Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“But from there to saying the corpse was a eunuch?”

“Something just struck me. Right after I arrived in Lin’an I was unfortunate enough to witness a castration of a child whose parents wanted the boy to be an Imperial eunuch. That poor boy has stayed with me so strongly…And then all the details fell into place.”

Ming didn’t say another word on their way back to the academy. Cí tried to guess his mood, but his clenched jaw and hard eyes didn’t bode well. Cí thought his pride might have been hurt by not figuring out the eunuch. The situation reminded him of when he’d tried to help Feng and it had ended worse than he could have imagined, with his brother being accused. Although Cí had already effectively been expelled, he had a feeling things were about to get even worse.

As they arrived at the academy, Ming announced that he had a meeting, and that Cí was to wait for him so they could talk. He said he would be back by nightfall.

No sooner had Cí crossed the academy threshold than the guard appeared and took him by the arm.

“A man came by earlier,” he said, leading Cí into the gardens, “and claimed to be your friend. I told him you weren’t here and he went into a rage, so I kicked him out.” He lowered his voice, stopping to face Cí. “He said something about being a fortune-teller, about a reward or something. I thought you should know. Be careful. If the professors see you hanging around with his kind, they won’t like it. Not one bit.”

Cí flushed. Xu had found him, and it would seem he was ready to follow through on his threats. Cí felt his world crashing down. He was being kicked out of the academy, and Xu was going to be there waiting to report him the moment he set foot on the streets. Even though Ming had told him to wait, Cí knew he had to pack his things and flee the city before things got any worse.

Cí wandered through the academy for the last time. The empty classrooms struck him as somehow desolate, as if the sorrow crushing him were contagious. The walls seemed like mute witnesses to his vain efforts; they were part of the dream from which he was now forced to wake. When he passed the library and its shelves lined with generations’ worth of knowledge, it felt like a hammer’s blow to his already dejected state of mind.

Night was falling as he made his way along the streets of Lin’an. He walked aimlessly through the city he knew so well. He thought that he would walk until he happened upon a wagon or a boat—anything—that could take him far away. He went to the house he’d lived in with his parents and Third in what seemed another lifetime, and he stopped, silently wishing that someone would come to a window, open it, call out to him. But no one came. He was about to continue on, when all of a sudden four soldiers came around the corner and ordered him to stop. He recognized one of them from the palace.

“The Corpse Reader?” said the highest-ranking soldier.

“That—that’s what they call me,” stammered Cí.

“We have orders to take you with us.”

Cí didn’t put up a fight.

They took him to the prefecture building, where they covered his head with a hood and put him in the back of a cart. During the journey through Lin’an he heard insults being hurled by people who must have thought him a criminal being taken to the gallows, but gradually these subsided, and eventually the cart came to a stop somewhere extremely quiet. Cí heard the squeak of gate hinges followed by voices, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. The mules were whipped into action and the cart continued on for a while. Suddenly the cart came to a halt and Cí, with the hood still on, was helped down. He was led along a paved path and up a slippery ramp. He began to smell mildew and earth, and he had a terrible feeling he wouldn’t be leaving this place alive. He heard a key turn in a lock, and then a hard push to his back caused him to stumble forward. The lock turned again, and everything went quiet.

He thought he was alone, but then he heard footsteps, and the hood was suddenly removed.

“On your feet!” ordered a voice.

A burning torch was held up. Cí could feel its heat on his face and was blinded by it. The soldier holding it stood back, and Cí’s eyes began to adjust to the dungeon darkness. There were no windows, only filthy walls, rank and damp and cold. The soldier pushed him into the next room, where torture instruments hung on the walls. At the far end of the room was a stout figure surrounded by a group of sentries. The man, who had only one eye, came forward.

“We meet again,” said Councilor Kan.

“What a coincidence,” said Cí.

“On your knees.”

Cí cursed himself for not having fled the city more quickly. Hanging his head, he prepared for the worst. But instead of a deathblow, another figure stepped forward into the torchlight. Cí saw a pair of curved shoes decorated with gold and inlaid gemstones. As he slowly looked up, his eyes came to a mother-of-pearl belt, then a red brocade tunic, and a magnificent gold necklace. Before him stood a slim, ill-looking man with an intense gaze. He wore the royal seal that confirmed what Cí thought from the man’s attire: this was the emperor. Cí began trembling.

To look upon the Heaven’s Son without express authorization meant death. The first thing that occurred to Cí was that the emperor wanted to watch him executed. He gritted his teeth and waited for it to come.

“Are you the one they call Corpse Reader?”

“That is what some call me, Your Highness.”

“Get to your feet and follow us.”

Cí was helped up. This couldn’t be happening…The emperor, and the Councilor for Punishments to his right, were immediately swallowed up by a coterie of attendants and guards. They went ahead down a dimly lit passageway, and Cí, escorted by two sentries, followed.

After crossing a narrow hallway, they came into a large, vaulted room, in the center of which were two pine coffins. A number of torches flickered in the darkness, casting a little light on the bodies inside. The guards and assistants departed, leaving Cí and his two escorts alone with Kan and the emperor. Kan nodded, and the escorts brought Cí closer to the coffins.

“His Imperial Highness requires your opinion,” said Kan, with more than a hint of a grudge in his tone.

Cí stole a glance at the emperor, noticing how emaciated the man was, and turned to the first coffin. The corpse was an elderly man, of thin build and long limbs. The face was entirely worm-eaten, and the belly—which had a gash that looked familiar—had also been devoured by worms. Cí estimated that the man had been dead for five days, but he didn’t say anything yet.

He turned to look at the second body, that of a younger man in a similar state of decomposition. Maggots spilled out of every orifice, and a wound above the heart teemed with them.

Cí had no doubt that both men had died at the hands of the eunuch’s killer. He began telling Kan this but was interrupted by the emperor.

“You may address me directly,” he said.

Cí turned toward him but was so overwhelmed that it took a moment for him to speak. When he was able, he managed to conjure a steady voice. His conclusion, he explained, was based on the unusual characteristics that were common among the three corpses.

“All three deaths were caused by a single type of wound made by the same weapon, a curved knife—and then a bloody excavation took place in an attempt to open up the torso and extract something. And the widths of each fissure, and the appearance of their edges, are very much alike.”

This was the part that didn’t make much sense to Cí. An arrowhead could snap off, but what was the likelihood of this happening twice, or three times, in exactly the same way?