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

by Mo Yan

  They took up a collection for Sun Bing and sent him on his way that very night. With tears in his eyes, he chanted:

  Fellow villagers, hometown water tastes fresher, hometown sentiments are more pure. I, Sun Bing, shall not forget your generosity, and will not return without the aid you seek, that is for sure.

  The villagers chanted in return:

  Your voyage will be long and arduous, so take great care. You must keep a clear head and be prepared for anything, foul or fair. We will await your return with great anticipation, for then the heavenly soldiers will our rescue declare.

  ————

  2

  ————

  One afternoon twenty days later, Sun Bing swaggered back into Masang Township in a full-length white robe under silver armor, six silver command flags sticking up over his back. His face, beneath a silver helmet with a fist-sized red tassel, was stained bright red, and his brows were drawn in the shape of an inverted spear; he wore boots with thick soles and carried his date-wood club. He was followed into town by a pair of fearsome generals—one walked with a quick, nimble step, wore a tiger-skin apron around his waist, and had a golden hoop around his head. He carried a magic cudgel and uttered shrill cries as he bounced and jumped down the street, all in all a fine replica of Sun Wukong, the magic monkey of legend. The second general, sporting a huge paunch, wore a loose monk’s robe and a square Buddhist hat. The manure rake he dragged behind him was a dead giveaway—he was Marshal Zhu Wuneng, or Zhu Bajie, the legendary Pigsy.

  The threesome first appeared on the levee, sunlit apparitions breaking through a patch of dark clouds. With glistening armor, they presented a strange sight, three heavenly soldiers who had, it seemed, dropped out of the cloud-filled sky. The first person to see the figures, Young Master Wu, failed to recognize Sun Bing, so when Sun smiled at him, he did not know what to make of the man, and was terrified. He watched them enter the shop in the west where stuffed buns were made and sold; they did not reemerge.

  As night fell, the villagers, as was their custom, took their coarse porcelain bowls out into the streets to eat their rice porridge. Young Master Wu ran from the east end of the village to the west, spreading the news that a trio of demonic figures had shown up. Most of the time, people discounted anything young Wu said, since his mind was more than a little muddled and he tended to spread wild stories. They were unsure whether they should believe him now, or treat it as a snack to go with their evening meal. But then, from the west end of the village, the clang of a gong rang out, and they saw the clerk Sixi emerge spiritedly from the shop wearing a black cat-skin cap, his face painted like a leopard cat, the tail of the cap swinging back and forth behind his neck. He sang out loudly as he banged his gong:

  This Sun Bing, no ordinary man, in Caozhou learned from the Righteous Harmony band. He returned with two immortals, Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie, to uproot railroad tracks, kill the traitors, and drive out the foreign devils, till peace is at hand. Nights for Boxer training at the bridgehead, where old and young, men and women, come to watch and learn as best they can. When the magic is mastered, no bullet, no knife can harm them, it prolongs their lifespan. With the magic absorbed, all men are brothers, and all eat for free. With the magic absorbed, the Emperor grants amnesty to each and every clan. When that is done, men attain high rank, their wives and children honorary titles, and all receive food stores and land.

  “Aha,” Young Master Wu exclaimed in happy astonishment, “so that was Sun Bing! No wonder he looked familiar, and no wonder he smiled at me.” After the evening meal, a bonfire was lit at the bridgehead to light up the night sky, attracting all able-bodied villagers, their excitement tempered by curiosity. They were there to see Sun Bing display his boxing skills.

  A burner with three sticks of glowing incense had been placed between a pair of candlesticks on an octagonal table standing near the bonfire. Two thick red tallow candles flickered and burned brightly, producing a distinct air of mystery. The bonfire crackled and turned the river surface into a sheet of quicksilver. The shop door was shut tight. People were on edge.

  “Sun Bing,” someone shouted, “you have been gone only a few short days. Do you think we do not know you? What good is served by acting so mysteriously? Come out and display your divine boxing skills for us.”

  Sixi squeezed through the shop door and said softly:

  “Not so loud. They are inside drinking the ashes of a magic charm.”

  Then, with shocking abruptness, the door flew open, like the mouth of a rapacious beast. Silenced by the sight, the people waited wide-eyed for the appearance of Sun Bing and the two immortals he had brought back with him with the anticipation normally displayed for the arrival on the opera stage of a famous singer. But Sun Bing did not emerge. Silence, complete silence. Fast-flowing water crashed noisily into the bridge pilings; bonfire flames crackled like red silk snapping in the wind. The crowd was growing impatient when the silence was broken—no, shattered. The thundering, high-pitched voice of a Maoqiang old-man actor tore through the night air, a slight hoarseness enhancing its appeal:

  I left my native place to avenge an evil deed. The individual words were as clipped as joints of green bamboo, climbing one by one into the clouds above, then settling slowly to earth, where they somersaulted back into the sky, higher than before, until they were out of sight. Sixi’s gong rang out wildly, abandoning all rhythm. Finally, Sun Bing emerged from the shop. He looked the same as when he’d first appeared in the village: white robe and silver helmet, painted face and extended eyebrows, thick-soled boots and a date-wood club. Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie followed close on his heels. Sun Bing took a turn around the bonfire, running so fast his feet seemed not to touch the ground, building upon the normal gait of the old-man role by adding the acrobatic moves of the sword-and-horse role, and highlighted by short, fast-moving steps that seemed as natural as drifting clouds and flowing water. He began to kick and twist, to tumble and turn somersaults, then ended his exhibition by striking a heroic pose and singing:

  I acquired divine boxing skills in Caozhou, aided by immortals of every school, all to ensure that the foreign devils do not survive. Before I left, the Patriarch said to erect a divine altar in Gaomi after I arrive. Here I am to teach divine skills and demonstrate the martial arts, until the people have gained the will to move even Mt. Tai. Immortal brothers Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie have been sent down from the celestial kingdom, bequeathed by the Tao that remains alive.

