by Qiu Xiaolong
So Wei and Xuanji must have been seeing each other under the cover of darkness. That’s probably why she had purchased for him the shelter nearby. But how could she have still been that crazy about him?
Incidentally, their nocturnal rendezvous could also have given rise to those more vivid, more absurd stories about the black fox spirit with the indistinct, suspicious figures skulking back and forth in the depth of the night.
‘Last night my neighbor saw a black animal scurrying toward the nunnery like crazy, with a long tail trailing along the ground, and two ghastly green eyes glaring daggers in the dark.’
A new idea hit Yang. ‘Last night’ was after Xuanji had been thrown into prison. But Wei still remained at large out there. So Wei could have sneaked in and out of the nunnery for the valuable stuff left inside it. An ‘insatiable leech,’ as Yang had heard Wei described the previous day.
Yang went on talking to the people in the village. Having learned the lesson the day before, he was focusing on Wei instead, with the same excuse of trying to get antiques – except now through Wei – from the nunnery.
‘You have come to the very man for information,’ a middle-aged villager nicknamed Big Head Zhao declared with a loud chuckle. ‘He sold me a pair of solid silver candle stands just two or three days ago.’
‘Wow, solid silver candle stands. Quite valuable.’
‘Not his own, you bet. He could hardly afford to burn a candle at night.’
‘So he stole them from somewhere?’
‘From the nunnery, you bet again. He has a key to the backdoor – he once boasted and bragged about it to me – so he may not call it stealing.’
‘Whatever he wants to call it, do you think I can have a talk with him? He may still have some other expensive knickknacks left behind for me.’
‘Not right now, I’m afraid. An impossible night animal, he usually sleeps until midday before going out to the city, where he hangs around at one place or another, drinking or partying until past midnight. Afterward, Old Heaven alone knows what he would be up to with that damned bitch waiting naked for him in the nunnery, moaning and groaning in bed.’
‘Night animals indeed,’ Yang said echoing. ‘Has there been anything unusual about him of late?’
‘He’s been worried, crest-fallen the moment she was thrown into prison. He’s already been to the pawnshop several times, carrying big or small bags. She won’t be coming out of prison, he knows. Whatever may be left inside the nunnery, he has to turn it into cash as quickly as possible.’ Big Head Zhao added after a dramatic pause, ‘And he sold some of the cheap furniture, too – from his own hut.’
That would probably not be worth much. The cheap furniture in the shabby hut. Yang could not help wondering how Wei would have been that desperate.
Unless Wei was about to flee?
In that case, it could have pointed to a possible connection not yet known between Wei and Xuanji in the murder case.
Yang then moved back to the nunnery, circling the yellow walls against the green weeping willows.
This time he came to notice something else. The soil near that spot in the backyard turned out to be very hard, as he was able to tell by stamping his foot forcibly on it. He did not have to use a spade to test it.
It would have been far from easy for a delicate woman like Xuanji to dig out, single-handedly, the space large and deep enough for a body to be buried properly in it. Not easy even for such a sloppy job as barely covered the maid’s body under a thin surface of soil.
Besides, what with expected and unexpected visitors frequently dropping in and out of the nunnery, and with the village people passing around from time to time, there was no possibility of her doing the burial job in the backyard during the day. It had to be done at night, and even then in a quick and quiet way – no lanterns raised, no noise made.
None of her neighbors had seen or heard her moving, working there that night. Nor did the night watchman patrolling around four or five times during the night notice anything unusual and submit a report about it.
In short, Xuanji did not have the strength for a quick and quiet burial job without being noticed. It was not a job she could have done there by herself.
According to the villagers, everything was possible, of course, in the scenario of the supernatural black fox spirit; like his master, however, Yang did not believe in it.
He managed to circle the nunnery a couple of more times, still unable to get hold of anything like a possible clue, or to get rid of the vague premonition that somebody else might have been prowling around behind his back.
