The Corpse Reader (53 page)

He decided to go and see Ming, so he said good-bye to Blue Iris and headed to the palace. But on his way there he suddenly found himself surrounded by a group of soldiers. Before he could ask what was going on, one of them struck him across the face with a baton, drawing blood. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground being kicked and beaten. Soon his hands and feet were being tied, and then there was one last blow to his head—which meant that, by the time they announced he was being arrested for conspiring against the emperor, he was out cold and didn’t hear a word.

Cí woke in a dimly lit cell with several filthy inmates, one of whom was on top of him, digging through his clothes as if to find a priceless treasure. Cí shoved the man off and sat up to get his bearings. There was something wet in his eyes. Blood, he realized, touching a hand to his sticky forehead. The ragged man jumped back on top of him, but a guard appeared out of nowhere and dragged the man off before hauling Cí to his feet. Cí, dazed, looked at the guard gratefully, but then the guard punched him across the face, knocking him to the floor.

“On your feet!” the guard ordered. Alongside him stood a giant of a man holding a club.

“He said get up!” said the man, hitting him with the truncheon.

Though he didn’t feel the pain of the blow, and though he had no idea what was going on, Cí obeyed, bracing himself against the wall. Why had he been locked up, and why on earth was he being beaten like this? He began asking the men, but another blow came at him, this time to his stomach. He doubled over, winded.

Cí peered at them through the blood that had run down into his eyes. He could barely breathe. He wanted to ask for an
explanation, but instead the first guard had a question for him: “Who did you have helping you?”

“Helping me do what?” he said, tasting blood as it dripped into his mouth.

Another blow with the club opened a cut in his cheek. Cí crumpled at the impact and fell to his knees.

“It’s up to you: Tell us what we need to know now, and you can keep your teeth. Either that or we’ll knock them out and you’ll be on a porridge diet until they decide when to string you up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Ask at the palace; I work for Kan!”

“You work for a dead man?” Another blow brought blood gushing from his mouth. “Well, then you can ask him yourself—in Hell!”

When he came to again, someone was tenderly cleaning his head wounds. Through his blurry eyes, he saw that it was Bo.

“Wh…what’s going on?” asked Cí.

Bo dragged him along the floor over to a wall, far from where anyone could hear. His face was etched with concern.

“What do you mean, what’s happening? My God! You’re all anyone’s talking about at court. You’re accused of Kan’s murder!”

Cí blinked, trying to take this in. Bo dabbed at the blood on his forehead and gave him a sip of water. Cí gulped it down thirstily.

“They…they were beating me.”

“I can see that! They almost killed you,” he said, examining Cí’s wounds. “Kan’s body was examined this morning by Gray Fox, and in his view, it can’t have been suicide. There was some fortune-teller with him who was willing to testify that you’d also killed some sheriff.” Bo shook his head. “It’s this Gray Fox who’s accused you, but it’s the emperor himself who ordered your arrest.”

“But this is insane! You have to get me out of here. Feng knows—”

“Shh! The guards will hear.”

“Ask Feng,” hissed Cí. “He knows it wasn’t me.”

“You mean you’ve spoken with Judge Feng? What did you tell him?”

“The truth! Someone drugged Kan and hanged him.” Cí buried his head in his hands.

“And that was all? You didn’t say anything about the room with the bronze maker’s studio remains?”

“What about the room? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Did you mention it to him or not?”

“Yes. No! Gods, I can’t remember!”

“Damn it, Cí. If you’re determined to be unhelpful, it will be a struggle to help you. You have to tell me
everything
.”

“I have already.”

“Stop playing dumb!” Bo threw the water glass to the floor, smashing it, and was silent for a few moments. “Sorry,” he said. “Listen, Cí. You have to be completely honest with me. Are you sure you had nothing to do with Kan’s death?”

“Of course I’m sure! What is it you want me to say?” he shouted. “That I killed him? On my parents’ graves, no, but these animals are going to kill me whether I did it or not.”

“Fine, have it your way,” said Bo, getting to his feet. “Guards!” The door opened immediately, and Bo left the cell.

Cí curled up on the floor. He couldn’t understand why Bo seemed to think he was lying about Kan. He couldn’t think straight. A deep tiredness consumed him, and soon enough he fell asleep.

When he woke, he didn’t know what time of day it was, but he knew his shirt had been stolen. He glanced around, but none of the other prisoners were wearing it. He had no energy to try and look for it, and he crouched in the corner feeling ashamed, as always, at
the scars and burns on his torso. After a moment, another prisoner came over and offered him a blanket. Cí accepted, and when he glanced over at the man, he noticed familiar marks on his face. When Cí peered closer, the man recoiled, confused. But Cí saw they were exactly the same kind of scars as those on the corpse of which he’d had the portrait made.

“What are they from?” Cí asked, gesturing to the tiny scars.

