a moving barge, but the hound leaped after him. It looked possessed as it bared its teeth and growled. Kao was coming up behind. Cí gripped the hoe tightly and swung it at the dog, but the animal dodged, then lunged forward and sank its teeth into Cí’s calf. Though he didn’t feel any pain, Cí saw the teeth going in deeper, and he brought the hoe down on the dog’s head. Its skull cracked, and when he hit it again its jaw loosened. Kao stopped, dumbfounded.

Without thinking, Cí jumped into the river. He broke through the surface layer of old fruit, reeds, and scum and felt water rush through his nose. He dove under a barge, and when he resurfaced, he saw that Kao had grabbed the hoe and was following him along the bank. He dove again and swam to the far side of the barge, holding on to its edge. Then he heard shouts announcing the opening of the sluice gates, and he remembered how dangerous it was to be in the water when the locks were opened, how people died that way…

It’s my only way out.

He let go of the barge, and a torrent of water whipped him downriver, tossing and buffeting him around. Once he was through the first sluice gate, the main danger was being smashed against the side of a barge. He was carried toward the second gate, convinced that any minute he’d be crushed. But he got through the second gate and then managed to grab onto a loose cable. The water level rose rapidly around him, and the barges and boats squeezed close together, threatening to squash him.

He tried to use the cable to climb up one of the canal walls, but his right leg wasn’t working. Lifting it just above the surface of the water, he saw how bad the bite was.

Damned animal!

Using only his left leg and his arms, he scrambled up to the edge of the dock. He turned and collapsed, then saw Kao on the far side. With no way of reaching Cí, Kao kicked the ground in obvious frustration.

“Run all you want! I’ll find you! I’ll get you! No matter what!”

Cí didn’t reply but dragged himself up and went off, half-hopping, into the crowds of Lin’an.