Outside the flower garden, Judge Dee sniffed at the jasmine bud once again, shaking his head with a touch of self-satire before sticking it in the buttonhole of his blue cloth gown.
‘Just a sentimental old fool,’ he said to himself, trying to ridicule himself out of the gloom, ‘wandering spellbound in the midst of flowers.’
He was going to follow what he had learned from the flower girl – to the shops and stores in accordance with Xuanji’s shopping list of the day: the farmer’s market for the fish and shrimp, the herbal store for the swallow saliva nest and dried shark fin, the tavern for the Shaoxing rice wine called ‘Maiden Red,’ and the stationery shop for purple skunk- or fox-tail brush pen.
To his relief, the authorization note from Minister Wu proved to be truly helpful to his inquiries at those places. The note did not reveal his identity, but the red official seal was more than enough for people to respond readily to his questions.
In the event of his movement being reported to the high authorities, he thought that it was such an irony as would work in his favor. The report could actually serve as another confirmation that the conscientious, honest Judge Dee had looked closely into the case.
According to the people he approached, what Xuanji bought on that day – the second day of the month – was confirmed to be extraordinarily expensive, yet all in tiny quantities. That corroborated what he had gathered from the flower girl. The shopping Xuanji did that day was just for one special guest, though there appeared to be some unexpectedly intriguing details from those shops.
At the stationery store, the owner named Xiahou told Judge Dee that the purple skunk-tail brush pen had been custom-ordered by her along with a roll of green bamboo paper, and that she had mentioned she was going to write for someone special, so Xiahou did not have to worry about the cost. In the herbal store, Judge Dee was told that having bargained hard with the sales assistant, Xuanji ended up purchasing only the minimum amount of swallow saliva nest of the highest quality instead of a whole box, saying she was going to make the drink for just one guest.
But these details did not necessarily contradict her earlier statements. It was still possible that instead of preparing for a visitor that evening, she could have chosen the delicacies for her own indulgence. Indeed, swallow saliva nest was said to be capable of making a woman’s face look young and radiant.
But the scenario did not add up. Judge Dee began sweating again, mopping his brow, feeling tired and drowsy as he dragged his heavy feet out of the last store on the shopping list and into the sunlight.
What would a woman like Xuanji have done after such a shopping spree?
Back in the nunnery, probably a nap first. Afterward, she would be able to meet her guest, appearing fresh and energetic.
Alternatively, she would have started preparing for the lavish dinner in the evening. Gourmets made a point of having the live fish and shrimp prepared immediately from the food market; otherwise, the river food would lose much of its fresh flavor. The more so for a gastronomic treat – whether for herself or an unusual guest.
How, then, could she have left the food unprepared and started drinking by herself like crazy?
Judge Dee too felt very thirsty all of a sudden.
It would be good to have a cup of rice wine at a street-corner tavern, but he plodded on, thinking like a puppet controlled by an invisible string.
With those questions unanswere
d in his mind, Judge Dee decided he had to make a visit to the typesetter/publisher surnamed Mo.
Judging from the information he had gleaned from Xiahou at the stationery store, the unknown guest for whom Xuanji had done the exceptional shopping appeared to be a man truly appreciative of her poetry. As diligent an investigative assistant as Yang might have been, he knew too little about the literary jargon mouthed by Mo.
Unsurprisingly, Mo turned out to be a bookish Li loyalist, which was why he had readily given Yang his cherished proof with Xuanji’s changes and comments on it. Presumably a Confucianist, too, capable of thinking only in the logics of the orthodox Confucian doctrines, Mo had taken Judge Dee as just another Li loyalist like himself.
‘As in an ancient proverb, a sturdy pine tree proves itself standing firm, unbreakable against the storm. We’ve heard of your wise advice to the empress about the rightful succession of the Li family. And you have landed yourself into trouble because of your allegiance to the Li family. It’s right and proper, however, for all of us to follow the time-honored tradition of Confucianism, though I’m nothing compared with you. So anything I can possibly do to help, Your Honor, you just name it.’
