Well, the heavens came to my rescue. At that crucial moment, Yuan Shikai, who looked like he was about to fall asleep up on the stage, ordered that Xiao Shanzi, originally sentenced to die by the sandalwood death, be beheaded instead. Dieh wasted no time tossing the sandalwood stake to one side; holding his breath and scowling, he unsheathed the sword at the waist of the nearest yayi, took several quick steps, looking more energetic than his years, raised the sword, and created a shining downward arc; before anyone could so much as blink, the head of the real Xiao Shanzi, the fake Sun Bing, lay on the ground beneath the slaughtering rack.
Meow——
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Magistrate’s Magnum Opus
Sandalwood grows deep in the hills; its blood red flowers bloom in the fall,
Champion of trees and hero of the forest, it stands the tallest of all.
People say that red lips open softly, a song of beauty their goal,
Song of the phoenix, murmurs of the swallow, cry of the oriole.
People say that maidens throw fruit at the young man with cheeks like a rose,
Graced with a tender visage, until his cart overflows.
People say that sandalwood clappers produce a crisp new sound,
In the performance of the Pear Garden actors peace and prosperity abound.
People say that a parade of sandalwood chariots by warhorses pulled,
Moonlight of the Qin, soldiers of the Han, by emperors ruled.
People say that Zhuge Liang’s Empty City Strategy came to jell,
While playing a lute amid the lingering sandalwood smell.
People say that Tanyue befriended Buddhism in his style of living,
And escaped the karma of poverty by good deeds and giving.
But who has ever seen sandalwood used to impale a man?
In the dying days of dynasty, a wicked punishment inhumane!
—Maoqiang Sandalwood Death. A noble air
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1
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When Xiao Shanzi’s head fell to the ground, the sun turned from white to red. As he picked it up, I knew that the dignified look Zhao Jia wore was false—Disgusting! Nauseating! That son of a bitch, no better than a pig or a dog, raised Xiao Shanzi’s bloody head high in the air and announced to me:
“May it please Your Honor, the execution has been carried out!”
My mind was a tangle of confusing thoughts. A curtain of red fog rose before my eyes as thunderous bursts of cannon fire rang in my ears. The stench of blood was everywhere, such a foul, repulsive smell, one that has already infiltrated the doomed Qing Court. Am I abandoning you, or will I be buried with you? Not knowing what to do, I vacillate, I hesitate; everywhere I look, there is nothing but desolation. There is evidence that the Empress Dowager has fled with His Majesty to Taiyuan. Peking has become a city of wild savagery; the sacred halls of the Imperial Palace have been turned into the playground of the willful Eight-Power Allied Forces. An Imperial Court that brought the capital to its knees now exists in name only, does it not? But Yuan Shikai, Excellency Yuan, has taken from the Imperial Treasury tens of thousands of silver ingots to form and train a cohort of crack troops, not to defend the capital against invaders and protect royalty, but to join forces with the foreign demons to crush my loyal Shandong countrymen. The wolf’s ambition is abundantly clear, his designs known to all, as were those of the Three Kingdoms usurper Sima Zhao. Even urchins in shantytowns sing a ditty: “The Qing is no more, swept away; Yuan has become the Cao Cao of his day.” Ah, Great Qing, breeding tigers only courts disaster; ah, Yuan Shikai, you harbored treacherous thoughts. You have slaughtered my citizens to safeguard foreigners’ rights of passage. You have purchased the favors of the Allies with the people’s blood. Backed by a powerful army, you sit back and wait to see what will happen, confident in your ability to maneuver. The fate of the Great Qing Empire now rests in your hands. Empress Dowager, Your Majesty, have You come to Your senses? Have You? If You still see him as the defender of the people in their peril, then the three-hundred-year foundation on which the dynasty has stood will crumble in an instant. When I examine my own conscience, I find that I too am not the loyal official I thought I was. I lack the faith and the allegiance to die for a righteous cause, to pick up a knife and end the life of that treacherous official, even though I have studied the classics and the martial arts since childhood. The actor Sun Bing is braver than I, the beggar Xiao Shanzi more loyal. I am a cringing coward, a weakling given to making concessions. At times strong passion surges in my chest; at other times I am torn between opposing wills. Caution is my watchword; my appearance is but a deceptive mask. I swagger around the common people, but treat my superiors and foreigners to flattery and obsequious smiles. I am a petty, shameless toady to those above and a tyrant to those below. Hopeless coward Gaomi County Magistrate Qian Ding, though breath remains in your body, you are a walking corpse. Even Xiao Shanzi, who shit his pants from fear just before he died, was three thousand times the man you are. Since you are bereft of a heroic spirit, live on like the running dog you are. Benumb yourself, and, as a dog, carry out your duties as official in charge of the execution. By refocusing my eyes, I looked closely at the head the executioner Zhao Jia was holding as he made his boastful announcement, and understood what was expected of me at that moment. I walked quickly over to the opera stage, where I flicked my sleeves, raised the hem of my robe, and saluted by going down on one knee before reporting to that traitor and thug loudly:
“May it please Your Honors, the execution has been carried out!”
