Sandalwood Death: A Novel (Chinese Literature Today Book Series)

by Mo Yan

  “In a recent incident involving foreign missionaries in Juye, Shandong Province suffered a significant loss of sovereignty, and if any of the captives are killed this time, it is hard to imagine what the cost to us will be. Not only will the nation be forced to cede precious land to the foreigners, but our lives will be in jeopardy. In difficult times such as we face today, you must think only of the national well being; you must work unstintingly, and you must successfully resolve issues. People who act out of personal considerations or pervert the law, and those who shirk their responsibilities and hamper the implementation of their duties will be severely punished. As soon as I have dealt with the Boxer rebels here in Northern Shandong, I will come to survey the situation in Gaomi County . . . in the wake of the February 2nd Incident, I sent a telegram ordering Magistrate Qian to arrest and imprison the rebel leader Sun Bing to ensure that no further incidents occurred, only to receive a return telegram asking that the rebel bandit be absolved of his crimes. I have rarely seen a more muddleheaded request. Such attempts at shifting responsibility and equivocation will inevitably lead to chaos and instability. For this dereliction of duty, Magistrate Qian, you deserve to be removed from office, but the nation is in need of competent officials, and you have ties to a former high official of the current dynasty, so I am prepared to show leniency. Now that you have committed a serious error, I expect you to redeem yourself with devoted service. Devise a plan, without delay, to free the hostages and appease the Germans . . .”

  When he finished reading the telegram, he turned to his wife, who wore a clouded look, and heaved a long sigh.

  “Dear wife,” he said, “why did you not let me die?”

  “Do you honestly believe that what you are facing now is worse than what my grandfather faced after his defeat at the hands of the Taiping rebels at Jinggang?” The First Lady’s eyes blazed as she looked at her husband.

  “But your grandfather jumped into a river to kill himself!”

  “You’re right, he did,” she said. “But he was pulled from the river by subordinates, and drew a lesson from the experience. Spurred into rallying his forces, he staged a comeback, refusing to yield and enduring every imaginable hardship as he fought his way into Nanking, where he wiped out the Taiping ‘Long Hairs,’ an exploit that earned him a reputation as an official of great renown, a pillar of the state. His wife received honorary titles, and his children were given hereditary ranks along with considerable wealth. Memorial temples were erected in his honor so that his good name would live for all time. That is the essence of a man worthy of the name.”

  “In the two centuries and more since the beginning of this dynasty, there has been only one Zeng Guofan.” The Magistrate looked up at the photograph of the posthumously named Lord Wenzheng hanging on the wall—even in his dotage he had lost none of his dignity. “I have little talent and insubstantial learning,” he said feebly, “and I am weak-willed. You saved my life, but not my reputation. How sad, dear wife, that you, the daughter of an illustrious family, should be married to someone who is little more than a walking corpse.”

  “Why, my husband, must you belittle yourself?” she asked gravely. “You are possessed of great learning, are well versed in military strategy, enjoy good health, and have exceptional physical skills. You have had to submit to others not because you are inferior to them, but because your time had not yet come.”

  “What about now?” he asked, the hint of a mocking smile on his lips. “Has my time finally come?”

  “Of course it has,” the First Lady said. “The Boxers are inciting the masses to rebel, the Great Powers are like tigers eyeing their prey, and the Germans are enraged over Sun Bing’s rebellious actions. All this has put the nation in a precarious position. If you can develop a plan to rescue the hostages and take Sun Bing into custody at the same time, you will gain favor with Excellency Yuan. Not only will your punishment be expunged, but you will be rewarded with a high-level position. Can you deny that it is time for you to accomplish great things?”

  “What you have just said has caused me to look at everything with new eyes,” the Magistrate said with a hint of sarcasm. “But the unpleasant Sun Bing business has its roots.”

