Antonio Garrido: The Corpse Reader

The doctor who had been monitoring him the past week came in, medicinal tea in hand, but before he could say anything, Cí asked how Ming was feeling.

The doctor’s sparkly eyes lit up.

“He won’t stop chattering! His legs are healing better than a lizard’s.” He examined Cí’s scarring. “He is particularly keen to see you, and…I think the time has come for you to try walking!” He gave Cí an encouraging pat on the back.

Cí couldn’t have been more pleased; he’d been lying down for a week, and his only news of Ming had come from doctors and servants. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood shakily, then went over to the window. He had a sense that the orange brilliance of the paper blind contained something of his ancestors’ spirits and that they were encouraging him to feel proud of his surname once more. For the first time, he felt at peace with them. He lit incense and, breathing in its aroma, said to himself that, wherever they all were, they might now also be at peace.

He dressed and left the room, using Blue Iris’s red stick for support. She had sent it to him along with a get-well message; he’d been dreaming of getting better partly so he could use it. On his way to Ming’s quarters he passed a number of professors who greeted him as though he were one of them. Cí found this surprising, bowing back to each in turn. It was a warm day, and the warmth was comforting.

Ming was in bed, and the skin on his arms and face still looked very bruised. The room was in semidarkness, but Ming’s face lit up at seeing Cí.

“Cí!” he exclaimed happily. “You’re walking!”

Cí came and sat beside him. Ming appeared tired, but his eyes were still full of life. The doctor had said it would do Ming good to see Cí, and they chatted about their wounds, about the trial, and about Feng.

Ming asked for tea to be brought and told Cí there were several things he still didn’t fully understand.

“The motives, for one.”

“It was very complicated to pull apart. The bronze maker was a vain man, both talkative and egotistical. Feng invited him to the Jin reception only because of the pressure he was exerting. We found out from Feng’s Mongol aide that the bronze maker was desperate to enter high society and had no qualms about trying to squeeze Feng for it. But he had no idea how dangerous Feng was. According to the Mongol, the bronze maker was becoming so greedy and indiscreet that he might have compromised Feng’s interests; at that point, Feng couldn’t allow him to go on living. With the Taoist alchemist and the explosives maker, Feng simply preferred to kill them rather than risk delays in the development of the weapon because he couldn’t pay them. It seems he owed them both a lot of money.”

“But why kill the councilor? Killing some unknowns could have passed unnoticed, but he must have known he’d never get away with killing such a high-ranking official.”

Cí arched an eyebrow.

“I can only imagine Feng felt he had no choice. Kan was obsessed with the idea that Blue Iris was guilty of something, and Feng was worried this might lead him close to the truth. And he thought the staged suicide would fool everyone. So when I told Feng I’d worked it out, he went and told Gray Fox, calculating that I’d then be accused.”

“And what about the perfume?” asked Ming. “Earlier on, I remember you thought it must have been sprinkled on the victims to try and incriminate the nüshi . But why on earth would Feng have wanted to do that if the nüshi was his wife? Everyone says he was madly in love with her.”

“This part I’m not totally sure of, but Kan had something to do with it. Just because Kan was killed doesn’t mean he was entirely innocent. He really was obsessed with Blue Iris, to the point that he somehow began mixing up the results he wanted to find with the actual evidence. Apparently, Kan proposed to her once, and her rejection was more than his pride could bear. I think he tried to incriminate her. He had access to the Essence of Jade, and he, or his men, were among the first to have any contact with the corpses. False evidence.”

“Nonetheless, it must be said that Kan wasn’t very far wrong. Feng was guilty, after all.” Ming took a sip of the tea. “Strange business! Feng seemed like such a cultured man! I really can’t understand what could have driven him to all this.”

“Who can? Isn’t the problem that we try to apply sane logic to conduct that is far from being sane itself? Feng was disturbed, so only from the point of view of a disturbed mind could we ever find the justification for his actions. Bo says that when he was interrogated, the Mongol put it down to greed; he confirmed he’d helped Feng and said it had all been motivated by sheer avarice in his master.”

“Greed? Avarice? Feng was already a very rich man. His wife’s salt dealings—”

“It seems the business had been going downhill for a long time. The frontier wars meant Ningzong was cutting off trade links with the Jin, and they were Feng’s main buyers. He’d lost almost everything already.”

“But what was he going to get from killing people?”

“Money. Power. Feng had taken over the business from Blue Iris, and it was his management that led them to ruin. Feng began seeing Blue Iris during the time my father was still working for him, and, although her being a nüshi meant they had to keep it a secret, Feng also started to have a hand in her business affairs that early on. Feng began creating a network with the Jin, planning to sell them the weapons; the promise of the hand cannon may even have had a part in the Jin’s decision to invade. This is speculation, but in his delirium, Feng might have thought a victory for the Jin would give him a monopoly over the salt trade. We can’t be sure. Bo is still looking into the matter.”

“Any idea how Feng got access to the secret, and such a terrible weapon?”

“I’ve asked myself the same question. I think Blue Iris’s family must have had something to do with it. After all, Fei Yue wasn’t only a sensational general, he pioneered the use of gunpowder, didn’t he? In fact, I found a copy of the Ujingzongyao in Feng’s office. Bo’s research also seems to support such an idea.”

“And all for the love of a beautiful woman…a woman who ended up betraying him.”

“And who saved me.” Cí’s heart began beating harder.

He got to his feet, suddenly unwilling to continue the conversation. He told Ming he was tired and said good-bye, promising to return the next day.

Cí had dreamed of Blue Iris constantly during his recovery and couldn’t wait to see her. Though his body was still battered, now that he was on his feet, he longed to be outside. And there was only one place he wanted to go. He headed to the Water Lily Pavilion.

He began picturing the meeting. He’d thank her for helping at the trial; he’d take her in his arms and show her how much he loved her; he’d tell her how sure he’d always felt about her. He couldn’t care less about her blindness or how old she was. But as he approached the building, a trembling erupted in his heart.

There were dozens of soldiers at the entrance to the Water Lily Pavilion, shouting and running about. Cí broke into a hobbling run, going as fast as his aching legs would carry him. The soldiers stopped him at the entrance and would not tell him what was happening. Suddenly Bo emerged from the pavilion’s main door.

“It’s Blue Iris,” said Bo, descending the stairs and leading Cí a little way off. “We were searching for documents we still need. She was ordered not to go anywhere while we conducted the search, but she’s vanished.”

“What do you mean, vanished?” Cí pushed Bo off and dashed past the soldiers into the pavilion.