Cí knelt and touched his forehead to the ground—to hide his bitterness, as much as in respect. When he got up Feng was gone.
Cí wanted to speak to his father, who had shut himself in his room. Cí’s mother told him to leave his father alone, that anything they did to try to help Lu would only bring more dishonor to the family. Cí decided it was up to him to do something about the appeal.
He asked for an audience with the magistrate, and when he was ushered in to see him, Cí was surprised to be offered something to eat.
“Feng has told me a lot about you,” said the magistrate. “It’s a real shame about your brother; such a sad affair. But these things happen—don’t dwell on it. Take a seat and let me know how I can be of service.”
Cí was shocked by how pleasant the magistrate was being.
“Judge Feng said he’d talk to you about the mines in Sichuan,” said Cí, bowing. “He said it might be possible to send my brother there.”
“Ah, yes, the mines…” The magistrate popped a piece of pastry in his mouth, then licked his fingers. “Listen. In the old days there was no need for laws; it was enough to have the five audiences. The background to a case was presented, the changes on the faces of the audience members were observed, their breathing and their words listened to, and in the fifth audience their gestures were scrutinized and counted. You didn’t need anything else to discern the blackness of someone’s spirit.” He took another mouthful. “But things are different now. Nowadays, a judge may not, let’s say…interpret events with the same…informality. Understand?”
Cí didn’t entirely, but he nodded politely anyway.
“Now, in terms of your request for him to be transferred to Sichuan…” He wiped his hands on a napkin and got up to look through some documents. “Yes, here it is: in certain cases, the death penalty can be changed to exile if, and only if, a family member pays sufficient compensation.”
Cí listened attentively.
“Unfortunately, in your brother’s case, there’s no room to maneuver. He is guilty of the worst of crimes.” He paused a moment to reflect. “In fact, you should be thanking me. If I had decided that Shang’s decapitation had anything to do with ritual magic, not only would Lu be facing death by a thousand cuts, but your whole family would be exiled forever.”
I could think of worse fates.
Cí pressed his fists together. He understood that in the eyes of the law the convict’s parents could share the guilt, but he wasn’t sure what the magistrate was getting at.
“Bao-Pao mentioned to me that your family has property. An area of land worth quite a lot.”
Cí nodded.
The magistrate cleared his throat, chuckling. “Bao-Pao also suggested that, under the circumstances, it might be better for me to speak with you than with your father.” The magistrate shut the door and then settled down again at the table.
“Apologies,” said Cí, “but I’m not sure I understand.”
The magistrate shrugged. “The first thing on my mind is a decent meal, but perhaps while we eat, we can come to some agreement on the sum that might be needed to free your brother from his predicament.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Cí thought about the magistrate’s proposal—400,000 qián was exorbitant, but at the same time it was nothing if it meant saving Lu’s life. When Cí entered his house, his father was looking through some papers. His father hid them away in the red chest and turned on Cí.
“The next time you come in without knocking, you’ll be sorry.”
“You keep a copy of the penal code, I presume?” replied Cí. Cí knew his father would think him impudent, so he continued before any rebuke could come. “We have to talk. There might be a way to help Lu.”
“Says who? That swine Feng? Buddha! Why don’t you forget about your brother? He’s brought shame on this family.”
“It doesn’t matter who told me. The important thing is that we might be able to use our savings to spare Lu’s life.”
“Our savings?” said Cí’s father, his eyes wild. “Since when have you saved any money? Forget about your brother and keep away from Feng.”
“But father! The magistrate told me if we bring four hundred thousand qián—”
“I said forget it! You have no idea! In six years as an accountant I didn’t make more than one hundred thousand! From now on it’s just us, so you’d be better off saving your energy for the fields.” He crouched down and covered the chest with a cloth.
“Father, there’s something about the crime that doesn’t add up. I can’t just forget Lu—”
Cí’s father slapped him. At that, Cí turned and left the house, ignoring his father’s shouts to come back, and trying to understand how his father had become a menacing old man.
He walked through the rain to Cherry’s house. The funeral altar had become a soggy pile of candles and flowers. He straightened it a bit, then walked past the main entrance on his way to the shack where Cherry often went. He knocked three times with a stone—their code—and waited. He waited for what felt like forever, but then she knocked back.
It was difficult for them to spend time together. The strict rules governing engagement defined precisely the events and festivals at which they were allowed to see each other. Nonetheless, they managed to cross paths from time to time, arranging to go to market on the same day, or brushing hands at the fishing platforms, or stealing looks when no one else was watching. Even though he was never allowed inside, the visits at the shack gave them privacy.
He wanted her. He fantasized about the touch of her pale skin, her lovely round face, her full hips. But it was her feet that he dreamed most about—they were always hidden. He knew Cherry’s feet had been bound by her mother since birth to make her seem like she was from an upper-class family, and he imagined they were as small and graceful as his young sister’s.
The hammering rain brought Cí back to the present—a night when not even dogs would have been sleeping outside. It was raining as though the gods had burst the banks in the heavens. As he sat in the darkness, he was sure it must be the worst night of his life. He remained there, preferring being drenched to returning home and confronting his father again. He whispered to Cherry through the slatted wall that he loved her, and she knocked once to signal she had heard. They couldn’t talk much for fear of waking her family, but it was enough that she was so close. He curled up against the wall, preparing to spend the night sheltered under the eaves of the shack. He fell asleep thinking about the magistrate’s offer.
6
Cí was woken by a crack of thunder. He rubbed his eyes and tried to get his bearings, then heard shouting toward the north. He turned and saw a plume of smoke coming from his family’s home. Panicking, he ran to the road and joined the large number of villagers also rushing to see what was happening.
Near his house, the smoke grew so thick that Cí could hardly see. Although he was surrounded by screams and cries, he could only vaguely make out some ghostly figures. Suddenly he stumbled into a boy whose terrified eyes stared out from a bloody face. It was his neighbor Chun. Cí went to take him by the arm to ask what had happened, but the limb was only a stump, and before he knew it, Chun had collapsed.
Cí leaped over Chun’s body, going deeper into the mess of rubble and logs scattered on the path. He couldn’t see his own house, and Chun’s had disappeared, too. Everything was in ruins. Panic surged through him again. What suffocated him more than the dense smoke was the certainty that all this rubble could only signify death.