He stood up and rushed from the booth.
“Inspector!” he heard Lady Li call to him. “Where are you going?”
But he did not have time to reply. Wangshu had fled from the stage; he couldn’t let her escape the theater.
As he reached the first floor, the crowd seemed confused. Some were standing and clapping while others were still sitting and murmuring. People who were familiar with the show knew there were still several more scenes to come. And the fact that the general was still lying on the stage in an ever-growing puddle of his own blood was a hint that the show had not gone according to plan.
The Lord of Hell appeared on stage and started his next song. Inspector Gong couldn’t understand all of the words, but the actor must have been trying to convince the audience that all was well and the show was continuing as normal. It wouldn’t work. They couldn’t leave the actor there for another hour. But it was better than letting on that something had happened. The last thing the inspector needed right now was a riot.
He let the Lord of Hell provide the distraction for the audience while he made his way backstage. He was surprised that there were no guards to keep people from coming and going as they wished. He hoped that Wangshu had not already escaped.
He grabbed the arm of the first actor he came across. “Where is Wangshu?” he demanded.
He could feel the young man trembling. “Her…her dressing room,” he said, pointing down a long hallway with a shaky finger.
“You need to come up with a convincing way to end this show,” the inspector said. “And get the audience out.”
“B-b-but…” the man stuttered. “How? There is much story left to tell! The general is supposed to have his scene in hell and Xueyan’s own death and…”
“I don’t care how you do it!” the inspector snapped, pushing the man out of his way. “Just end it before everyone learns they just witnessed a murder.”
Inspector Gong heard the boy whimper before running off as he marched toward the dressing room. He turned the doorknob, but it was locked.
“Wangshu!” he called. “Open this door.”
He could hear someone rummaging around inside, but the door didn’t open.
“Open this door or I will break it down!” the inspector yelled. He heard a yelp from inside and something shatter. He stood back and kicked at the door, which was quite flimsy and fell open with ease.
As he stepped into the room, he saw that the room was a disaster. Clothes and other items were strewn about, most streaked with blood. There was a traveling case open on a table, filled with bloody clothes. A hand mirror lay shattered on the floor.
Wangshu turned toward the inspector, still gripping the bloody sword in one hand.
“Wangshu,” he said, holding his hand out. “Give me the sword.”
She gasped and tears ran down her face. “I…I didn’t do it,” she cried, her makeup smearing down her face.
“I know,” the inspector said, taking a step toward her, his hand still outstretched. Of course, she had done it. Hundreds of people had just seen her run her co-star through with the bloody sword in her hand. But he would say whatever it took to calm her down and get her to cooperate. “Just give me the sword.”
She looked down at her hands and gasped, as if she hadn’t realized she was still holding the murder weapon.
“Oh!” she cried as she reached up and rubbed her temple, smearing blood along her face. “Fanhua! It was just an act. All part of the show. He’s…he’s just fine, isn’t he?”
Fanhua, that was the name of the actor playing the general, the man who was now dead on stage. Inspector Gong remembered seeing the name in the pamphlet.
“Everything will be fine,” the inspector said, still inching toward her. “But you need to give me the sword.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I can’t. It’s not my sword.”
“Then whose sword is it?” the inspector asked, wondering just how much of what Wangshu was saying was lucid and how much was from shock.
She shook her head and started to pace. “I don’t know,” she said. “But they will come for it. Someone will come for it. I can’t let it go.”
This was interesting information, the inspector thought. Perhaps someone had hired her or forced her to kill Fanhua.
“I am Inspector Gong,” he said. “The head of Prince Kung’s police force. I will find out who the sword belongs to, but I need you to give it to me.”
Wangshu stared at him, squeezing the hilt of the sword she held in front of her. They stood silently, at an impasse.
“Wangshu!” the young man the inspector had accosted in the hall earlier yelled as he burst into the room. “The crowd is growing restless. They refuse to believe the show is over or leave. We need you to come back and sing your last song.”
“Are you kidding?” Inspector Gong hissed at the man. “She just killed someone. I have to arrest her.”
“But…the audience…” the man stuttered.
Inspector Gong stepped out of Wangshu’s room and peeked around the wall to the stage and the crowd beyond it. He had been so focused on catching Wangshu he hadn’t thought about the hundreds of patrons who were assembled only feet from the victim. He looked at the dead body of Fanhua and then at the people who were standing at the edge of the stage within arm’s length. How they hadn’t figured out that Fanhua was dead was beyond him. But he supposed that was the power of the man’s performance.
He then realized the audience was rather a large problem. They could easily storm the stage, corrupt the murder scene, even steal the body if they wanted to. They could riot or turn on Wangshu. If the audience realized the truth, all of the actors could be in real danger.
They needed to end the show and dismiss the crowd without incident before he could actually deal with the crime that had taken place. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say, but he didn’t think he had a choice.
“Wangshu,” he said, stepping back into her room. “You need to go out and sing your last song. You need to end the show and send the patrons away. Do you think you can do that?”
He didn’t think she could. She looked like a terrified leaf, trembling in the wind. But at the mention of going back on stage, a surreal calmness seemed to wash over her.