Yuan Shikai said something to von Ketteler, keeping his voice low, to which the German responded with hearty laughter. Then they stood up, walked down the steps on the side of the stage, and came up to me.
“On your feet, Gaomi County!” Yuan Shikai said coldly.
I got to my feet and followed them up to the Ascension Platform. Yuan Shikai, who was robust and stocky, and von Ketteler, who was thin as a pole, walked shoulder to shoulder like a duck and an egret, but took slow steps. I kept my head down, eyes shielded, yet still able to see their backs. Truth is, I had a dagger hidden in my boot, and if I’d had half the courage of my young brother, I could have killed them both on the spot. The calmness and unflappability I’d demonstrated when I went alone into the rebels’ camp to apprehend Sun Bing had given way to crippling fear as I followed along behind them. That alone was proof that I was a tiger in my dealings with ordinary citizens and a sheep in the presence of superiors or foreigners. No, not a sheep, for a ram can butt with its horns, while I have the nerve of a frightened mouse.
I stood at the feet of the intrepid Sun Bing and looked up into his face, bloated by the mass infusion of blood, some of which trickled out of the corners of his mouth. His puffy eyes were mere slits. The absence of teeth slurred the vituperations emerging from his mouth, but not so much as to make them unintelligible. Not only was he was flinging abuse at Yuan Shikai and von Ketteler, but he was straining to spit bloody foam into their faces. He simply did not have the strength, and all he could manage was childish dribbles. His mouth resembled nothing so much as the bubbly opening of a crab’s mouth. Yuan Shikai nodded his satisfaction.
“Gaomi County, reward Zhao Jia and his son with the agreed-upon amount of silver, place them into the second rank of yayi, the ‘black,’ and give them a land-tax waiver.”
Zhao Jia, who was in line behind me, fell to his knees on the inclined plank up to the platform.
“Humble thanks for Your Excellency’s boundless generosity and favor!” he intoned loudly.
“Listen carefully, Zhao Jia,” Yuan said to him in a somber yet intimate tone of voice. “You must not allow him to die, not until the ceremony to commemorate the completion of the rail line on the twenty-second. Foreign photographers will be on hand to memorialize the event. If he dies before then, do not expect our friendship to save you.”
“Fret not, Excellency,” Zhao Jia said, confident o
f his plan to keep the victim alive. “I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that he will not die before the ceremony on that day.”
“Gaomi County, in the name of the Empress Dowager and His Majesty, stay here with your three ranks of yayi and keep watch over the prisoner in shifts.” Yuan smiled. “There is no need to return to the yamen. Once the rail line has been completed, Gaomi County will become a major hub in the Great Qing Empire. While that may not guarantee a transfer and promotion for you, riches will migrate toward you. Have you not heard the adage ‘When the train whistle blows, a river of gold flows’? My friend, in point of fact, I am making it easy for you to govern your county and keep its people in line.”
Yuan Shikai roared at his little joke while I hastily knelt at his feet.
“I humbly thank Your Excellency for his patronage. Your humble servant will diligently carry out his duties!” I said over the background of Sun Bing’s hoarse curses.