“It was New Year’s,” said the man when he realized Cí meant no harm. “I was…stealing from a rich home. Food. I was hungry. I was going through crates in the pantry, when all of a sudden, boom, they went off in my face! Just exploded.”

Cí nodded for the man to continue.

“Fireworks! I was using a candle to see. Somehow I managed to light one. Never expected fireworks in the pantry…They nearly blinded me!”

Cí peered closer, shaking his head. The marks really were exactly the same. He wanted to ask if he’d ever met anyone else who had suffered the same injury, when two guards entered. The man moved quickly away, leaving Cí cowering.

“Up!” they said, but he was so weak they had to help him.

He shuffled behind them down a hallway so dark it felt as if they were at the bottom of a mine shaft. They came to a rusty old door, and when one of the guards stepped forward and knocked, Cí was gripped by a sudden certainty that this was his end. The door’s creaking hinges sounded like a death sentence. He had a brief thought of attacking his captors to try and get away, but he had no energy to do anything of the kind. When they stepped through the door, the light blinded him, and it took a moment before he could see there was a person standing in front of him.

No…Could it be?

“Feng?” He fell forward into his old master’s arms.

After the doctor left, saying Cí was lucky to be alive and instructing him to rest, Feng came and sat down on the bed beside him. It was Feng’s own bed; he had insisted Cí be cared for in his private chamber.

“Those bastards,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. I thought I’d gotten up early enough to see the emperor before anyone else could, but that Gray Fox fellow was there even earlier. It seems he came to the same conclusion as you about Kan’s not killing himself, but it’s also clear he’s not very fond of you. He was so vehement in his accusations that they alone were enough to convince the emperor you killed Kan! He also had some flea-ridden fortune-teller with him, and there was some story about a sheriff you’re supposed to have killed?”

“But—but I solved Kan’s case!”

“That was partly what helped me get you free. I assured the emperor that only yesterday you had told me the very same details Gray Fox had brought up—the dresser, the marks on the rope, the confession note—and that we were going to tell him everything this morning. It wasn’t easy to convince him, though. He made me swear on my name, and my honor, and only then did he say I could keep you in my custody. The trial’s tomorrow.”

“The trial? So he didn’t believe you?”

Feng sighed. “Gray Fox has done everything to find motives and condemn you. He found out that the emperor had offered you a place in the administration if you solved the case, and his argument was that killing Kan was the simplest way for you to do just that. And that you’re the only one who benefits from Kan’s death. Then there’s this fortune-teller.”

“That man’s a liar! You know full well—”

“It doesn’t matter what I know. What matters is they currently believe Gray Fox. And I’m finding it hard to think of evidence, hard evidence, to prove your innocence. And apparently there are a number of witnesses who saw the two of you arguing recently—including the emperor.”

Cí grimaced. His head was pounding. Feng left him to rest for a while, and he fell asleep in a whirl of fear. In his dreams, Lu kept appearing.

Waking to voices outside the window, Cí staggered over and braced himself against the ledge. He was so unsteady he thought he should lie down again, but then he saw two figures crouched down in the foliage. They glanced around nervously and spoke in sharp whispers. He couldn’t make out actual words, but the tone was clearly accusatory. Carefully and quietly, he got on his tiptoes to peer through the plants and trees to try and see who was there. He could hardly believe it, but the two figures in the bushes were Bo and Blue Iris.

He went back over to the bed and lay down again, trying to clear his head, trying to figure out some way through the labyrinth he was stuck in. All he knew for certain, for now, was that Feng was the one person he could definitely trust. Several minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and in stepped Blue Iris.

“How are you feeling?” she asked coldly.

Cí said nothing. Blue Iris stood in the doorway looking impassive, emotionless, as if they hardly knew each other, before walking over to the bedside table and putting down a tray with a pot of tea and a cup. Her hands were trembling.

“Me?” he said. “I’m fine.”

She began to pour a cup of tea.

“Oh, something I’ve been meaning to ask: How do you know Bo?”

She almost dropped the teapot.

“Sorry,” she stammered, mopping up the spilled liquid. “That happens,” she said, gesturing at her eyes to indicate her blindness. “Bo? I don’t think I know anyone by that name.”

Cí said nothing more; he was going to need every advantage he could get.

“We haven’t had a chance to talk about the other night,” said Cí.

“What about it?”

“Sleeping together. Though I suppose it’s nothing out of the ordinary for you.”

She went to slap him, but he caught her wrist.

“Let go,” she cried. “I’ll scream!”

Cí let go just as Feng walked through the door calling Cí’s name. Blue Iris cleared her throat as she moved away from the bed.

“I spilled the tea,” she explained.

Feng seemed oblivious to any tension. He simply helped his wife wipe up the tea and then held the door for her, seeing she got out all right. When she’d gone, Feng said Cí looked much improved, but he was still concerned; the trial the next day was only getting closer, and he hadn’t been able to figure out anything in terms of Cí’s defense.