“I can do it,” she said. She held up her head and walked toward the door.
Inspector Gong stopped her, reaching for the sword. “I need you to give that to me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “I need it for the final act.”
Inspector Gong pressed his lip. Actors! “Fine,” he said. “But if you try to hurt anyone else with it, I will stop you myself.”
She gave a small nod and moved toward the edge of the stage. Inspector Gong knew it was crazy to let her go back out there, back to the scene of the crime, holding the murder weapon, out of his grasp where she could try to flee, but he wasn’t sure he had another choice. He needed some way to clear the audience.
As she stepped onto the stage, the Lord of Hell froze, and if not for the layer of makeup he was wearing, Inspector Gong would have sworn the man’s face blanched. He backed up and then fled from the stage. He probably thought that Wangshu had come to kill him as well.
But instead, Wangshu slipped back into the role of Xueyan, the woman who had saved the world by killing her lover. She walked over to the body of the general and wept. Then she opened her mouth to sing her final song.
She sang about how unfair the world was for women—both the mortal world and the underworld. How to be a filial daughter to the King of Hell she had to betray her heart and her lover. How she had to be subject to the emperor even though she knew he had acted wrongly. How she had to betray her own heart to fulfill the expectations placed on her. How the only way she could avoid having to live in the underworld with what she had done for all of eternity she would have to cut out her own heart.
Inspector Gong gasped as he listened to her words. He hadn’t considered that she would
hurt herself with the sword. Dammit! He shouldn’t have let her return to the stage. But what could he do now? If he ran out there and stopped her, the audience would know that something terrible had happened—or was about to happen—and he had no idea how they would react. They most certainly wouldn’t leave the theater quickly, easily, or orderly.
He glanced up at the box where Lady Li and Prince Kung were. They were still in the box, but they were not sitting. They were both crowded in the front corner, watching intently, talking heatedly. They both knew that something terrible had happened, but they didn’t know what to do about it either. They probably thought that Inspector Gong had already captured Wangshu and were shocked when she came back on stage. He waved at them from the edge of the stage, trying to tell them that he had everything under control.
But he had nothing under control. He had no idea what Wangshu was going to do or how to stop her. All he could do was watch.
Wangshu continued singing about her plan to end her own life so she could be with the general for eternity. She raised the sword, which was still stained with the General’s blood.
She then plunged the sword into her chest and fell backward onto the stage. Several people in the audience cried out in shock.
Then they erupted into cheers.
5
Lady Li gasped as Wangshu plunged the sword into her own chest. Where was Inspector Gong? How could he have let Wangshu return to the stage? She had just killed the actor who had been playing the general. He was still there on the stage, the blood growing dark. This was no act. And now was Wangshu dead as well? She seemed to have been in shock after the general fell to the floor. How could she then do the same thing to herself? It didn’t make sense.
Prince Kung turned to exit the box.
“Where are you going?” Lady Li asked, gripping his arm.
“To send for my guards so they can dismiss the audience quickly,” he said. “Something has gone wrong. We need these people out of here.”
“But the guards could make it worse,” she said. “They could cause a panic. Right now, the audience seems oblivious to what they have just witnessed.”
“But when the general doesn’t get up for his final bow,” the prince said, pulling away from her and stepping out of the room, “they will know it wasn’t an act.”
“What can I do to help?” Lady Li called after him.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Go backstage and see if Inspector Gong needs your assistance.”
Lady Li nodded. She wasn’t sure how she could help, but she felt she needed to do something. She was glad the prince hadn’t simply dismissed her and ordered her to go home.
She motioned Eunuch Bai to her side. His wide eyes told her that he had not missed any of her words to the prince and that he knew exactly what was going on. “Take the girls home right now,” she said.
“But what about you, mistress?” he asked, alarmed. “Surely it would be safer if you came home as well.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t leave just yet. I need to find out what happened to Wangshu,” she reasoned. “Take the girls home and then send the sedan chair back for me. I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
Eunuch Bai wrinkled his nose, as though they both knew she wouldn’t be returning home anytime soon, but he knew better than to say anything. He simply gave a bow and then picked up First Daughter, who had slumped over and was soundly sleeping on the hard bench. He then took Second Daughter by the hand and pulled her away.
“But I want to stay,” Second Daughter begged, trying to pull her hand from Eunuch Bai’s grasp. “Can we go backstage and meet Wangshu?”
“Not tonight, darling,” Lady Li said. “It’s too late.”
Second Daughter groaned her unhappiness, but she let Eunuch Bai lead her away.
Lady Li went down the stairs and started to work her way through the crowd. The people were still clapping, talking, milling about, waiting for something else to happen. No one seemed to be trying to leave.
Finally, the crowd erupted into cheers again. Lady Li strained her neck to see what had everyone so excited and saw Wangshu stand up and bow to the crowd. She then waved to the sidelines and several of the other actors came out as well and they all bowed together. But the general still laid there dead.