‘Thank you so much, Mr Mo. You may go ahead and tell me what you know about Xuanji and her work – and the people she’s associated with.’
‘Where shall I begin, Your Honor? I hardly knew anything about Xuanji until she moved into the nunnery.’
‘To start with, you may tell me anything that struck you as unusual about her of late. Particularly over the last couple of months.’
‘Yesterday, your assistant Yang and I talked about the collection of her poems. Afterward, I searched for the poems she had left with me – she did not give me all of her poems in one sitting – but I found one piece not included in the previous collection. It’s titled “Letter to Wen Tingyun on a Winter Night”:
‘Thinking hard, I search for the lines
to recite under the lamplight,
too nervous to spend the sleepless,
long night under the chilly quilt,
with the leaves trembling, falling
in the courtyard, fearful
of the wind coming,
and the curtain flapping
forlornly under the moon sinking …
Busy or not, I am always aware
of the unquenchable yearning
deep inside me. My heart remains
unchanged through the ups and downs.
The parasol tree being no place
for perching, a lone bird circles
the woods at dusk, chirping,
and chirping in vain.’
‘You see, that’s in her characteristic style, full of lyrical intensity, yet restrained.’
‘Yes, the metaphor about the lone bird circling and chirping in vain for a place to perch really speaks for herself,’ Judge Dee said, nodding in appreciation. ‘The combination of “chilly quilt,” “the leaves trembling, falling,” and “the parasol tree” makes an exquisite poem.’
‘But now you mention it, Your Honor, there’s something unusual she wanted me to do of late – in addition to that published edition. About a month ago, Xuanji talked to me about another possible project of new poems for an extremely limited edition – with no more than two copies in total. It’s strange. The woodblock engraving would be charged by the number of engraved wooden blocks, as you know. It does not make sense to print only two copies. For two copies, why not have handwritten copies done by a well-known calligrapher? Far less expensive, and far more valuable as a collectible. But she insisted on the printed copies, and on the best-quality paper, too.’
‘That’s very unusual.’
‘And that collection contains only seven or eight poems in all. She showed one of the poems to me. A very passionate piece, almost too explicit for my taste, and not restrained like her other poems. She could have composed it for a new lover.’
‘Do you have a copy of the poem, Mr Mo?’
‘She took it back, I think, but I can double-check for you. At the time, she discussed with me some details. She said she would bring over the complete manuscript soon. And she was emphatic that she would not spare the cost. The best-quality paper and printing.’
‘Could she have written it for Wen or Zi’an? Love poems of the intimate moments in their company?’
‘No, Wen was seriously ill at home in Hebei Province. Zi’an was also far away in another province, too busy with his official responsibilities, and with his jealous wife watching him ever so closely.’ Mo added with a frown, ‘It’s not merely that it was in a different style from those she wrote for Wen or Zi’an. The contents—’
‘What about the contents?’
‘It’s full of gratitude for the nourishment of the rain and dew she receives from the man.’
‘Sort of erotic?’
‘You can say that again. Considering the fact that Wen pushed her to Zi’an, and Zi’an hurt her badly by his desertion, I cannot imagine her writing a sentimentally gushing poem like that – like a woman falling head over heels in love.’
‘That’s true, but how about the scenario of her writing these poems for Wei?’
‘You know about Wei, too! Yes, she lost her head over him for a while, but that was about a year ago. Soon she ceased to take him seriously anymore. For a sexually strong woman like her, however, it might not be enough for her to live in the world of poems, and in the meantime, Wei continued to appeal to her as an unrivaled bed companion. As for that limited edition of those graphic love poems, she would never have had Wei in mind, who hardly understood those lines.’
‘That’s a very perceptive point. I would say you’re right again, Mr Mo. Do you think that the limited edition was to be done for someone who recently came to her poetry parties in the nunnery?’
