Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

The city stood implacable and proud, sheltered by the wooded hills to the west and open to the river on its south side. An enormous flood ditch and a magnificent stone and earth wall prevented access directly from the water.

A slap around the ear from Wang brought Cí to his senses. “Stop gawking and row.”

It was another hour before they found a place to dock; they stopped across from one of the city’s seven great gates, where Wang had decided it would be a good place for Cí and Third to disembark.

“It’s the safest option,” he assured them. “If anyone’s watching for you, it would be near the rice market or the Black Bridge on the north side, where goods are unloaded.”

Cí thanked Wang for his help. During the three-week voyage, the captain had done more for them than all the people in their village ever had. Moodiness aside, Wang was the kind of man you’d trust with your most valuable possessions. And Cí had done just that by trusting him with his and Third’s lives. Wang had gotten them safely to Lin’an, given Cí work, and hadn’t asked questions. In many ways, the captain reminded Cí of his father, and Cí knew he’d never forget him.

Cí took one last look at Ze’s leg and the progress of the scarring under the pressure of the ants’ mandibles. It looked good, but Cí left a few mandibles in place.

“You can pull the rest of the heads off in a couple of days—make sure you leave your own on, though!” Cí slapped him on the back and they both laughed in farewell.

He took Third by the hand and shouldered his bag. Before he got off the boat, he looked back at Wang, wanting to thank him again, but before he could, Wang stepped forward.

“Your wages,” he said, handing Cí a purse of money. “And one piece of advice: Change your name!”

In any other circumstance, Cí would have refused the unexpected money, but he needed it badly to stand a chance of surviving in Lin’an. He tied the purse to his belt and hid it beneath his shirt.

“I…” Before Cí could gather himself to respond, the old captain had turned around and begun to push the barge away from the dock.

Cí trembled as he reached the gigantic wall with its whitewashed bricks and the Great Gate set in its center. Now that his dream to return to Lin’an was within reach, unfamiliar fear gripped him.

Don’t think, or you’ll never do it.

“Come on,” he said to Third. Diving into the vortex of people entering and leaving the city, they stepped across the threshold of the Great Gate.

Everything was exactly as Cí remembered: the shanties lining the banks, the overwhelming smell of fish, the noise of carts rumbling along the streets, food and drink at every turn, sweating youths struggling with bellowing animals, red lanterns swaying on workshop porches, shops selling silk and jade and trinkets, brightly colored stalls clustered together like carelessly stacked tiles, boisterous stall keepers vending their wares and shooing away children.

They were wandering through all of this when Third started tugging at Cí’s sleeve. She had caught sight of a colorful candy kiosk, presided over by a man who looked like he might be a fortune-teller. Cí was sad that Third was so excited; there was no way he could waste money on a handful of candy. He was just about to say so when the fortune-teller came over.

“Three qián ,” he said, holding out two pieces of candy to Third.

Cí considered the little old man and his toothless smile as he shook the pieces of candy in his hand. He was wearing a donkey pelt, which gave him a half-repulsive, half-extravagant air and competed as an oddity with his cap, which was made from dried sticks and little windmills. He had a shock of gray hair that made him look like the closest thing to a monkey Cí had even seen.

“Three qián ,” he insisted, smiling.

Third reached out for them, but Cí stopped her.

“We can’t,” he whispered to her. “Three qián would buy us enough boiled rice to feed us for a whole day.”

“Oh!” said Third, turning very serious. “But I think candy might be the only thing I can eat!”

“She has a point,” said the old man. “Take one, try it.”

“Please, we don’t have any money.” He pulled Third’s hand away. “Come on, let’s go.”

“But he’s a fortune-teller,” whimpered Third. “If we don’t buy from him, he’ll curse us!”

“He’s a fake. If he really knew the future, he’d know we can’t spend any money.”

Third nodded. She cleared her throat, but this became a cough, and it stopped Cí cold. It was a cough he knew all too well.

“Feeling all right?”

She coughed again but said she was OK. Cí didn’t believe her, not for a moment.

They made their way toward Imperial Avenue. Cí knew this area near the gate, between the old interior wall and the outer wall. Not a day had passed when he worked for Judge Feng that he hadn’t been down to these slums, the city’s poorest and most dangerous quarter. It was a frightening place, where women sold themselves on corners, men rolled around drunkenly, charlatans and robbers roamed the streets, and if you looked at the wrong person you’d risk having your throat slit. It was also where informants could be found.

Cí began to worry about where they’d sleep that night. He cursed the law that meant government officials were obliged to work somewhere different from their place of birth. It had been put in place to try to stop the nepotism, corruption, and bribery that had been so commonplace. But it also meant government officials were cut off from their families—and that Cí and Third had no one to turn to in all of Lin’an. In truth, they didn’t have any people anywhere—their father’s siblings had emigrated south and died in a typhoon, and they didn’t know their mother’s family.

They had to hurry. When night came, the area would quickly become even more dangerous. They had to find shelter somewhere else.

Third complained, and with good reason. She’d been hungry for quite a while, and Cí hadn’t gotten her any food yet, so she sat down on the ground and refused to go on.

“I’m hungry!”

“We don’t have time now. Get up or I’ll have to drag you around.”

“If we don’t eat, I’ll die,” she said, crossing her arms. “Then you’ll have to drag me around anyway.”

Cí looked at her remorsefully. Yes, they should rest for a bit. He looked around for a food stall, but they all looked too expensive; then he caught sight of one with a small crowd of beggars around it. He approached and asked the prices.

“You’re in luck,” said the vendor, who smelled nearly as offensive as the food he was selling. “Today we’re giving it away.”

In fact, a portion of noodles cost Cí two qián —a rip-off.

When he brought the food to Third, she glowered. She’d never liked noodles; they were what the barbarians in the North ate.

“It’s all there is.” Cí sighed.

She placed a few noodles in her mouth but spat them out immediately.

“It tastes like wet clothes!”

“How do you know what wet clothes taste like?” Cí asked sternly. “Stop complaining and eat up.”

But when he tried some, he couldn’t help but spit them out also.

“Filth!”

“Stop complaining and eat up,” sang a rather smug Third.

No sooner had Cí thrown the leftovers to the ground than the nearby beggars were devouring the mush. He grabbed Third and soon found some boiled rice; seeing Third was still hungry after wolfing hers down, he gave her the rest of his.

“What about you?” she said through a mouthful.