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

by Mo Yan

  “Go make preparations,” he said, “while I seek permission from His Imperial Majesty.”

  To which Grandma Yu replied, “The construction of Yama’s Hoop is a burdensome task. The iron hoop alone is a unique challenge. It can be neither very hard nor too soft. Only the finest wrought iron, repeatedly fired and hammered, will do, and there is no blacksmith anywhere in the capital who is up to the task. Will His Excellency approve a delay of several days, giving me and my apprentice time to make it ourselves? We of course have no adequate tools or facilities and must somehow make do. Will His Excellency favor us with a bit of silver to purchase what we need?”

  Wang sneered.

  “Don’t you receive enough income by selling cured human flesh for medicinal purposes?”

  Grandma Yu fell to his knees, and naturally I, your father, followed.

  “Nothing escapes His Excellency’s eyes,” Grandma Yu said. “But constructing Yama’s Hoop serves the public good . . .”

  “Get up,” Wang said. “I’ll see that you are given two hundred ounces of silver, one hundred for each—master and apprentice—but you must spare no effort in the service of perfection. I will tolerate no shoddy work. Throughout history, from dynasty to dynasty, generation upon generation, the discipline and punishment of eunuchs has been the responsibility of the Office of Palace Justice. For the Emperor to deliver this case to the Board of Punishments is unprecedented, a manifestation of the trust and high regard His Imperial Majesty has in us. We could ask no higher honor! It is incumbent upon you to take great care in this enterprise. If it is performed well enough to please the Emperor, our future is bright. If not, if His Imperial Majesty is displeased, our Board will be in for bad times, and that will provide a moment for your dog heads to find a new place to perch.”

  Grandma Yu and I accepted this glorious task with trepidation, though we were delighted to receive the silver, which we took to Smithy Lane south of the Temple of National Protection in search of a shop capable of fabricating a hoop to our specifications. Once that was done, we went to Mule Avenue, where we bought several untanned cowhides and hired someone to turn them into leather straps to affix to the iron hoop. In all, we spent a grand total of four ounces of silver, with a hundred ninety-six ounces left over, twenty ounces of which we used to buy a gold bracelet for Board President Wang’s concubine, whom he had installed in Jingling Lane. From the remaining one hundred seventy-six ounces, we gave six each to Second Aunt and Third Aunt. We kept the rest, a hundred for Grandma and seventy for me, your father. I brought that back to our hometown and bought this house, marrying your mother while I was at it. If the eunuch Little Insect had not stolen the Emperor’s fowling piece, I would never have had enough to buy a house or get married. And without a wife, you would not have been born. And if I had missed out on the opportunity to have a son, there would never be a daughter-in-law in this house. Now you understand why I feel it is important to tell you about the Little Insect affair. There are root causes for everything that happens. The theft of a fowling piece by Little Insect is the root cause of your existence.

  Excellency Wang, who was on pins and needles the day before the punishment was to be carried out, ordered that a prisoner awaiting decapitation be taken from the condemned cell and brought to his audience hall as a subject on whom we were to practice our technique. We did as we were told, affixing the iron hoop over the poor man’s head.

  “Laoye!” the man screamed. “Laoye, I did not commit the unforgivable act of retracting my confession, I did not. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “All for the sake of the Emperor,” Excellency Wang declared. “Begin!”

  From start to finish, the punishment lasted no longer than it takes to smoke a pipeful of tobacco. The man’s head split open, and he died as his brains spilled out.

  “That was impressive,” Wang declared, “but he died too quickly. His Imperial Majesty went to the trouble of allowing us to choose a method of execution that will inflict maximum suffering on Little Insect. A death of utter anguish will serve as a trenchant warning to all palace eunuchs. So what do we get from you? You placed the hoop on the man’s head, tightened it, and poof, it was over. Strangling a rabbit takes more time than that. Is that the best you can manage? I demand that you slow the process down, make it last at least two hours. It must be more enjoyable than a stage play. You know that the palace supports troupes that employ thousands of actors who have performed every play in existence. I expect Little Insect’s body to be drained of fluids and for you two to work up a mighty sweat in the process. That is the only way this Board and the punishment you call Yama’s Hoop can gain the reputation they deserve.”

