Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

The forcible loss of Sun Bing’s beard had introduced profound changes in his life.

He lay in bed that morning staring up at the rope hanging from the rafters, waiting to hear whether or not his daughter had been successful in her intended assassination. He was ready at a moment’s notice to take his own life, for he knew that however the attempt turned out, he was not likely to avoid implication, which would mean imprisonment—again. He knew the horrors of the county lockup from his earlier experience, and would kill himself before going back there.

He stayed in bed the whole day, awake most of the time and sleeping the rest, or lying somewhere between the two, and at those times the image of that thug seemed to fall out of the moonlit sky straight into his head. Big and tall, he had powerful legs and moved like a black cat, quick and nimble. Sun Bing had been walking down the narrow cobblestone lane that ran from Ten Fragrances Tower to the Cao Family Inn; the stones beneath his feet turned a watery bright in the moonlight, as he dragged a long shadow behind him. His legs were rubbery, his head foggy, thanks to his drinking and whoring at Ten Fragrances Tower, so when the man in black suddenly appeared in front of him, he thought he was seeing things. But the man’s chilling laughter quickly cleared his head. He instinctively dug out the few coins he had in his pocket and tossed them to the ground in front of him. As the coins clinked on the stone-paved road, he slurred the words “Friend, my name is Sun Bing; I’m a poor Maoqiang actor from Northeast Gaomi Township. I just spent all my money on a bit of debauchery, but come see me where I live someday, and I’ll sing a whole play for you.” The man in black did not even look at the coins on the ground. Instead, he pressed closer and closer, so close that Sun Bing felt a chill emanating from the man’s body. He was clear-headed enough to realize that he was face to face, not with a run-of-the-mill mugger who wanted money, but with someone intent on harming him. His mind spun like a carousel as he scrolled through his potential enemies and backed up slowly, all the way to a corner formed by a pair of walls, out of the moonlight. The man in black, however, remained in the light, silvery rays reflecting off his body. Though his face was masked, the outlines of his face were discernible, and the loose black sack that hung from his chin down past his chest flashed into Sun Bing’s field of vision, a sight that opened up a crack in his mind to let in the light of understanding; the image of the County Magistrate seemed to emerge from the cocoon of black clothing. A sense of terror was abruptly replaced by loathing and contempt. “So, it’s His Eminence,” he said disdainfully. More chilling laughter was the response of the man in black as he took hold of the loose sack and shook it, as if to confirm the accuracy of Sun Bing’s conjecture. “So tell me, Your Eminence,” Sun Bing said, “what do you want from me?” He clenched his fists in readiness to engage the County Magistrate, who was disguised as a man of the night. But before a punch was thrown, his chin felt as if the skin had been ripped off, and he saw that the man was holding a handful of his beard. With a screech, Sun Bing rushed at his attacker. Half a lifetime of singing opera had taught him how to execute a somersault and perform tumbling acts, and although these were only play-acting martial moves, in a fight with a scholar they were more than adequate. Sun Bing’s anger stoked his fighting spirit as he moved into the moonlight to accost the man in black. But before his first punch landed, Sun Bing was lying flat on his back, his head reverberating from thudding against the stones in the lane; he lost consciousness from the excruciating pain, and when he came to, the man in black was standing over him, his foot planted on Sun Bing’s chest. He had trouble breathing. “Your Eminence,” he said with difficulty, “didn’t you already pardon me? Then why…” More chilling laughter, but not a word in response. He reached down and grabbed Sun’s beard, yanked hard, and pulled most of it out of his chin. Sun Bing screamed in agony. The man in black tossed the beard away, picked up a stone, and stuffed it into Sun’s mouth. Then, with amazing skill and strength, he jerked out the remaining whiskers. By the time Sun Bing struggled to his feet, the man in black was gone, and if not for the searing pain in his chin and the back of his head, he’d have thought it had all been a dream. But there was also the stone that filled his mouth, which he removed with his fingers and immediately burst into tears. He looked down on the ground, and there, in the moonlight, he saw the remnants of his beard on the cobblestones, like clumps of water grass, still twitching sadly.

Just before nightfall, his son-in-law walked in buoyantly, tossed him a chunk of flatbread, and walked out, still buoyant. His daughter did not return until it was time to light the lamps. In the glow of red candlelight, she appeared to be wild with joy, not at all like a woman who had just killed someone, not even like a woman who had tried but failed to kill someone. She was acting like a woman who had just returned from a wedding banquet. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, she said sternly:

“Dieh, you could not have been more wrong if you had tried. Magistrate Qian is a scholar whose hands are as soft as cotton batting. How could someone like that be a masked thug? If you ask me, you let those whores of yours pour horse piss down your throat, and you went half blind and half mad. I can’t think of any other reason why you would say something so crazy. Think about it: if His Eminence wanted your beard removed, do you really think that he, a high official, would do it himself? Besides, if he wanted your beard gone, he could have made you do it yourself after the contest, couldn’t he? Why go to the trouble of pardoning you? Not only that, but with what you said about him, he could have had you killed on the spot or put you in the local lockup and left you there to die, like so many before you. But instead he challenged you to a contest. Dieh, you have already left your forties and entered your fifties, so you ought to act your age instead of whoring around and womanizing. The way I see it, the old man in the sky sent someone down to remove that beard of yours as a warning, and if you don’t wise up, the next time it will be your head.”

His daughter’s rapid-fire rebuke made Sun Bing break out in a sweat, and he gazed at her, feeling that something was amiss, however serious she might look. The absurdity of it all had him thinking that most of what she’d said sounded nothing like his daughter. She’d become a different person in the space of a single day.

“Meiniang,” he said with a sneer, “what magic has that Qian fellow performed on you?”

“Is that the sort of thing a father says to his daughter?” she replied angrily. “Magistrate Qian is an upright gentleman who would not look cross-eyed at me.” She took a silver ingot out of her pocket and tossed it onto the bed. “He said about you, ‘He’s a damned actor acting like a turtle awaiting an Imperial Edict.’ No proper man acts like that. He is giving you fifty taels of silver to disband the opera troupe and go into business for yourself.”

Burning with indignation, Sun Bing was tempted to throw the silver back to show what a Northeast Gaomi Township man was made of. Instead, once he picked up the ingot, its cold heft made it impossible to let go.

“Daughter,” he said, “this ingot isn’t lead wrapped in tinfoil, is it?”

“What are you talking about, Dieh?” Meiniang’s anger was palpable. “Don’t think I don’t know how you treated Niang. The way you cheated, it’s no wonder she died an angry woman. Then you let our black donkey nearly bite me to death! For that alone I’ll hate you for the rest of my life. But I’m stuck with you. No matter how much I resent you, you’re still my dieh. If there’s only one person in the world who wishes you well, that person will be me. Please, Dieh, take Magistrate Qian’s advice and do what’s right. If you can find the right woman, marry her and live a peaceful life for as long as you have.” And so Sun Bing returned to Northeast Gaomi Township with the silver ingot, a trip characterized by nearly uncontrollable rage one minute and unbearable shame the next. When he met people on the road, he covered his mouth with his sleeve to keep them from seeing his blood-streaked chin. Not long before he arrived home, he stopped alongside the Masang River to take a look at his reflection; looking back at him was a truly ugly face, striped with wrinkles, frosty gray temples, all in all the face of a doddering old man. With a sigh, he scooped up some water to wash his face, no matter how much it hurt, before heading home.