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2
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Like a pair of bosom friends, Yuan Shikai and von Ketteler made their way down the platform, arm in arm. Then, within a protective ring of soldiers, Chinese and foreign, they left the premises, Yuan in his eight-man palanquin and the German on his massive horse, on their way back to the yamen. Dust flew over the Academy parade ground, accompanied by the clatter of horse hooves on the cobblestone road. The yamen had been turned temporarily into the two dignitaries’ official residence; the Tongde Academy compound had been transformed into barracks and stable facilities for the foreign troops. Now that the official parties had left, local residents, who had been confined to the outer edges of the parade ground, began moving toward the center. A momentary sense of bewilderment was followed by a jolt of terror. Excellency Yuan’s comment just before he departed sent an upsurge of emotion through my heart. “While that may not guarantee a transfer and promotion for you . . .” Transfer and promotion, ah, transfer and promotion; a whisper of hope threaded its way out of my heart, proof that Excellency Yuan still considered me a man of ability: Excellency Yuan bore me no malice. A close examination shows that I had handled the Sun Bing case properly. I entered the enemy stronghold alone and apprehended Sun Bing with no help from anyone, thus keeping the Imperial Guards and foreign soldiers out of harm’s way. As preparations for the sandalwood death were being carried out, I took command, working day and night, managing in less time than anyone thought possible to ready the tools and site of execution for this spectacle, something no one else could have managed as well. Maybe, just maybe, Excellency Yuan isn’t as sinister as people think he is; maybe he is a loyal and upright individual who happens to be prudent and farsighted. A man of great allegiance can appear disloyal; a man of great wisdom can sometimes seem slow-witted. For all I know, he could be a pillar in the resurgence of the Great Qing. Hai! I am an insignificant County Magistrate charged with carrying out his superior’s orders, fulfilling duties in furtherance of remaining true to his individual calling. Great affairs of state are the province of the Empress Dowager and His Majesty, beyond the reach of minor functionaries like me.
Now that I had overcome my confusion and was no longer wavering, I was once again in control of my wits and abilities. I issued orders for the three shifts of yayi to keep watch around the clock over Sun Bing, who was bound to a crossbar on the Ascension Platform. Local spectators crowded forward, until it seemed that the entire county had turned out, faces painted blood red in the rays of the dying sun. At sunset, crows flew past on their way to their nests and their families in the golden canopies of trees east of the parade ground. “County elders, friends and villagers, go home, please, there to live your lives in humiliation in the name of this important mission. Heed your Magistrate’s word that it is better to be a sacrificial lamb than to rise up in resistance against the tyrannical forces arrayed before us. Take Sun Bing, your Maoqiang Patriarch, who stands impaled upon a sandalwood stake on the Ascension Platform, as a solemn and stirring cautionary example.”
But the local gawkers turned a deaf ear to my admonition and swept up to the Ascension Platform like waves crashing against the shore. Yayi drew their swords, as if to confront an enemy surge. But the people, though silent, looked on with alarmingly strange expressions, sending an upsurge of panic to my heart. The sun settled in the west in all its redness; the moon’s jade rabbit climbed into the sky; warm, soft rays of golden sunlight merged with cool, refreshing silver moonbeams on the Tongde Academy parade ground, on the Ascension Platform, and on the faces of the mass of humanity.
“County elders, friends and fellow villagers, disperse and return to your homes . . .”
The people remained silent.
All of a sudden, Sun Bing, whose voice had been long stilled, broke into song. His mouth leaked air and his chest thumped in and out, very much like an old beat-up bellows. From his vantage point, he could see what was going on all around him, and for a man like him, as long as there was breath in his body, not even the sorry circumstances in which he now found himself could keep him from singing. It would not be unreasonable to say that this was the very opportunity he had sought. And I realized at that moment that the swelling crowd had no intention of freeing him from his predicament, but had drawn closer to hear him sing. See how they all raised their heads and let their mouths fall open? That was the perfect image of an opera devotee.