  Excellency Wang then ordered that a second condemned prisoner be brought over for us to practice on. The head of this particular man was the size of a willow basket, almost too big for the hoop, which we struggled to affix to his head, inept like coopers, greatly displeasing His Excellency.

  “That little toy is what I get for two hundred ounces of silver?”

  Sweat oozed from my pores at his comment. But Grandma Yu appeared not to let it bother him, although he later told me he was quaking from fear. Our performance this time was a distinct improvement, as we drew it out for a full two hours, inflicting untold anguish on the pitiful man with the big head before he died. That earned a smile from His Excellency. With an eye on the two corpses laid out in the center of the audience hall, he said:

  “Go ahead, get everything ready. Replace the bloodstained leather straps, clean the hoop, and add a coat of varnish. Be sure to clean the garments you plan to wear, so His Majesty and His court followers will see that the executioners attached to the Board of Punishments are a refined lot. There may be many ways of putting it, but in simplest terms, only success matters. You will not fail! If there is the slightest flaw in your performance, casting the Board in a poor light, you will experience Yama’s Hoop from a more personal angle.”

  We rose at second cockcrow the next morning and set to making our preparations. Our minds were filled with the gravity of performing a palace execution, making sleep impossible. Even Grandma Yu, who had weathered many storms, tossed and turned all night, getting out of bed every hour or so to take the urinal down from the windowsill and empty his bladder, then sitting down to smoke. Second and Third Aunts busied themselves lighting the stove and preparing breakfast, while I concentrated on subjecting Yama’s Hoop to a meticulous inspection. After convincing myself that it was in flawless condition, I handed it to Grandma Yu for one final inspection. He rubbed his hand over every inch of the device, nodded his approval, and wrapped it in a three-foot length of red silk before reverently laying it on the Patriarch’s altar. The Patriarch of our profession is Gao Tao, a sagely eminence from the period of the Three Kings and Five Emperors, who nearly succeeded the legendary Yu on the Imperial Throne. Many of the punishments in use and the penal codes honored today originated with him. My shifu told me that our Patriarch needed no knife to dispatch a victim—by staring at the victim’s neck and slowly rolling his eyes, he could make the man’s head fall to the ground on its own. Ancestor Gao Tao had phoenix eyes, brows like reclining silkworms, a face the color of a jujube, eyes as bright as stars, and three handsome tufts of whiskers on his chin. He bore an uncanny resemblance to the warrior Guan Gong of the Three Kingdoms period. “The truth is,” Grandma Yu said, “Guan Gong was a reincarnation of Gao Tao.”

  Following a hurried breakfast, we rinsed our mouths, cleaned our teeth, and washed our faces. Second and Third Aunts helped us into our new court attire and placed red felt caps on our heads.

  “Shifu, Elder Apprentice, you look like bridegrooms,” Third Aunt complimented us.

  Grandma Yu gave him a stern look, showing his displeasure with the comment. One of the conventions of our profession is a proscription against silly or foolish words before or during an execution. Any violation of that taboo can summon the ghosts of wronged victims or evil spirits. You often see little spinning dust
devils in the marketplace. What do you think they are? They are caused not by wind, but by the spirits of those who were put to death unjustly.

  Grandma Yu took a bundle of prized sandalwood incense from a willow case, gently extracted three sticks, lit them from the flickering candle on the Patriarch’s altar, and inserted them into the incense burner. He went down on his knees, followed hastily by his three assistants. Grandma began muttering softly:

  “Patriarch, Patriarch, today we will carry out our task in the palace, with enormous consequences. Your offspring ask for your protection and guidance in the proper performance of our duties, and for that we kowtow to you.”