  “Yes, my husband. Sun Bing could be pardoned for avenging his wife’s humiliation by beating the German transgressor. But the Germans can also be pardoned for avenging their countryman. Following the incident, Sun Bing should have accepted his punishment instead of joining the outlawed Boxer movement and, after taking it upon himself to set up a sacred altar, leading an attack by his followers on the railway shed. Most inexcusable of all, he took hostages. If that is not a rebellious act, I do not know what is,” the First Lady said sternly. “Your livelihood is guaranteed by the Great Qing Court, and as its official representative, instead of single-mindedly coming to the defense of the nation in its hour of peril, you sought to absolve Sun Bing of his crimes. Your apparent sympathy was actually an act of harboring the guilty; what you considered benevolence was in truth collusion with the enemy. How could anyone as well read and sensible as you do something so foolish? And all because of a woman who peddles dog meat!”

  The shamefaced Magistrate bowed his head under the penetrating gaze of his wife.

  “I know that being barren is one of the seven causes for divorce, and I am grateful to you, my husband, for choosing not to abandon me,” she remarked delicately. “That is something I shall not forget . . . once things have settled down, I will find a woman of virtue for you, someone who will bear your offspring to carry on the Qian name. But if your infatuation with the Sun woman endures, we can arrange a divorce from her butcher husband so you can install her as your concubine. You have my word that I will treat her as family. But this cannot happen now. If you fail to free the foreign hostages and arrest Sun Bing, you and I are fated to come to a bad end, and you will be denied the pleasure of her charms.”

  As sweat soaked the Magistrate’s back, he tried but failed to stammer a response.

  ————

  2

  ————

  As he sat in his palanquin, the Magistrate’s mood oscillated between righteous indignation and utter dejection. Rays of sunlight filtering in through gaps in the bamboo curtain landed first on his hands and then on his legs. He saw the sweat-soaked necks of the bearers up front through those same gaps. His body shifted with each rise and fall of the shafts, a reflection of his drifting thoughts. The dark, sedate face of the First Lady and the bewitchingly fair image of Meiniang entered his mind, one after the other. The First Lady represented reason, his official career, and the dignity that went with it. Meiniang was emotion, life, romance. He would not willingly give up either one, but if he had to choose, then . . . then . . . it would have to be his wife. The granddaughter of Lord Wenzheng was, without question, the proper choice. If he failed to rescue the hostages and take Sun Bing into custody, all would come to naught anyway. Meiniang, oh, Meiniang, your dieh may be your dieh, but you are you, and for you I must take him into custody. It is for you that I must arrest your dieh.

  The palanquin crossed the Masang River stone bridge and headed toward Masang Township’s western gate along a badly pitted dirt road. It was the middle of the day, but the gate was tightly shut. Broken bricks and shards of roof tiles had been piled atop a rammed-earth wall, behind which men with knives and spears and clubs were on the move. Flapping high above the gateway was an apricot banner embroidered with the large single word YUE, representing the Song Dynasty hero Yue Fei. Young men in red kerchiefs and sashes, their faces smeared with a red substance, kept guard over the banner.

  The Magistrate’s palanquin was lowered to the ground in front of the gate. He stepped out, bent slightly at the waist. A voice from high up on the gateway demanded:

  “Who comes calling?”

  “Magistrate Qian of Gaomi County.”

  “What is the purpose of your visit?”

  “To see Sun Bing.”

  “Our Supreme Commander is pra
cticing martial skills and is unavailable.”

  With a sardonic little laugh, the Magistrate said:

  “Yu Xiaoqi, you can stop putting on airs for my benefit. When you held a gambling party last year, I spared you from the obligatory forty lashes for the sake of your seventy-year-old mother. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

  With a smirk, Yu Xiaoqi replied:

  “I have taken the place of the Song general Yang Zaixing.”

  “I don’t care if you’ve taken the place of the Jade Emperor, you are still Yu Xiaoqi. Summon Sun Bing, and be quick about it. Otherwise, the next time I see you will be in the yamen when you are getting the lashes you deserve.”

  “Wait here,” Yu Xiaoqi said. “I’ll take a message in for you.”

  Wearing an inscrutable smile, the Magistrate glanced at his attendants. They are nothing but simple farm boys, he was thinking.

  Sun Bing, wearing a long white gown and a silver helmet adorned with a pair of stage-prop plumes, appeared in the gateway. He was still carrying his date-wood club.

  “Visitor at our city wall, state your name!”

