Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“What you need now are prayers, not classes,” he said.

Ming cared for Cí through his recovery and praised him for all his hard work. But he reproached him too—his powers of analysis had made him aloof and isolated him from his peers.

At night, Ming’s words, along with the doubts as to his father’s honor, preyed on Cí’s mind. If he really wanted to achieve his dream, he realized, he’d have to purge the ghosts from his heart.

He decided to confess everything to Ming.

When he was able to walk, he went to Ming in his private apartments. His master was shrouded in a cloud of incense smoke as he carried out his nightly prayers, and when he opened his eyes he looked far away, his face waxy and pale. He invited Cí to sit. Cí did, though then he didn’t know where to begin.

“Whatever it is,” Ming said softly, “it must be important if you’ve decided to interrupt my prayers.”

Ming knew how to turn the burnt ends of a branch into a fine brush, just right for the job.

Cí poured out his heart, revealing everything: who he was, where he was from, the strange infirmity that prevented him from feeling pain, his time at the university, his time as assistant to Judge Feng, the deaths of his family members, his solitude. He told Ming about his father’s dishonor. He confessed that he himself was a fugitive, and that the corpse from the prefect’s test had been that of the very sheriff who had been tracking him.

Ming listened impassively, delicately sipping at his steaming tea. He looked as though he’d heard the story a thousand times. When Cí finished, he put his cup down and looked Cí firmly in the eye.

“You’re twenty-two now. A tree must always be held responsible for the fruit it bears, but not the other way around. Nonetheless, I believe that if you look deep in your heart, you’ll find reasons to be proud of your father. I see those reasons in you, in your wisdom, in the way you carry yourself, in your manners.”

“My manners? Since I’ve been back in Lin’an, my life has consisted of farces and lies, one after another—”

“You’re young and ambitious, and that makes you impetuous sometimes, but I don’t see you as heartless. If you were, this remorse, which prevents you from ever sleeping properly, wouldn’t be a factor. And as far as your lies go…” Ming took a sip of his tea. “This might not be good advice, but I would say you just need to learn to lie better.”

Ming got up and made his way to the library, returning with a book Cí recognized only too well.

“A butcher who has memorized the Songxingtong ? A gravedigger who, despite having only just arrived in Lin’an, knows where to buy something as rare as cheese? A poor country boy who’s forgotten everything—except for a detailed knowledge of wounds and anatomy?” He looked Cí in the eye. “Did you really think you could fool me, Cí?”

Cí didn’t know what to say.

“I saw something in you. Behind all the lies, I saw the shadow of sadness. Your eyes were innocent and helpless. And you were begging for help.”

That night, for what felt like the first time in his life, Cí slept. But the next day, news came that overwhelmed him.

PART FIVE

23

Cí was up early, honoring his dead and cleaning Ming’s patio, like any other morning. After breakfast he hurried to the library and immersed himself in the compendium of forensic procedures he’d been working on, and which he was scheduled to present later that day. Halfway through the morning he realized he hadn’t included certain passages from the Zhubing Yuanhou Zonglun , or General Treatise of Causes and Symptoms of Illnesses , and he wanted to be sure to add some of the information it contained. The volumes he needed were in Ming’s apartments.

Unfortunately, Ming had been called away at the last minute to a meeting at the prefecture. If Cí waited for him to get back, he wouldn’t have his compendium ready in time for the presentation, but he was strictly forbidden from entering Ming’s apartments without permission.

This is a bad idea .

He pushed open the door to Ming’s library and felt his way forward in the darkness. He ran his hands over the shelves, and then shuddered when he came to the place where he knew the volume should be. There was a gap.

It wasn’t easy in the dark, but he didn’t want to light a lantern. Cí kept searching, and finally he found the volume he was looking for on Ming’s desk, underneath another silk-bound book.

This is a bad idea.

Just as Cí put his hand on the book, Ming entered. Startled, Cí dropped both books to the floor. The silk-bound volume fell open to some pictures of nude men.

“I…needed…the Zhubing Yuanhou Zonglun ,” stuttered Cí. “For the presentation.”

They both looked down at the book with the naked men.

“It’s…an anatomy book,” said Ming, grabbing it up off the floor.

Cí nodded and dropped his head. He couldn’t understand why Ming would try to pretend. They both knew full well what books of physiognomy looked like, and they never depicted men in sexual positions. Cí stuttered an apology and asked permission to leave.

“Strange,” said Ming, barely containing his anger. “You ask me if it’s all right to exit, but you didn’t bother to see if I’d mind your entering.”

“Please excuse me. It was foolish.”

“Tell me,” said Ming, ignoring Cí’s request, “have you ever stopped to ask yourself why anyone would show you the kindness I’ve shown you?”

“Often.”

“Do you think yourself worthy of it?”

Cí frowned. “Not really, no.”

“And do you know where I’ve just come from? The prefecture. And they’ve just invited me to help on a case—an outrageous crime that even the sickest of minds would be hard pressed to execute. And when they asked me to go to court, do you know what I did? I said I wanted you as my assistant. I told them I have a truly exceptional student with unprecedented acumen when it comes to forensic work. I spoke about you as if you were my own son…and this is how you repay me? Betraying my confidence while I’m away? Snooping?” He slammed his hands on the desk. “After everything I’ve done for you!”

Cí was trembling and silent. Everything he should have said was tumbling through his mind: that he would never have entered without permission unless it had been of the utmost importance, that he’d wanted to present the compendium as completely as possible, precisely so Ming would be proud of him. He couldn’t make the words come out, and he turned away, trying to hide his tears.

“Not so quickly,” said Ming, grabbing him by the arm. “I gave them my word you’d present yourself at court. And so you will. But after that, don’t bother coming back. Get your things and never show your face here again.” And with that, Ming let go of Cí’s arm.

Under normal circumstances, Cí would have given anything for a chance to go to the Imperial Palace. But at that particular moment, all he wanted was to regain Ming’s favor.

It was with deep sadness that he walked with the group making its way along Imperial Avenue. Two officials led the way, drumming on tabors to announce the presence of the prefecture judge, and a multitude of townspeople milled around them, looking up at the man on his litter and hoping for any bit of gossip to do with torture or execution. Ming was at the rear, looking despondent. Cí couldn’t stop glancing back at him.