Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“With three thousand qián ? Everyone knows a buffalo costs at least forty thousand!”

“It was going to be a down payment.”

“It was money you’d stolen! You just agreed you lost all your money at dice, or that you never had any, and your own father has confirmed that you’re in debt.”

“I won that three thousand off someone after I left the inn.”

“Oh! And who might that have been? I imagine they’d be willing to testify?”

“No…I don’t know…I’d never seen him before. Some drunkard who wanted to play, and I won. He told me they were selling buffalo cheap in Wuyishan. What should I have done? Given him his money back?”

Judge Feng approached the evidence table and asked permission to speak. Then he turned to Lu, untied the purse from the accused’s belt, and showed it to Shang’s eldest son, who didn’t look at the coins but stared at the purse itself.

“That was my father’s,” he spat.

As terrible as the situation was, Cí couldn’t help but admire Feng’s shrewdness. There was a custom among peasants to personalize their purses.

The magistrate nodded and looked over the documents again. “Tell me, Lu,” he said, “do you recognize this sickle?”

Lu had shut his eyes in seeming disinterest.

“According to the report,” continued the magistrate, “Judge Feng concluded that this is, without a doubt, the murder weapon. Even though this, along with the money, would be sufficient to condemn you, the law still obliges me to ask you to confess.”

“But I’ve already said—”

“Damn you, Lu! Out of respect for your father you haven’t been tortured yet, but you’re leaving me little choice.”

Lu laughed maniacally. “I couldn’t care less!”

A guard hit him across his back with a cane. The magistrate made a gesture, and two guards dragged Lu over to a corner.

“What now?” Cí asked Feng.

“He’ll need the gods on his side if he hopes to resist the Mask of Pain,” replied the judge.

5

Cí was trembling. He knew about the Mask of Pain, yet he also knew that if someone was accused but didn’t confess, any proof against them would be worthless.

The sheriff came forward with the sinister-looking wooden mask; it was reinforced with metal and had two leather straps hanging down. At his command, two of the guards grabbed Lu, who writhed and kicked as they tried to tie the contraption to his face. Cí went numb as he watched his brother howl and bite. Several of the women turned away in fright, but when the guards secured the mask, applause broke out. The sheriff approached Lu, who, having been struck a few more times, had stopped struggling.

“Confess!” shouted the magistrate.

Although he was in chains, Lu was stronger than the guards restraining him, and he suddenly lashed out, hitting the nearest one with the stocks and rushing toward Cí. The guards intercepted Lu and subdued him with another beating before chaining him to the wall. The sheriff struck Lu across the face.

“Confess, and you might be able to eat rice again!” said the sheriff.

“Take this off me!”

At a gesture from the magistrate, the sheriff tightened a handle on the mask, making Lu howl. The next turn of the handle applied pressure directly to his temples, and Lu let out another cry. A couple more turns, Cí knew, and his brother’s skull would crack like a nut.

Just confess, brother.

With the next turn, the contraption creaked. An animalistic wail shook the room. Cí couldn’t watch. When he opened his eyes again, blood was pouring from Lu’s mouth. Cí was just about to shout for mercy when Lu crumpled over.

The magistrate ordered the guards to cease. Lu signaled to the magistrate, who ordered the guards to take the mask off.

“I…confess…” croaked Lu.

Hearing this, Shang’s eldest son rushed over and kicked Lu, who barely seemed to notice. The guards pulled the son away and then raised Lu onto his knees to thumbprint the confession paper.

“In the name of the all-powerful Heaven’s Son,” the magistrate announced, “I declare Lu Song has confessed to the murder of the worthy Shang Li. Execution will be by decapitation.”

The magistrate stamped the sentence and concluded proceedings by ordering the guards to take the defendant out. Cí tried to say something to his brother, but Lu pushed him away. Their father was prostrate before Shang’s family, begging forgiveness, but they ignored him and left. Cí went over to help his father, who waved him away before getting to his feet and dusting himself off. Without a word, he exited the hall, leaving Cí alone with his bitter thoughts.

But then he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Cherry, who had crept away from her family.

“Try not to be too upset,” she whispered from beneath her hood. “My family will see you’re not all like Lu.”

“Lu has dishonored us,” Cí managed to say. He tried to push her hood back.

“I have to go,” she said. “Pray for us.”

Although he knew he’d now be free of his brother, Cí felt overwhelmed with remorse. He felt in his brother’s debt. Because he’d protected him when they were younger? Because he worked hard for the family? The tragedy of the moment made Cí forget how Lu had abused him, and all his ignorance and roughness. Cí didn’t even care, just then, that Lu was a criminal. He was his brother, and that was all. The Confucian teachings had drummed into Cí respect and obedience for his elders; he somehow couldn’t acknowledge the idea that Lu was a murderer. Violent, yes, but a killer?

When Cí woke the next morning, everything seemed the same at first—it was still raining, and lightning could still be seen off in the distance—but then he remembered: Lu was gone.

He found Feng and his aide at the stables. Feng told Cí that he was leaving immediately on a mission that would last several months; he would be traveling overland to Nanchang, and from there they’d take boats along the Yangtze River to the northern frontier.

“But how can you go now, with Lu about to be executed?”

“That won’t happen straightaway,” said Feng, explaining that, in cases of capital punishment, the Imperial High Tribunal in Lin’an had to confirm the verdict. “Lu will be at the state prison until the confirmation is sent. And that won’t happen before autumn.”

“And what about an appeal?” implored Cí. “Could we lodge an appeal? You’re the best judge in the land, and—”

“Cí, there’s nothing to be done. The magistrate knows about these matters, and he’d be deeply offended if I tried to interfere.” Feng passed a bundle to his aide and paused a moment. “The one thing I could perhaps do is recommend they transfer your brother to Sichuan, to the west. I know the governor at the salt mines there. If they work hard, prisoners are allowed to live longer.”

“But what about the proof? No one in their right mind would kill for three thousand qián —”

“You said it: in their right mind . Do you really think that’s what Lu is? That story about winning money when he left the tavern…” Feng made a dismissive gesture. “Is an angry drunk able to make rational decisions?”

“Will you speak to the magistrate?”

“I’ll try.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.” Cí knelt down.

“I’ve never told you this, but I think of you like a son, Cí,” Feng said, making him stand up. “The God of Fertility has never given me one of my own. All small-minded people want are possessions, money, fortune, when the most valuable thing is a descendant to look after you in your old age and honor you once you’re gone.” Lightning flashed outside. “Damn this storm! That was nearby,” he muttered. “I must go. Say good-bye to your father for me.” He placed his hands on Cí’s shoulders. “When I’m back in Lin’an, I’ll make the appeal.”