Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“They opened it twenty years ago only to shut it now,” said Ming. “The traditionalists among the deans argue that surgery is somehow backward looking.” He snorted. “They expect our judges to solve crimes using their knowledge of literature and poetry.”

Cí agreed with Ming. He had attended classes at the Faculty of Medicine when he was working with Feng, and it was one of the things he missed most. But he had also been one of few who appreciated it. Most students preferred focusing on the Confucian canons, calligraphy, and poetics—these were what they’d need for the official exams, after all. And a lot of judicial work was paperwork. If you ever had to deal with a murder, most of the time you’d just call a slaughterman to clean the body and give his opinion.

But any change was a good change, considering Cí’s life recently, and he felt in his element among the students, debating philosophy, examining wooden anatomical models, taking part in impassioned judicial discussions.

His peers were surprised to find that Cí’s knowledge was by no means limited to wounds and corpses; he knew the sprawling penal code very well, and bureaucratic procedure and interrogation methods, too. Ming had put him in an advanced group of students who would have the chance to enter directly into the judiciary at the end of that academic year.

And as Ming’s confidence in Cí grew, so did Gray Fox’s envy—as demonstrated when Ming told them they’d be taking the November exam, and that they would be working as a team in mock trial at the prefecture headquarters. One of them would serve as principal judge, the other in an advisory capacity.

“You have to come up with a shared verdict,” said Ming. “If you work together, you’ll have a chance. But if you squabble, I can promise you the other teams will take advantage. Understood?”

Both Cí and Gray Fox kept their eyes lowered. Eventually they said yes.

“Good! Oh, and one other thing: the winners of this test will be in competition for the one Imperial official job with fixed tenure that we are allowed every year. Your dream job, both of you! So you’d better be well prepared.”

Gray Fox wanted to play principal judge, and Cí didn’t actually mind. What worried him, though, was that he didn’t think Gray Fox was ready. Ming accepted Gray Fox’s proposal of roles not because he made a particularly convincing case for being ahead of Cí, but simply because he had been at the academy longer.

Cí knew this was too much of an opportunity to let their animosity spoil it. He was also willing to admit that Gray Fox had a better knowledge of certain legal and literary subjects, and that they’d probably need these to stand a chance of winning. After dinner that evening, students were breaking off in pairs to get in some last-minute study time, and Cí suggested he and Gray Fox do the same.

“Tomorrow’s a big day. Maybe we could go over some cases together.”

“What makes you think I’d want to study with you? We’re only together because Ming ordered us to be; I don’t need your help. You do your job, I’ll do mine, and that’ll be the end of it.”

Cí didn’t follow him to their dormitory, but stayed up late going over his notes, and in particular the subjects Ming had suggested they concentrate on.

But there was something else worrying Cí. Going to the prefecture headquarters raised the specter of Kao once more. For all Cí knew, if the sheriff had put a ransom on his head, he might well have distributed descriptions of him, too.

Still, it was the most amazing opportunity.

In the early morning, when the characters began swimming in front of Cí’s tired eyes, he began preparing the equipment he’d brought from the cemetery. He added some large sheets of paper, charcoals, already threaded silk needles, and a jar of camphor from the kitchens. He placed his things next to the other students’ bags and made one last check that he had everything he needed.

Next he began his transformation.

Taking great care, he stuffed his nostrils with cotton, then shaved his downy beard and hid his hair beneath a cap he’d borrowed. He looked at himself in the dull bronze mirror and felt satisfied; it wasn’t a huge change, but every little bit would help.

He felt a pang of nerves as he ran to join the other students, putting on his gloves as he went.

When Ming caught sight of him, he shook his head.

“Where on earth have you been? And what’s that in your nose?”

Cí said he’d prepared the cotton with camphor to help him stand the stench of a corpse. That was why he was late.

“I’m disappointed in you,” said Ming, pointing to a stray lock of hair poking out from Cí’s cap.

Cí didn’t answer, but just hung his head and joined the others. Gray Fox looked immaculate.

It didn’t take long to reach the magnificent walled prefecture headquarters. Situated between the principal canals on Imperial Square, it took up the ground space of at least four normal buildings. It stood out pristine and enormous against the ramshackle buildings and market stalls. It also had something of a dead, desolate air. All of Lin’an knew and feared the place, but Cí perhaps more so than anyone.

When it came into sight, he couldn’t help but shudder. He pulled the cap down over his temples and wrapped his robes around him. Once they were all inside, Cí tried to hide by staying close behind Gray Fox, and only when they came to the Room of the Dead did he dare to raise his head. The camphor didn’t seem to help much; the smell of death was everywhere.

It was an oppressive room with barely enough space for everyone. To one side there was a small basin fed by a water pipe, and in the middle, the corpse, which reeked. A gaunt guard came in through the opposite doors to announce the arrival of the prefect and to give them the basic details of the case. It was a complicated case, he said, and one that required the utmost discretion: A man of about forty with a ruddy complexion had been found floating in the canal two days earlier by someone working one of the sluice gates. The corpse had been fully clothed and carrying a flask of liquor, but he had no identification card and had not been carrying any personal effects or items of value. His clothes indicated his office, but the guard wasn’t permitted to divulge which office at this point. An examination had been carried out the night before under the relevant judge’s supervision, but his conclusions also needed to remain secret.

Ming stepped forward and picked the three pairs who would be carrying out the examination. Each team would have an hour to draw its conclusions, and Ming would track time using incense sticks. He reminded them about taking notes, which they’d need for their summary. First up would be two Cantonese brothers who were experts in literary studies, then a pair advanced in the study of law, and finally Gray Fox and Cí.

Gray Fox complained that they’d be at a disadvantage if the others had already handled the body, but Cí wasn’t worried about that. The other pairs, being less versed in anatomy, would be unlikely to touch the body very much anyway, and he and Gray Fox would have the advantage of observing the first two before their own examination. Taking out his paper, brush, and ink bottle, Cí prepared to take notes.

Ming lit the first incense stick. The Cantonese brothers bowed and removed the cloth covering the corpse, but before they could begin, there was a crash behind them. Everyone turned to see a shattered ink bottle and a pool of dark ink spilling across the floor. It was Cí’s ink. He was sitting exactly as he had been—one hand still positioned as if holding the ink bottle, the other holding his brush—and staring at the corpse. There, on the examination table, lay the body of Sheriff Kao.