Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

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…