Wangshu stepped forward and addressed the crowd. “I’m afraid that Fanhua is committed to his role and will not stand up until after everyone leaves,” she said with a laugh. The audience laughed along with her. She shot a pointed look to The Lord of Hell.
He tossed his head back and let out a jolly belly laugh. “Perhaps I should have Horse Head and Ox Head drag him to the underworld.”
The audience cheered their agreement, but Wangshu playfully slapped his arm.
“That would be so rude,” she said. “I’m sure he will come backstage with us as soon as everyone stops looking at him.”
At that, all the doors to the theater were thrown open and Prince Kung’s guards started to usher everyone out.
A few drunken patrons tried to be belligerent, but for the most part, everyone filed out in an orderly manner. Except for Lady Li. When the crowd had thinned enough, she made her way backstage.
She found Inspector Gong just as the actors also made their way backstage.
The Lord of Hell grabbed Wangshu’s arm and spun her to face him. “What have you done?” he yelled in her face, shaking her vigorously.
Wangshu dropped her sword, and it clattered to the floor. She started to cry and moved to put her hands to her face, but she froze, as though seeing the blood on them for the first time and started screaming.
The Lord of Hell slapped her so hard, her neck snapped to the side and she fell to the floor.
Inspector Gong stepped forward and restrained the Lord of Hell. “That’s enough,” he said. “She’s in shock.”
Lady Li ran to Wangshu’s side. “Are you all right?” she asked. “What happened?”
Wangshu sat up and held her hand, the blood upon which was brown and dry, to her cheek and she continued to cry. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she mumbled as she started to rock.
Inspector Gong checked to make sure the audience had been cleared out.
“Hey! Get away from there,” he yelled to two of the other actors who were hovering around the dead general’s body.
Wangshu looked in his direction and then cried out when she saw the body. Lady Li took her by the arm and turned her so she didn’t have to face it.
“Wangshu,” Lady Li said, looking into her eyes. “Do you remember me? I was a lady-in-waiting for the empress. I’m Lady Li.”
Wangshu looked at Lady Li for a moment, her brow scrunched, then she nodded. She sniffed, but her wailing had stopped. Lady Li rubbed her shoulder.
“Good,” she said. “Now can you tell me what happened?”
Wangshu used one of her long, draping sleeves to rub her face, smearing her perfect makeup. “The sword…” she said, glancing to where it still lay on the floor. “It…it’s just a prop. The blade is supposed to fold into the handle…” She shook her head in disbelief. “But it didn’t. It just…it went in and…” She held her hand to her mouth as she started to gag.
Lady Li shook her gently to get her attention. “Don’t do that,” she said. “I need you to stay strong for me, okay?”
Inspector Gong walked over to the sword and picked it up by the hilt. He tested the blade against a wooden beam. It did not collapse as Wangshu had described.
“It’s a real sword,” he said, and the other actors gasped. He turned to the Lord of Hell. “What do you say? Was it supposed to be a fake sword?”
The Lord of Hell nodded. “All the weapons we use are merely imitation.” He went over and grabbed a lance. As he shook it, the blade quivered. “Real weapons would be too heavy or dangerous to use while on stage.”
Inspector Gong handed the sword to the Lord of Hell. “Shouldn’t the girl have noticed if this sword was heavier than usual?”
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The Lord of Hell hesitated as he eyed the blood on the blade, but then he took it and bounced it in his hand. “This is a rather light sword, so it is similar in weight to the prop she should have used. The prop sword is more durable because it has to look like it is really entering the body, but as she said, it should have collapsed when pressed firmly against Fanhua’s body. But this looks nothing like the prop sword. The design on the hilt is completely different.”
“We only rehearsed the play once,” Wangshu said. “I didn’t memorize what the stupid sword looked like.”
“So this is your story?” the inspector asked Wangshu. “That the sword was switched so you killed him by accident?”
“It’s not a story,” she said. “It’s the truth! I would never kill someone!”
“But you did kill someone,” the inspector said. “Accident or not, you ran him through with your own hand. And there are hundreds of witnesses.”
Wangshu stood up and backed away from the inspector. “But I didn’t do it!” she said. “I mean…I…I didn’t try to. I didn’t…”
“I know what you mean,” the inspector said as he walked slowly toward her. “But you are still a murderess and I’m going to have to arrest you.”
“No!” she gasped, turning away and trying to flee, but Lady Li stood in her path. “Lady Li,” Wangshu begged. “Don’t let him do this. It was an accident.”
Lady Li sympathized with Wangshu. She did not think that the girl was a cold-hearted killer. But she didn’t think there was anything she could do. “I’m so sorry,” Lady Li said.
Inspector Gong grabbed Wangshu by the arm.
“No! Stop!” she screamed as she tried to pull away, her tears starting up again.
“What’s going on?” Prince Kung demanded, walking up the aisle and hopping up onto the stage.
“I’m arresting Wangshu for the murder of Fanhua,” the inspector declared. “There might be more to the case, and I’ll look into it, but there is no denying that she killed the man.”
“What do you mean more to the case?” the prince asked, crossing his arms.
Murder at the Peking Opera Page 4