  Grandma Yu banged his head loudly against the brick floor. We did the same. Our Patriarch’s face glowed red in the candlelight. Altogether we each kowtowed nine times before standing up, starting with Grandma Yu, and stepping back three paces. Second Aunt went outside to fetch a celadon bowl; Third Aunt went outside and returned with a white rooster with a black comb. Second Aunt placed the bowl in front of the Patriarch’s altar and stepped aside, going down on his knees. Third Aunt knelt directly in front of the altar and held the rooster by the neck with one hand and by the feet with the other, stretching it out horizontal. Second Aunt then took a dagger out of the bowl and neatly sliced the rooster’s neck. For a moment no blood appeared—our hearts nearly stopped, for killing a rooster and drawing no blood augured a botched execution. But then the blood—so red it was almost black—spurted from the wound and into the bowl. Blood surges through the veins of roosters with white feathers and black combs, and killing one before an execution is for us an essential ritual. Once all the blood had drained out of the rooster, the two aunts placed the bowl on the altar, kowtowed again, and backed away, bent at the waist. Grandma Yu and I stepped forward, fell to our knees, and kowtowed three times. Then I followed his lead by sticking the first two fingers of my left hand into the bowl and painting my face with the rooster’s blood, like an actor applying stage paint. The warm blood made the tips of my fingers tingle. There was enough to paint both our faces, and a bit left over to turn all four hands red. Now our faces, mine and Grandma Yu’s, were the same color as the face of the Patriarch. Why had we used rooster blood? To unite us with the Patriarch, but also to notify those spirits of the wrongly executed and evil spirits that we were descendants of Master Gao Tao, and that when we put someone to death, we were gods, not humans. We were the law of the land. With our hands and faces painted red, Grandma Yu and I sat peacefully on stools to await the official summons from the Imperial Palace.

  As the red sun wheeled into the sky, crows in scholar trees set up a racket of caws. A woman was keening in the Imperial Dungeon. Condemned to die for killing her husband, she keened like that every day—for heaven, for earth, and for her children. By now she had descended into madness. Your dieh, I, being young, soon began to fidget and could not sit still. I stole a glance at Grandma Yu, who sat straight and unmoving as an iron bell, and I followed his lead by holding my breath to calm myself. The blood-paint had dried and become stiff, turning our faces into something resembling sugarcoated berries, and I strained to experience the feeling of armor covering my skin. Little by little my thoughts blurred, and a hazy picture formed in my mind of me following Grandma Yu down a deep, dark trench, walking on and on without ever reaching the end.

  The Office of Palace Justice Director, Eminence Cao, led us up to a pair of small, blue-curtained palanquins and gestured for us to climb in. This sudden and unexpected indulgence nearly unnerved me, for I had never ridden in a palanquin before. I glanced at Grandma Yu, who, to my surprise, stood without moving, open-mouthed, as if he were about to cry or sneeze. A eunuch with a double chin standing beside the palanquins said in a throaty voice:

  “What’s the matter, chairs too small for you?”

  Still, neither Grandma Yu nor I was willing to climb in. Our eyes were fixed on Eminence Cao, who said:

  “These are not intended as a show of respect, but to keep you from attracting too much attention. What are you waiting for? Get in! It is true, you cannot put a dog’s head on a golden platter.”

  The four bearers, all unwhiskered eunuchs, stood in front of the chairs, their hands tucked into their sleeves, looks of disdain on their faces. That actually emboldened me. Stinking castrati, fuck you and your mothers. Thanks to your Little Insect, I am going to ride on the shoulders of you two-legged beasts today. I stepped up to a chair, pulled the curtain aside, and climbed in. Grandma Yu did the same.

  Our transports left the ground and began the bumpy ride to the Imperial Palace. I heard the hoarse grumbling of one of the eunuchs:

  “This executioner is heavy, dead weight, probably from drinking all that human blood!”

  These men, who normally carried the Empress or one of the Imperial Consorts, had never imagined that they would one day carry an executioner, not in their worst nightmare. That made me so proud that I began to rock back and forth to make the trip harder on those stinking castrati. But before we’d even left the Board of Punishments compound, Young Aunt shouted from behind:

  “Grandma, Grandma, you forgot Yama’s Hoop!”

  An explosion went off in my head; I saw stars; sweat seeped from my pores and rained to the ground as I tumbled out of the chair and took the red-wrapped Yama’s Hoop from Young Aunt. I cannot describe what I felt at that moment. Grandma Yu had also gotten out of his chair, I saw, his face similarly beaded with sweat, his legs quaking. If not for Young Aunt’s quick thinking, we would have been in very hot water that day.

