In a way he hated having a conscience; it meant he had to accept his father’s decisions. He went to find his sickle and his bundle, but the sickle wasn’t there.
“Use mine,” said his father. “Lu took yours.”
Cí gathered up the tools and headed to the fields.
Cí hurt his hand whipping the buffalo. The animal roared at the treatment but then pulled as though possessed in a desperate attempt to evade Cí’s blows. Cí clung to the plow, trying to push it into the sodden earth as the rain poured down. He whipped the beast and cursed, furrow after furrow. Then a thunderclap stopped him in his tracks. The sky was as dark as mud, but the suffocating heat was unrelenting.
Suddenly there was a flash of lightning and an earth-shuddering boom. The buffalo cowered and tried to leap away again, but the plow held fast in the ground, making the animal fall on its hindquarters.
The buffalo was flailing in the water now, trying to get to its feet. Cí heaved but failed to help it up. He loosened the harness and hit the beast a couple of times, but it only raised its forehead out of the water as it tried to escape the punishment. Then Cí saw the terrible open fracture in its hindquarters.
Dear gods, what have I done to offend you?
Cí approached the buffalo with an apple, but it tried to gore him with its horns. It tired itself out writhing and bellowing, and rested its head to one side for a moment, dipping a horn in the mud. Looking in its panic-stricken eyes, Cí sensed it was trying to convey that it wanted to escape its crippled body. Snot streamed from its huffing nostrils. It was as good as meat for the slaughterhouse.
Cí was stroking its muzzle when he was grabbed from behind and pushed into the water. Lu, brandishing a staff, stood over him in a rage.
“Wretch! This is how you repay me?”
Cí tried to protect himself as the stick came down on his face.
“Get up.” Lu hit him again. “Time for a lesson.”
Cí tried to get up, but again Lu struck him, then grabbed him by the hair.
“Know how much a buffalo costs? No? Time for you to learn.”
Lu thrust Cí’s head underwater. Once Cí had flailed for a bit, Lu yanked him up and pushed him under the harness.
“No!” cried Cí.
“Don’t like working in the fields, eh?” He was trying to tie Cí into the harness. “You hate that Father loves me best.”
“Hardly! Even though you’re a bootlicker!”
“What?” roared Lu. “You’ll be the one licking boots when I finish with you.”
Wiping away blood from his cheek, Cí looked hatefully at his brother. Custom dictated that he not fight back. But it was time to show Lu he wasn’t his slave. Cí got up and punched Lu in the gut as hard as he could. Lu, not expecting the blow, was winded for a moment, but his return punch knocked Cí to the ground. Cí had years of pent-up hate, but Lu was bigger and a much better fighter. When Cí got up, Lu knocked him down again. Cí felt something crack in his chest, but he wasn’t in pain. Then another blow, this time in the gut. Still on the ground, he took another blow. He couldn’t get up. He felt the rain on his face. He thought he heard Lu shouting at him, but then he lost consciousness.
Feng was with Shang’s corpse when Cí stumbled in.
“Cí! Who’s done—” But before he could finish, he had to leap forward to catch Cí as he fainted.
Feng laid Cí down on a mat. One of Cí’s eyes was swollen shut, but the cut on his cheek didn’t seem too bad. Feng touched the edge of it.
“You’ve been striped like a mule,” he said, examining Cí’s torso. The bruise on his side was alarming, but luckily none of the ribs were broken. “Did Lu do this?” Cí shook his head groggily. “Don’t lie! That animal. Your father did well leaving him behind in the countryside.”
Feng was relieved to find Cí’s pulse still rhythmic and strong, but he sent his assistant to get the local healer. Soon a small, toothless old man came bearing herbs and concoctions. He examined Cí and then applied ointments, gave him a tonic, and recommended rest.
Cí woke to a buzzing noise. Managing to sit up, he realized he was in the annex with Shang’s body. Shang’s dead flesh had begun to rot in the monsoon heat, and the stench was unbearable. Once Cí’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that the buzzing was coming from a swarm of flies, contracting and expanding like a ghostly shadow, attracted by the dried blood at the corpse’s throat.
“How’s that eye of yours?” asked Feng.
Cí jumped. He hadn’t noticed Feng still there, seated in the dark a few feet away.
“Not sure. I can’t feel anything.”
“You’ll be OK. No broken bones and—” A thunderclap sounded nearby. “By the Great Wall! The gods are certainly stomping around.”
“I feel like they’ve been angry with me for a while,” said Cí.
Another thunderclap boomed in the distance.
“Shang’s family will be here soon. I’ve invited them, along with the village elders, so that I can share my findings.”
“Judge Feng, I can’t stay in the village. I beg you, take me with you to Lin’an.”
“Cí, don’t ask the impossible. You owe your father your obedience and—”
“My brother will kill me—”
“Wait, here come the elders.”
Shang’s family entered carrying a wooden coffin on their shoulders. Shang’s father, clearly distraught over losing the son who should have been honoring him at his death, headed the procession. Other relations and neighbors followed. When they were all inside, they gathered around Shang’s body.
Feng greeted them, and each bowed. He waved the flies clear, but they returned immediately. To keep the flies away, Feng ordered that the wound be covered. Then he sat down next to a black lacquer table in a chair his aide had brought for him.
“Honorable citizens, as you already know, the magistrate from Jianningfu will be here later. Nonetheless, according to the family’s wishes, I have already started the investigation. I will therefore bypass the protocol and present the facts.”
Cí observed from the corner of the room, admiring the shrewd wisdom in everything Feng did.
The judge began: “Everyone knew that Shang had no enemies, and yet he was brutally murdered. What could the motive have been? I have no doubt that it was a robbery. His widow, an honored and respected woman, confirms that when he disappeared he had three thousand qián on his person. Young Cí, however, who demonstrated his perceptiveness this morning by identifying the cuts to the neck, assured us that when he found the body there was no money at all.” Feng got to his feet and, fingers interlaced, walked among the family and the elders. “Cí found a cloth stuffed in the oral cavity. I have marked it as evidence.” He took the cloth from a small box and spread it out for everyone to see.
“Justice!” cried the widow, sobbing.
Feng nodded and was quiet for a moment.
“At first, it might look only like a piece of linen with blood on it. But if we look carefully at the bloodstains,” he said as he ran his fingers over the three main marks, “we see a pattern.”
Whispers broke out—what could it mean? Cí asked himself the same question.
Feng continued: “In order to reach my conclusions, I’ve conducted tests that I’d like to repeat for you.” He called his assistant forward. “Ren!”