Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

Once he was sure Feng wasn’t coming back in, Cí went straight over and picked up the fallen piece of paper. He found it wasn’t a page from the book, but rather a letter Feng must have slipped in there. Its stamp was his father’s, from their village. He unfolded it and began reading.

Dear Feng,

Though there are still two years left of my mourning period, I wanted to let you know of my strong desire to return immediately and serve under you again. As I’ve said in previous letters, Cí is keen to take up his studies at the university, a wish I share.

In the name of both your honor and my own, I cannot accept being accused of these disgraceful actions. I am innocent. Nor will I stay in this village and leave you to endure or try to cover up these rumors of embezzlement. They who accuse me of corruption are themselves ignominious, and I am not afraid of them. I am innocent and want to prove it.

As luck would have it, I kept copies of the irregularities in your accounts. These constitute clear refutations of the accusations.

There’s no need for you to come to the village. If, as you say, you are against my returning to Lin’an because you want to protect me, I beg of you, permit me to return so that I can bring this evidence forward and defend my own name.

Your humble servant.

Cí was utterly dumbfounded.

Cí’s father believed himself innocent; Feng knew that Cí’s father believed himself innocent. But when Cí had told Feng about the university’s refusal to issue him a Certificate of Aptitude because of his father’s dishonor, Feng had acted as though Cí’s father had been guilty.

Cí took a deep breath, trying to get clear what might in fact have happened during Feng’s visit to the village. If his father had his mind set on going back to Lin’an, why the change? What kind of terrible pressure would have been exerted for him to renounce his honor and accept the charges? Why did Feng even come to the village after Cí’s father had said not to? And how did Lu’s conviction fit into it?

The main thing Cí felt was regret. He’d distrusted his own father at the first opportunity. He felt himself, not his father, to be the real disgrace. A small cry escaped him.

Hateful thoughts threatened to swallow him up, but he tried to remain calm. What was Feng’s role in all of this? He knew that this man, who had recently treated him like a son, was in fact a miserable traitor—that much was clear—but he still hadn’t worked out Feng’s exact place in the labyrinth.

Getting to his feet, putting the folded letter away in an inside pocket, he started looking for answers.

First he searched Feng’s room from top to bottom—on shelves, behind paintings, under carpets—looking for other documents or anything else that might be of use, but he found nothing. Then he went over to the desk. The top drawers contained mainly writing materials, stamps, and blank paper. Nothing of interest—except for a drawstring pouch containing a small amount of black powder. Cí sniffed it and sneezed: gunpowder. A lower drawer was locked. He thought about smashing it but, not wanting to leave any marks, opted to remove the drawer above it and reach down through the gap. He found a wooden panel in the way. He looked around the room, his eyes alighting on the serrated fruit knife Feng had brought. He managed to saw a hole in the panel and squeezed his hand through this. His finger brushed against some kind of fragments. He thrust his hand further in, tilted the desk back so that the pieces would roll into his hand, and pulled them out. Here was another thing he could barely believe: In his palm lay pieces of ceramic, exactly the same green ceramic as the pieces stolen from his room. Among them was a tiny globe of stone covered in dried blood, and this was what truly astonished him.

He tried to leave everything exactly as he’d found it, then slipped out, taking the evidence from the drawer and the trial book hidden in his pockets and sleeves.

Safely back in his own room with the door shut, Cí took out everything he’d brought from Feng’s room and began examining them.

The remnants of the mold weren’t new to him, but on closer inspection he saw that the little stone globe that had been among them had small wooden splinters stuck in it. Its surface was cracked, as if it had undergone some kind of impact. His heart leaped. He hurried over to his tools and equipment, where he had the other objects he’d been collecting during the investigation, and took out the small bag containing the splinters he’d found in the wound of the man with the corroded hands. His own hands trembled as he held these shards up against the little globe. The splinters completed it. There was no mistake: They were of a piece.

For one brief moment, he thought he had sufficient evidence to unmask Feng in front of the emperor. But Feng was no amateur. As he now knew all too well, Feng was capable of manipulation of the highest order. It was possible he also had enough cruelty to murder several people. Moreover, Cí had already shown Feng all his cards. He needed more evidence. He needed help.

Who can I turn to?

Blue Iris…He still didn’t know where Blue Iris fit into the puzzle, but at that moment she seemed like his only possible chance.

He found her sitting in the salon. She looked relaxed, her gaze in some far-off place only she knew; a cream-colored cat purred in her lap. Hearing Cí come in, she let the cat jump down and turned her head in his direction. Her grayish eyes looked more beautiful to him than ever.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.

She gestured to the divan across from her.

“Have you recovered?”

“I’m much better,” he said. “But there’s something I’m much more worried about than my health. And I think it should be of concern to you, too.”

“Go on,” she said, emotionlessly.

“I saw you with Bo. This morning, in the gardens. I have to presume you were discussing something very serious for you to lie to me about not even knowing him.”

“I see!” she shot back at him. “Not content with spying, now you dare to accuse as well! You should be ashamed. Since the moment you turned up in this house, all we’ve had from you is one lie after another.”

Cí went quiet; this had gotten off to a bad start. His instinct was still that Blue Iris was the only person he could trust. He apologized for being so forthright, but he was desperate, he said.

“Strange as it might seem, my life is in your hands. I really need to know what you and Bo were talking about.”

“And why would I want to help you? Lies, lies, and more lies, that’s all I know about you. Now Bo accuses you and—”

“Bo?”

“Well, in a way,” she said, and then went quiet.

“Tell me what happened!” he implored, getting to his feet. “Don’t you understand? It’s my life that’s being played with here!”

“Bo said…Bo told me…” She was trembling now like a frightened child.

“What?” shouted Cí, shaking her by the shoulders. “What did he tell you?”

“He suspects Feng!” At this, she covered her face and broke down.

Cí let go of her. It was the best answer he could have hoped for, but he didn’t know what to do with it.

He sat down next to Blue Iris and wanted to embrace her, but something stopped him.

“Iris…Feng is not a good person. You should—”

“And what do you know about good people?” She turned her teary eyes in his direction. “Were you the one who stood by me when the world rejected me? Who nursed me and looked after me all these years? No. You had me for a night, and suddenly you think that gives you the right to order me around. Just like all the rest! Get you in bed, treat you like a dog. No! You don’t know Feng. He’s cared for me. There’s no way he could have done all the terrible things Bo was saying…” She broke down again.