Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

Of the Six Gentlemen, only Lin, Yang, Yang, and Kang numbly performed the rite of kowtows to her. Tan Sitong and Liu Guangdi held their necks straight and refused to kowtow.

Then the functionary announced loudly:

“Criminals, give thanks for the blessings of His Imperial Majesty!”

After this announcement, all six men kowtowed. Tan Sitong banged his head on the platform as if he were crushing cloves of garlic, interspersed with shouts:

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty, I have failed you, Your Majesty!”

The thuds from Liu Guangdi’s kowtows were loud and insistent; tears lined both sides of his gaunt face.

In a voice that betrayed his discomfort, Gang Yi gave the command:

“Carry out the sentence!”

Zhao Jia bowed deeply to the Six Gentlemen.

“I will send Your Excellencies to your glory,” he said softly.

He braced himself to drive out all personal thoughts and concentrate his strength and spirit into the wrist of his right arm. In his mind, the execution sword and his body had already merged. He took one step forward, reached down with his left hand, and grabbed the tip of Liu Guangdi’s queue. With it he pulled Liu’s head toward him to expose the taut skin of his neck. Thanks to years of experience, he immediately spotted the precise spot where the sword would enter the neck. He lowered Liu’s head slightly as he turned to the right before he would swing back and bring down the sword in one motion, when a desperate howl emerged from the throng of spectators:

“Father—”

A tall, lanky, and badly disheveled young man stumbled forward at the very moment Zhao Jia was about to slice the sword through Liu’s neck. He aborted the move. His wrist felt the power of the bloodthirsty Generalissimo in that sudden stop. The young man staggering up to the platform was Liu Pu, Guangdi’s son, whom he had met that time in the little temple outside Xizhi Gate. A surge of compassion that had been suppressed for many years by weighty professional considerations flowed past his heart. Bewildered soldiers, armed with red-tasseled spears, recovered from their shock and rushed up in confusion. A badly shaken Gang Yi jumped to his feet and cried out shrilly, “Grab him.” Palace guards behind him drew their swords and converged on the young man, but before they could use their weapons, Liu Pu fell to his knees and was kowtowing to Gang Yi. That stopped the guards, who gaped vacantly at the handsome young man, whose ashen face was wet with tears and snot.

“Be merciful, Your Excellency,” he pleaded with Gang Yi. “Let me take my father’s place…”

Liu Guangdi looked up and, choked with sobs, managed to say:

“Pu, my son, don’t be foolish…”

Liu Pu crawled forward on his knees and gazed up at his father, his words muffled by sobs:

“Father, let me die in your place…”

“My dear son…” Liu Guangdi sighed. His face was haggard, his features twisted in his agony. “I want no extravagant funeral, and you are to take no bereavement gifts from anyone. Do not send my body back to my hometown, but bury it somewhere nearby. Once that is done, I want you and your mother to leave Peking and return to Sichuan. I want my descendants to receive an education, but I want no sons or grandsons to sit for an official examination. I entrust all this to you. Now, leave, and don’t make me waver in my resolve.” With that he closed his eyes, stretched out his neck, and said to Zhao Jia, “Old Zhao, do it now. For the sake of our friendship, make it a good job.”

Zhao’s eyes burned. He was nearly in tears.

“I promise, Your Excellency.”

Liu Pu howled from below the platform and crawled on his knees up to Gang Yi.

“Excellency… Excellency… let me take my father’s place…”

Gang Yi covered his face with his wide sleeve.

“Take him away!”

Soldiers rushed up and dragged the hysterical, sobbing Liu Pu away.

“Carry out the sentence!” Gang Yi commanded.

Zhao Jia grabbed Liu Guangdi’s queue for the second time. “An offense against Your Excellency,” he said softly as he made a rapid half circle, and Liu Guangdi’s detached head was in his hand. It felt extraordinarily heavy, the heaviest he’d ever held. Both hands—the one holding the sword and the one dangling Liu’s head—ached and felt swollen. Holding the head high over his own, he announced loudly to the Chief Witness:

“May it please Your Excellency, the sentence has been carried out!”

Gang Yi merely glanced at the platform before quickly averting his eyes.

Zhao Jiu followed custom by displaying the severed head to the observers. Some shouted their macabre appreciation; some wept openly. Liu Pu lay on the ground unconscious. Zhao Jia saw that the eyes in Liu’s head were open, the eyebrows raised. A grinding sound emerged from between chattering teeth; he was convinced that Liu’s brain was still functioning and that the eyes saw him. His left arm, in which he held the severed head, was getting sore and numb. Liu’s queue was like a slippery eel struggling to break free from the sweaty, blood-streaked hand holding it. There were tears in the great man’s eyes, which dimmed slowly, like cinders dying out from splashes of water. When Zhao Jia laid the head down, he noticed that it wore a peaceful look, and that made him feel better. “Excellency Liu,” he muttered under his breath, “as promised, I made a good job of it. You did not suffer, and I did no disservice to our friendship.” He now turned to the others and, with the help of his apprentice, dispatched Tan, Lin, Yang, Yang, and Kang with the same practiced skill. Thus, with consummate skill, he demonstrated his respect for the Six Gentlemen.

The capital was abuzz with talk of the spectacular execution, with most of the discussion centering on two aspects: one was the exceptional skill of the executioner, Zhao Jia; the other was the disparity in how the six men faced their deaths. People said that after Liu Guangdi’s head was severed, it wept copious tears and called out to the Emperor, and when Tan Sitong’s head left his neck, it proudly intoned a seven-syllable quatrain…

This new folklore, which contained particles of truth, burnished Zhao Jia’s reputation and elevated this ancient yet lowly profession far enough up the social ladder for people to take approving notice of it. It also insinuated its way into the Palace, like a gentle breeze, where it reached the ears of Cixi, the Empress Dowager. It would soon pave the way for great glory to find its way to Zhao Jia.

In the early morning hours, high-ranking officers from the Tianjin branch of the Right Imperial Guard led a delegation that included a military band and a cavalry unit to the little pier on the northern bank of the Hai River to welcome the return of the Vice Minister of War and Judicial Commissioner of Zhili, Yuan Shikai, from Peking, where he had presented longevity gifts to the Empress Dowager Cixi upon Her resumption of the Regency.

Among the members of the delegation were the Deputy Chief of the Military Affairs General Staff, Xu Shichang, who would later serve as President of the Republic of China; Deputy Adjutant of the Office of Military Affairs and future President of the Republic of China, Feng Guozhang; Zhang Xun, future Changjiang Patrolling Inspector and so-called “Pigtail General,” who would later attempt to restore the abdicated Emperor Pu Yi; Duan Zhigui, Commander of the Second Infantry Battalion and future Chief of the Republic of China General Staff; Commander of the Third Artillery Battalion and future Premier of the Republic of China, Duan Qirui; Xu Bangjie, Commander of the Third Infantry Battalion and future General Director of the Republic of China Presidential Palace; Deputy Commander of the Third Infantry Battalion and future Premier of the Republic of China, Wang Shizhen… all relatively young, enterprising military officers whose ambitions were not, at the time, excessive. None could possibly have imagined that within a matter of decades, the fate of China would rest in the hands of this cadre of men.