  “Sun Bing, oh, Sun Bing,” the Magistrate said sarcastically, “you still know how to put on a show.”

  “The Supreme Commander does not converse with the unidentified. I repeat, state your name!”

  “Sun Bing, you are truly lawless. Hear me out. I am a representative of the Great Qing Empire, Gaomi County Magistrate Qian Ding, with the style name Yuanjia.”

  “So, it is the trifling Magistrate of Gaomi County,” Sun Bing remarked. “Why have you come here instead of functioning as a good official in your yamen?”

  “Will you let me be a good official, Sun Bing?”

  “As Supreme Commander, my only concern is to exterminate the foreigners. I have neither the time nor the interest to bother with an insignificant County Magistrate.”

  “Exterminating the foreigners is what I have come to see you about. Open the gate and let me in. We will both be losers if their army decides to come.”

  “Whatever you have to say, you can say it from out there. I can hear you.”

  “What I have to say is extremely confidential. I must talk to you privately.”

  After a thoughtful pause, Sun Bing said:

  “All right, but just you.”

  The Magistrate stepped back into his palanquin.

  “Raise the chair!” he ordered.

  “The chair stays outside!”

  The Magistrate parted the curtain.

  “As a representative of the Imperial Court,” he said, “I am expected to be carried in.”

  “All right, but only the chair.”

  The Magistrate turned to the head of his military escort. “Wait for me out here.”

  “Excellency,” Chunsheng and Liu Pu said as they held on to the shafts, “you must not go in there alone.”

  The Magistrate smiled.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “Supreme Commander Yue is a sensible man. He will not do injury to this official.”

  With a series of loud creaks, the gate opened inward to permit the Magistrate’s palanquin to enter, swaying from side to side. The musketeers and archers of the escort attempted to storm their way in after him, only to be pelted by rubble raining down from atop the wall. When they took aim at their attackers, the Magistrate ordered them to lower their weapons.

  The palanquin passed through the newly reinforced wooden gate and was quickly enveloped in the heavy fragrance of pine oil. Through gaps in the bamboo screen, he spotted half a dozen furnaces that had been set up on either side of the street, the fires kept red-hot by large bellows. Local blacksmiths were hard at work forging swords, their clanging hammers sending sparks flying. Women and children walked up and down the street with flatbreads and leeks stripped of their hard skins; lights flashed in the eyes of the glum-looking women. A little boy with tufted hair and an exposed belly who was carrying a steaming black clay pot cocked his head to gape at the Magistrate’s palanquin, then suddenly raised his juvenile voice in a rhythmic Maoqiang aria: “A cold, cold day and heavy snow~~northwest winds up my sleeves do blow~~” The boy’s high-pitched voice made the Magistrate laugh, but what came next was a dose of bone-chilling sorrow. Reminded of the German soldiers who drilled alongside cannons lined up on the Tongde Academy grounds, the Magistrate took a hard look at the ignorant Masang Township residents, who had been whipped into a state of fanaticism by the bewitching black arts of Sun Bing, and he was struck by feelings of obligation to rescue them from their plight. The sonorous inflections of a pledge rang out in his mind—what the First Lady had said made perfect sense: at this critical, perilous juncture, he must reject all thoughts of dying, whether in the name of the nation or of the people. To seek death at this moment would be shameful and cowardly. A world in turmoil gives rise to great men, and it is incumbent upon me to take a lesson from Lord Wenzheng, who defied difficulties and laughed at danger, who fought to save desperate situations and liberate the masses from peril. Sun Bing, you bastard, you have led thousands of Masang residents into the jaws of death, all to satisfy your thirst for personal vengeance, and I am morally and legally bound to see that you are punished.