‘That’s quite possible. She talked with her guests about poetry over tea or wine in the evening. Poetry served, more often than not, just as an excuse, for them. From time to time, after a fancy dinner, a special guest with some extraordinary gift or an extra-thick red envelope could choose to spend the night there – supposedly in another room of the nunnery.’
‘A special guest indeed.’
‘Among those guests, Xuanji had a special one named Jinren, a prosperous silk merchant. An obscenely rich man, he practically covered a large part of the daily expenses for the nunnery, in return for which she had a poem dedicated to him. While an acknowledged patron, he did not mind her seeing other men. A different duck indeed.’
‘She has certainly had a colorful life. Do you think Jinren could have been the one that inspired the poem in the latest edition she proposed to you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Jinren is a fan of her fame and beauty, but not of her poems. In terms of social status, Jinren is not even on a par with Wen or Zi’an. Besides, in that poem she showed to me, she compares her man of extraordinarily high social status to a dragon soaring high in the white clouds.’
‘A soaring dragon!’ Dee exclaimed, the tea rippling out of the cup in his hand. ‘So high!’
At the exit of the village, Yang looked over his shoulder, taking one more glance back at the nunnery, which appeared to be like a silhouette of an animal crouching against the hills, yet ready to jump up at him at any moment.
Spitting on the ground, he thought he might have been hearing too much of those blood-curdling black fox spirit tales for the last couple of days.
It was understandable that village people chose not to come close to the nunnery. With Xuanji gone, it could eventually turn into a den for real foxes.
Once again, Yang found himself heading back toward that shoddy wooden hut of Wei’s. It was past noon-time. Wei should be up by now. Though hardly a suspect at the present moment, Wei was likely a man capable of telling Yang something more – something more intimate – about Xuanji.
As Yang was sidling toward the hut, its door flung open with a bang. Still at a distance, he thought he had heard a clanging so
und inside the hut, like some heavy furniture being overturned on to the ground.
Yang jumped off the trail and, taking several steps in haste, hid himself behind an apple tree blossoming transparently white in the noon light.
Sure enough, he caught sight of Wei dashing out of the hut and hurrying straight to the nunnery. It might be a good opportunity for him to follow Wei, so he could find out more about things between Wei and Xuanji, an opening Yang could not afford to miss.
He sneaked out from behind the blossoming apple tree and shadowed Wei at a cautious distance. In front of him, Wei started trotting in agitation, carrying a gray cloth bundle on his back, and stumbling along the trail through the tall weeds.
With Wei vanishing through the back door of the nunnery, Yang came to an abrupt stop.
Wei appeared to be ready to flee with the gray bundle containing the valuable stuff from the hut. So his sneaky visit to the nunnery could have been made for the same purpose. Yang decided that he might as well wait outside. There could be something valuable for him to take from the nunnery, too. Squatting behind a large white-streaked black rock, he kept wiping the sweat rivulets off his brows with the back of his hand.
Something stirred surreptitiously, all of a sudden, in the surrounding weeds, which startled Yang. It turned out to be an enormous brown rabbit, shooting away like an arrow. Yang wondered whether small animals like that could have appeared as the black fox spirit in those villagers’ imagination.
It did not take too long for Yang to see Wei emerging from the nunnery, carrying the same gray cloth bundle, which now seemed to be much larger. Something more could have been stuffed in the bundle that Wei ransacked from the nunnery.
Instead of turning back to the hut, Wei headed down toward the road that stretched out in front of the nunnery. It led to the town, Yang observed. The scenario of Wei’s fleeing with things in the bundle appeared to be even more likely.
It was then up to Yang to resume shadowing the fugitive.
Moving toward the open road at the foot of the hill, Yang was compelled to pursue him more discreetly. He had to keep a greater distance between them. There appeared to be fewer trees and less overgrowth to act as cover along the roadsides. He began debating with himself as to whether he should put on a spurt and stop Wei then and there for questioning.