The fifteenth day of the eighth month, the moon is bright~~wildwood breezes sweep past the platform at night~~
Sun Bing opened with a sorrowful Maoqiang aria. He had hurled abuse for so long that his voice was hoarse and scratchy, but the combination of that hoarseness and the bloody mess his body had become merged to invest his tune with a chilling aura of solemnity and to confer upon it the power to stir hearts. I must admit that Sun Bing, a product of Gaomi, a small, out-of-the way county, was a true genius, a heroic figure equal to those who appeared in the biographies of Sima Qian’s Records of the Historian. His name will be spoken down through the ages, praised by the masses and memorialized in Maoqiang opera. My subordinates reported to me that in the immediate wake of his apprehension, a Maoqiang troupe formed spontaneously in Northeast Gaomi Township, and that its performances were tied to burial and funeral activities conducted during chaotic events involving the deaths of so many. Every performance began and ended with howls of grief and was tied to the tragedy of Sun Bing’s resistance against the Germans.
By cruel torture my body torn~~this ancient land I tearfully mourn~~
The sobs of the people at Sun Bing’s feet filling the air contained bleak strains of meow, a sign that even in their agonizing sorrow, they had not forgotten to provide the singer with a chorus.
I gaze at distant blazing fires in this ancient land~~ah, my wife, my children~~
At that moment, the people seemed to know what was expected of them. As if by prior agreement, they intoned every form of meow known to them, and into that chorus was thrust a climactic cry of desolation, like a whirling pillar of white smoke funneling into the cloudy sky:
“Dieh-dieh~~my beloved Dieh-dieh~~”
It was a cry of heartbreaking dolefulness, yet one that highlighted the sorrowful Maoqiang aria and, in concert with the hoarse, scratchy singing from the platform and the chorus of meows by the onlookers, produced a climactic moment. Pile-driving pains thudded into my heart, as if from a human fist. My lover was here, the woman who had stolen my heart, Sun Bing’s daughter, Sun Meiniang. Despite the fact that I had been in the grip of terror for days, like a yellowed leaf fluttering precariously from a branch in the elements, this woman had been on my mind the whole time, and not just because she was carrying my child. I watched as she moved forward, parting the crowd like a black eel emerging from the school against the current. The people slipped away, to her left and her right, opening up a path to the Ascension Platform. Her hair was in disarray, her clothing in complete disorder, and her face grimy, looking like a demon incarnate; she had shed all signs of the flirtatious, singular woman
she had been, no longer sleek nor young, but undeniably still Meiniang. Who but Meiniang would dare to come running up at a time like this? What a discomfiting moment! What was I to do now, allow her up onto the platform or not?
“I, I, I have brought forth Heavenly Warriors and Generals, an invincible force~~”
A violent coughing fit cut Sun Bing’s aria short and produced a rooster-like wheeze from deep in his chest. Only a scarlet haze in the west remained from the ebbing sun, while chilled moonbeams cast their light onto his bloated face, turning it the color of polished bronze. His head rocked clumsily from side to side and made the pine crossbar creak and groan. Dark, oily blood spurted from his mouth and quickly overspread the platform with a foul odor. His head slumped weakly onto his chest.
Panic set in, as an inauspicious thought crowded everything else out of my mind. Is he dead, just like that? If he was, it was hard to imagine the reaction I could expect from Excellency Yuan, not to mention von Ketteler, who would erupt in anger. The riches promised to Zhao Jia and his son would disappear like a burst bubble, and my prospects for advancement would fade into nothing. I could only sigh. But then the thought occurred to me that his dying might not be such a bad thing, that maybe in the end it was best, since that would bankrupt von Ketteler’s evil plans and cast a pall of gloom over his public celebration for the completion of the rail line. Sun Bing, you died a timely death, quick and meaningful, keeping your heroic stature and your moral character intact. You are an example for all of your fellow villagers. I cannot begin to imagine the extent of your suffering if you had lived on for four more days. Qian Ding, in this historic moment, when the nation’s destruction looms, when the Imperial Court has been hounded out of the capital, when the people have been thrown into abject misery and rivers of blood run in the street, your personal advancement is uppermost in your despicable, benighted mind. Sun Bing, it is time for you to die. You must not live on. Soar up into the Kingdom of Heaven, where you can be elevated to nobility . . .