Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

Afterward, Ming raised an eyebrow.

“That’s all?” he asked.

“That’s all that could be surmised from the corpse. Gray Fox’s observations were, in my opinion, well founded and astute. They match as much as I could determine.”

“In that case you should have paid better attention. All of the students have come to the same conclusions. We don’t keep you here to parrot the stupidity of others.” Ming was silent a moment as he scrutinized Cí. “And even less to try and trick us!”

Cí blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, really? Do you honestly think I’m stupid?”

Cí had no idea how much Ming knew he knew. “I don’t understand—”

“By the gods! Stop acting, for once! Don’t you think I was watching when you discovered whatever was in the ear? That I didn’t see what you were doing when you covered the body over, or the satisfaction on your face afterward?”

Cí said nothing.

Ming snorted. “Get out of my sight, both of you! Out!”

As they scrambled out, they could hear Ming muttering, “Damned little liar…”

Cí spent the rest of the day in the library meditating over what seemed an intractable problem. He kept coming to the same conclusion: he was going to have to renounce his dream and flee Lin’an. Finally he picked up a brush and began writing down every detail of what he had really surmised, without deciding what he’d actually do with the report. How he envied Gray Fox. He’d seen him laughing with some classmates, and they’d been drinking, too. It didn’t seem as though the failure mattered in the slightest to Gray Fox. Before going in for dinner, he had come tottering over to Cí. His eyes shining and a stupid grin on his face, he’d offered Cí a drink.

“Come on, partner ,” he said when Cí refused. “Forget about Ming. Drink!”

Alcohol was an amazing thing, thought Cí; this was the first time in his months at the academy that Gray Fox had addressed him with something other than an insult. He declined the drink again.

“Know what?” said Gray Fox. “I hated you, right up until this afternoon. Clever Cí, brilliant Cí …But you weren’t clever or brilliant today, were you? How did you put it? ‘Gray Fox’s observations were, in my opinion, well founded and astute.’ Ooh, I liked that. Here.” He thrust the drink at Cí again and laughed heartily.

Cí took a drink, hoping it would make Gray Fox leave him alone, and felt the heat of the rice liquor invade his throat and stomach. He wasn’t used to drinking such strong stuff.

“Brilliant!” laughed Gray Fox. “A bunch of us are going out later for dinner at the Palace of Pleasure. We’ll toast Ming’s health! Why don’t you come?”

“No, thank you. I wouldn’t want Professor Ming to find out.”

“What if he does? We aren’t prisoners here, you know. Ming’s just a bitter old man; nothing’s ever enough for him. Come on, we’ll have a great time! Meet us after the second evening gong, down by the fountain. All right?” He left the pitcher of liquor there and went swaying off, singing to himself.

Cí grabbed the clay pitcher. For all his contemplation, he still didn’t know what to do. If he revealed what he knew, he’d rise in Ming’s estimation again, but the risk was huge. If he kept his mouth shut, he’d forsake his dream of joining the judiciary…He took another drink. And another. There was something comforting in the liquor, and gradually his mind clouded over and his problems floated away.

The second gong struck, and Cí was surprised to find himself still in the library. How much longer would Ming let him stay at the academy?

And could he possibly care less?

He heard the sound of laughter from the gardens, got unsteadily to his feet, and went downstairs. Four students, each of them with a drink, stood around Gray Fox by the fountain. Cí stopped and watched them for a minute before heading toward his room. But he heard Gray Fox calling after him, his voice amiable and persuasive. Then Gray Fox was next to Cí with his arm around him, cajoling him, saying they’d have a great time. Cí reasoned that at least it would be a chance to iron things out with Gray Fox.

At the Palace of Pleasure, Cí encountered women more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. He and Gray Fox and the other students were seated at a booth. Cí looked around at the whirl of rich young men, students, merchants—and the dancers. The painted “flowers” gyrated like water lilies on an eddying pool as lutes whipped up the excitement further. The women went around the room, giving men glimpses of their small, bound feet and driving them wild. Gray Fox greeted friends and staff as if he owned the place. Soon two smiling women joined them, and Gray Fox was pouring more drinks.

“Nice, aren’t they?” said Gray Fox as he stroked one of the girls’ legs. “Listen,” he told them, “this is Cí, the Corpse Reader, my new partner. He talks to ghosts, so be nice to him, very nice, or he’ll turn you into donkeys!”

Cí wasn’t entirely comfortable with his lusty thoughts when the two girls came and sat on either side of him. It had been a long time since he’d touched a woman, and he’d forgotten what their soft skin felt like, and what the caress of their perfumes could do to him.

The food arrived, and there was so much, and such variety, that the well-known saying about Lin’an—that here you could eat anything that flew except the comets, anything that swam except boats, and anything with legs except tables—seemed entirely apt. Snails in ginger, eight-gem pudding, pearl crabs, fried rice, ribs with chestnuts, freshwater fish, dragon-teeth oysters…The warm rice wine kept flowing, and Cí drank it all down. Gray Fox—the change in whom astonished Cí—kept encouraging Cí to indulge.

He hardly needed encouragement. The two “flowers” were seeing to that.

The first time he felt one of their hands slip between his legs, he spat out his drink. The second time, he tried to set them straight: their perfume and their red lips stirred him in all the right ways, but he didn’t have the money to thank them for their attentions. They didn’t seem to care, and they started kissing his neck.

Pleasure crackled down Cí’s spine and goose bumps spread over his flesh. Gray Fox and the others were laughing and cheering for him to go off with the girls.

It didn’t take him long to decide. The last couple of swigs of rice wine had transported him into a hazy, vertiginous world of caresses and sweet smells. He was about to kiss one of the girls when a hand clutched his shoulder.

“Let go of her and get yourself another one!” roared an older man carrying a stick.

Gray Fox intervened. “What? Leave him alone!”

But the man ignored Gray Fox, grabbing the girl by the arm as though he were going to rip it from her body and knocking the table of food over at the same time. Cí jumped up to stop the man, but in an instant the man struck Cí across the face with the stick. Cí fell to the floor, and just as the man was about to deliver another blow, Gray Fox leaped on him. Immediately five or six members of the restaurant staff dived in to separate them.

“Goddamned drunkard!” said Gray Fox, wiping blood from a cut on his hand. “They should be stricter about who they let in.” He helped Cí to his feet. “Are you all right?”

Cí wasn’t sure what had just happened, but whatever it was, it hadn’t cleared the alcohol from his brain. Some staff helped the two of them over to a quiet corner; the others in the group stayed with the two women.