  Sun Bing rode ahead of the Magistrate’s palanquin on a dejected-looking chestnut horse. Its harness had rubbed the hair off the starving animal’s forelegs, exposing the green-tinted skin. Bits of watery excrement hung on the bony hindquarters of what the Magistrate easily identified as a plow horse, a pitiful animal taken from the fields to become Supreme Commander Yue’s personal mount. A young man with a red-painted face led the way, hopping and bouncing down the street with a shiny club that looked like a hoe handle, while a more somber young man, whose face was painted black, walked behind the horse carrying his own shiny club, also, apparently, a hoe handle. The Magistrate assumed that they had fashioned themselves after combatants in the novel The Story of Yue Fei, with Zhang Bao leading the way and Wang Heng bringing up the rear. Sun Bing sat tall in the saddle, reins in one hand and date-wood club in the other, his every stylized move and affected gesture the sort that a man might make astride a great galloping charger as he guarded a frontier pass under a chilly moon or while crossing vast open plains—What a shame, the Magistrate was thinking, that all the man had was an old nag with loose bowels, and that he was riding down a dusty, narrow street on which hens pecked at food and spindly dogs ran loose. The palanquin followed Sun Bing and his guards up to the bend in a dried-out river in the heart of the township, where the Magistrate was treated to the sight of hundreds of men in red kerchiefs and sashes sitting quietly on the dry riverbed, like an array of clay figurines. Other men in bright garb sat on a platform made of piled-up bricks in front of the seated men, intoning funereal strains of Maoqiang opera at the top of their lungs, the meaning virtually incomprehensible to the Magistrate, a celebrated graduate of the metropolitan examination: A black tornado blows in from the south~~a white cat spirit set free by Grand Commander Hong in camp~~white cat spirits, oh, white cat spirits~~white coats and red eyes~~intent on sucking our blood dry~~most exalted Laozi, appear in our midst~~train the magic fists as protectors of the Great Qing~~slaughter the white cat spirits~~skin them, gouge out their eyes, and light the heavenly lamp~~ Sun Bing dismounted in front of a makeshift mat shed. The horse shook its dirty, ratty mane and began to wheeze as it bent its hind legs and released a burst of watery excrement. Zhang Bao stepped back and tied the horse’s reins to a dried-up old willow tree; Wang Heng took the club from Sun Bing, who glanced back at the palanquin with an expression that seemed to the Magistrate to be a cross between arrogance and doltishness. The carriers laid down their shafts and pulled back the curtain for the Magistrate, who scooped up the hem of his official robe and stepped out. Head high and chest thrust out, Sun Bing entered the shed, followed by the Magistrate.

  The tent was illuminated by a pair of candles, whose light fell on the image of an idol on one of the walls. Pheasant tail feathers rose above the head of the
figure, which was clad in a ministerial python robe and sported a magnificent beard, looking a little like Sun Bing and a lot like the Magistrate. Thanks to his relationship with Sun Meiniang, the Magistrate knew quite a bit about the history of Maoqiang opera, and he immediately recognized the image as that of Chang Mao, the school’s founder, who had somehow been appropriated as the revered Taoist protector of Sun Bing’s Boxers of Righteous Harmony. Upon entering the tent, the Magistrate was greeted by intimidating sounds and the sight of eight wild-looking youths, four on each side of the image. Half had black faces, half had red; half were dressed in black, half in red. Their clothing rustled in the stirred-up air, as if made of paper, and when he took a closer look, he saw that that’s exactly what it was. Each was holding a club, the shiny surfaces indicative of hoe handles. They served to further diminish the Magistrate’s respect for Sun Bing. Can’t you manage something new, something fresh, Sun Bing? After all this time and energy, the best you can come up with is some tired old rural opera tricks. And yet he knew that the Germans did not share his disdain; nor did the Imperial Court or Excellency Yuan. Nor, for that matter, did the three thousand residents of Masang Township, the youthful attendants in the tent, or their leader, Sun Bing.

  Following a ragged series of shouts announcing the discussion of military matters by Supreme Commander Yue, Sun Bing strutted over to a rosewood chair and swayed his way into it. With a dramatic flair, he intoned hoarsely:

  “State your name, visitor!”

  With a sarcastic laugh, the Magistrate said:

  “Sun Bing, that’s enough of your insatiable play-acting. I have come neither to listen to you sing opera nor to share the stage with you. I have come to tell you that either the cinders are hot or the fire is.”

  “Who do you think you are, speaking to the Supreme Commander like that?” Zhang Bao, the horse preceder, said, pointing his club at the Magistrate. “Our Supreme Commander leads an army of tens of thousands, men and horses, unimaginably greater than anything you can boast of!”