“Master Li, I shall do my duty,” I said bravely.
“Yes indeed,” he sighed. “Ox, you aren't going to make much of an impression upon a walking case of insatiable greed with what's left of Miser Shen's gold coins. We must get our hands on a fortune.”
13. The Art of Porcupine Cookery
Li Kao led the way to the customs shed, and an hour later he found what he wanted. Everything that was shipped in or out of the port of Ch'in was heavily taxed, and an enormously fat merchant was paying an export tax that amounted to an emperor's ransom. A small army of guards—a rare sight in Ch'in—was positioned around four rectangular wooden cases, and since it would be several hours before his ship sailed, the merchant waddled away to enjoy a light lunch.
“Ox, follow that fellow and come back and tell me what he eats,” said Master Li.
“What he eats?”
“What he eats.”
When I returned I was rather shaken. “Master Li, you won't believe this, but that merchant began with four large tureens of pimento and dumpling soup,” I said. “Then he devoured three bowls of mussel stew, a pound of pickled mallows, two pounds of steamed snails, three servings of soft-shelled crabs, two plates of sweetmeats, ten honey cakes, and a watermelon. The proprietor wondered whether the esteemed guest might care for six or seven quarts of peaches in heavy syrup, but the merchant explained that he was on a diet and would be forced to settle for a gallon of green tea flavored with pine kernels.”
“Where is he now?”
“He's having a steam bath and a massage, while two waiters from the restaurant stand ready with a stomach pump.”
“Splendid,” Master Li said happily. “Come along, Ox. We have to find the most unscrupulous alchemist in town and procure a jar of the Elixir of Eighty Evil Essences, and then we have to buy a coffin.”
When the merchant waddled back from the massage parlor a truly pathetic sight met his eyes. I was draped over a coffin, sobbing my heart out, while Li Kao wailed and tore his hair.
“Woe!” I howled.
“The bride of my beloved great-grandson is dead!” howled Master Li.
“Speak to me, my beloved!” I screamed, pounding the coffin lid.
“Ten million maledictions upon the chef who persuaded me to serve porcupine at my great-grandson's wedding feast!” shrieked Master Li.
The merchant was at his side in an instant.
“Porcupine? Did you say porcupine?”
“Porcupine,” Master Li sobbed.
“But, Venerable Sir, were you not aware that porcupine can be fatal unless properly prepared?”
Li Kao drew himself up affronted. “Do you take me for a fool?” he snapped. “I myself supervised the preparations, and every step was taken according to the instructions of Li Tsening.”
“Surely not!” the merchant gasped. “Why, the great Li Tsening wrote The Book of Porcupine Cookery!”
“Why do you think I followed his instructions, you idiot?” Master Li shouted.
The merchant's eyes were glazed, and saliva flowed in streams. “Was it young, fresh porcupine?” he whispered.
“Barely one year old, and trapped the day before,” Master Li sniffled.
A mighty spasm shook the merchant's vast belly. “From Yushan?” he whispered.
“Straight from the river,” sobbed Master Li.
That was too much for the merchant. He tottered over to his guards, opened a large sack, extracted a pickled carp, devoured it noisily, and tottered back.
“The paste!” he gasped. “The paste was made one year before?”
“One year precisely,” said Master Li. “Only the purest yellow beans were used.”
“You are positive that all black and brown beans were removed? The slightest trace of such imperfection can be fatal!”
“All black and brown beans as well as those with purple markings were removed by hand,” Master Li said huffily. “The remainder was sifted fifteen times, and carefully scrutinized. I was perfectly aware of the danger!”
“Venerable Sir, I am not accusing you,” the merchant said contritely. “But I need scarcely point out that some error must have been made, since your great-grandson's poor bride… ah… Is it possible that rice flour was used?”
“Don't be an ass, young man!” Master Li said angrily. “Rice flour would have assassinated every single guest at the banquet! Only the purest Hua wheat flour was used, mixed with a little salt and exposed precisely six hours to the sun.”
“With a veil to keep out the dust? Dust can be fatal!”
“With a veil to keep out the dust. Then the flour and beans were mixed into the paste and placed into a jar, which was in turn covered by an earthenware basin and sealed with lime, and I need not mention that only pure river water was used, since the slightest trace of well water would have been fatal.”
“I cannot understand it,” the merchant whispered. “Everything done properly, yet… Wait! What month was it?”
“Are you a raving lunatic? To prepare porcupine paste in any month but June is to commit suicide!” Master Li yelled.
The merchant had turned very pale. It was dawning on him that unless a flaw could be found, he himself could never safely enjoy the delicacy of all delicacies.
“Extraordinary,” he whispered. “Everything done according to the instructions of the great Li Tsening, yet the porcupine proved fatal after all. We must find the error! Venerable Sir, I beg you to describe the precise method by which your chef cooked the porcupine.”
It occurred to me that I had become too interested in porcupine cookery to mourn my departed bride properly. “Woe!” I shrieked. “Woe! Woe! Woe!”
Li Kao patted my shoulder. “To think that such tragedy should strike the only one of the great-grandsons who is neither mentally deficient nor morally degenerate,” he sniffled. “But you are right; the error must be found. My chef began by removing the eyes, stomach, internal organs, and embryos, if any were present. While he cut the meat into pieces, my poor great-grandson cleaned every clot of blood from each piece with his own noble hands. Then the chef boiled the meat in pure river water—”
“With the skin still attached?”
“With the skin still attached. He then removed the meat from the pot and placed it upon a cutting board—”
“A wooden cutting board?”
“Merciful Buddha, I am perfectly aware of the fact that a metal or ceramic cutting board can be fatal!” Master Li snarled. “My chef picked out every bristle and quill with fine pincers, cut the flesh into smaller pieces—and I assure you that they were square pieces—and sauteed them in pork fat. Then and only then did he mix in the bean paste and fry the mixture in hot oil. He took infinite care to keep dust from the pot, and when he judged the meat to be done, he dipped a paper roll into the sauce and held it to the flame of a candle. Not until the paper caught fire easily did he remove the porcupine from the pot and serve it to the guests.”
Not a flaw. Not one single error. The merchant's gluttonous world was crashing around him, and he buried his face in his hands—oddly enough he reminded me of Bright Star when she thought that the Sword Dance had been defiled. His passion was not so noble, but it was equally sincere. Li Kao took the opportunity to lift me to my feet, and I wept upon his shoulder while he patted my back.
“How many died?” the merchant whispered.
“Only my bride!” I howled. “Woe! Woe! Woe!”
“She alone among two hundred,” Master Li sobbed. “And I myself selected the porcupines! I myself made the bean paste! I myself supervised the preparation of the meat! My beloved great-grandson removed the clots of blood with his own hands! It was he who selected the choicest piece to present to his bride! It was I who—”