  “Your mother be fucked!” Eminence Cao cursed. “Can an official misplace his official seal? Does a tailor lose his scissors?”

  I was all set to enjoy the privilege of riding in a palanquin, but this turn of events soured my mood. I crawled back in and sat quietly, making no more trouble for the eunuchs.

  I don’t know how long we had been riding when my chair abruptly landed with a thud and I emerged, confused and disoriented, nearly blinded by my resplendent surroundings. Holding on to Yama’s Hoop, my back bent slightly, I followed Grandma Yu, who was being led into the palace by a eunuch, down one winding corridor after another, until we emerged into a large courtyard in which a line of men with no whiskers on their faces and dressed in tan clothing with black skullcaps were kneeling in the dirt. Little Insect, the fowling piece thief, was already bound to a post. He was a good-looking youngster with delicate features, so daintily demure he could easily have passed for a girl, especially his beautiful eyes—double-fold lids, long lashes, and moist pupils that looked like grapes. What a shame! I had to sigh over such a fine specimen, a good-looking boy brought into the palace only to be castrated and made to serve as a eunuch. What kind of parents could do that to their own son?

  A temporary viewing stand had been erected in front of the post on which Little Insect was bound. A row of carved sandalwood chairs had been placed on the viewing stand, the central one larger than the others. That particular chair had a yellow cushion embroidered with a golden dragon. His Imperial Majesty’s Dragon Seat, no doubt. Already present were Excellency Wang, the President of the Board of Punishments; his deputy, Eminence Tie; and, standing in front of them, a host of other officials, all in caps inlaid with jade or coral, officials from the various boards and bureaus. None of them dared even cough. This was, after all, the Imperial Palace, with an atmosphere that set it apart from all other places: silent, hushed, so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. Only the sparrows nesting beneath the glazed roof tiles did not know enough to keep silent, as they chirped insistently. Suddenly, without warning, a white-haired, red-faced old eunuch on the platform sang out smoothly, letting each syllable hang in the air:

  “His Majesty the Emperor!”

  The lines of red caps sank to the ground, the only sound the swish of their wide sleeves; and faster than it takes to tell, officials from the Six Boards, palace women, and eunuchs were all kneeling in the dirt. I was about to fall to my knees when something stomped on
my foot. I looked up and was pinned by the blazing glare in Grandma Yu’s eyes as he stood beside the post, head up, motionless as a stone carving. That jogged my memory: for generations, one of the conventions associated with our profession has been that an executioner whose face is smeared with chicken blood is no longer a person, but has become the sacred and somber symbol of the Law. We are not required to kneel, not even in the presence of the Emperor. And so, following Grandma’s lead, I threw out my chest, sucked in my gut, and stood as motionless as a stone carving. I tell you, son, such unprecedented glory had never before been bequeathed to a third person here in Gaomi County, or in all of Shandong, or for that matter in any of the territory belonging to the Great Qing Empire.

  At that moment, the toots and whistles of pipes and flutes drew near; behind the languishing musical notes, His Majesty’s procession appeared between two high walls. A pair of tan-clad eunuchs led the way, carrying incense burners in the shape of auspicious creatures, from whose mouths emerged clouds of dark green smoke, so fragrant that it penetrated my brain, sharpening my senses one moment and dulling them the next. On the heels of the two eunuchs came the Imperial Musicians, followed by two columns of eunuchs carrying flags, banners, umbrellas, and fans, all in reds and yellows. Next came the Imperial Bodyguard, armed with golden battleaxes, brass spears, and silver lances, marching ahead of a bright yellow palanquin carried on the shoulders of two powerful eunuchs; in it sat the Manchu Emperor, protected from the sun’s rays by an oversized peacock fan held by a pair of palace women. That was followed by dozens of resplendently attired women of great beauty, the Imperial Harem, of course, all riding in palanquins and forming a florid array of colors. A long tail constituted the end of the procession. Grandma Yu told me later that since all of this was taking place within the palace grounds, the Imperial Procession was greatly simplified. If it had occurred outside, it would have been so long that the head would have passed long before the tail appeared. The Emperor’s palanquin alone would have been carried by sixty-four men.