  By the time Sun Bing had finished his aria, the people’s faith in him had vanished. Divine boxing skills indeed! This was nothing more than his old stage show! With his hands cupped at his chest as a sign of respect, Sun Bing said:

  “Fellow villagers, I traveled to Caozhou to study at the feet of the Patriarch of the Righteous Harmony Boxers. The revered elder had heard that the German devils who were laying track in Northeast Gaomi Township against the people’s wishes were on a murderous rampage, and the fires of loathing burned in his breast. At first the revered elder vowed to lead a divine army to crush the foreigners, but so many military affairs demanded his attention that he could not tear himself away. Instead he passed on to me his secrets of divine boxing and told me to return and erect a divine altar, then to teach divine boxing skills that would succeed in driving the foreign devils out of our land. My companions, Elder Brothers Wukong and Bajie, have been sent to aid me in my mission. Their bodies are impervious to all manner of weapons, a divine art that they will teach you. But first I will demonstrate the skills I have learned, in order, as the adage goes, to cast a brick to attract jade.”

  Sun Bing laid down his club, took some sheets of yellow mounting paper from a bundle Sun Wukong was carrying, and lit them from a candle. The paper curled as it burned in his hand and rose into the air, where it merged with the swirling currents above the bonfire. When all the paper had been burned, he knelt in front of the incense stand and performed three solemn kowtows. Back on his feet, he reached into his own bundle and remo
ved a tally, which he laid in a large black bowl and set on fire. Then he unhooked a gourd from his waistband and poured its watery contents into the black bowl, stirring the muddy ash with an unused red chopstick. After placing the bowl on the incense stand, he knelt a second time and performed three more kowtows. This time, however, he remained on his knees as he picked up the bowl with both hands and drank down the contents. Having drunk the tally, he kowtowed three more times before closing his eyes and beginning to chant. An occasional word seemed discernible in his incantation, but to the untrained ear it was speaking in tongues, ranging from high to low, the notes lingering in the air like unbroken threads in a piece of beautiful embroidery and affecting those who heard it like a soporific, replete with yawns and drooping eyes. That somnolent air was abruptly shattered by a piercing shout, as he began to foam at the mouth and his body was wracked by spastic jerks, just before he keeled over backward. The crowd reacted with fear and shock, but before they could rush to his aid, Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie stopped them.

  Slowly the crowd settled down and fixed their eyes on Sun Bing as he flopped up and down, like a fish on dry land, until his stalwart body began to levitate, light as a feather, attaining a height of three feet or more before settling firmly back to earth. Well acquainted with Sun Bing, the locals knew him as an outdoor opera actor, a man who was breathless after a couple of somersaults on stage. Seeing him perform so expertly now left them speechless and secretly amazed. In the blazing flames of the bonfire, they saw strange lights in Sun Bing’s eyes and a vivid expression sweep across his red face, one that struck everyone who saw it as intimate and unfamiliar at the same time. Normally they knew what to expect when he spoke, but this time they heard things they could not believe were coming from his mouth. An unfamiliar modulation rang with majestic power and proclaimed a noble, stern, indomitable spirit:

  “I am the heroic general of the Great Song Dynasty, Yue Fei, known as Pengju, a resident of Tangyin in Henan Province.”

  The people’s hearts seemed suddenly and precariously suspended, like red apples hanging heavily from supple branches, swaying in a breeze before snapping off and falling with a metallic thud to the ground.

  “It’s the great General Yue!”

  “It’s the spirit of the martyred Yue Fei!”

  Someone in the crowd fell to his knees; others followed, until no one was left standing. Sun Bing, now the transformed spirit of General Yue Fei, circled the area with flying kicks, light and nimble on his feet, all with remarkable poise and skill. As his body rose and fell, the commanding flags behind his back fluttered in the wind. Waves of light glinted off the scales of his silver armor. At this moment, Sun Bing was no longer a man, he was a mythical dragon among men. After the dance, he clutched his date-wood club and whirled it like a silver spear, stabbing left and parrying right, thrusting upward, thwarting below, like a strange python, a coiled snake. The people were dazzled as they watched him—he had won their hearts. One by one, they fell to their knees and kowtowed. Now that his club display had ended, he raised his golden voice:

  The hateful twelve edicts have doomed the nation, the three armies howl in protest, as waves on the Yellow River in rage implore. Alas, the aged suffer. Alas, the Imperial carriage does not return to the palace. When will dust from barbarian hordes be swept from the northern shore? My fury at treacherous court officials will not easily be appeased. To whom can I vent the grief and indignation in my heart? I look to heaven, sword in hand, and roar.

  I am Yue Fei, Yue Pengju. I have descended onto the divine altar and taken possession of the body of Sun Bing by Imperial Demand. I shall transmit my martial skills to you who will engage the foreign devils in a life-or-death struggle. Wukong, heed my command.

  The general who had taken on the appearance of Wukong took a step forward and knelt on one knee.

  “Your servant is here!” he replied in a childish voice.

  “I command you to demonstrate for this crowd the eighteen stages of cudgel fighting.”

  “As you command!”

  Sun Wukong adjusted the apron around his waist, raised one hand, and brushed it across his face. When the hand fell away, it was as if a mask had been put in place. It was now a lively, vigorous face, like that of a monkey—nose twitching, eyes winking. The crowd nearly laughed at this strange simian behavior, but dared not. After demonstrating the range of facial expressions, he uttered a peculiar cry, grabbed his cudgel with both hands, and executed a perfect somersault. The crowd roared its approval. He responded to the acclamation with a more impressively spirited performance: flinging his cudgel high into the air, he sprang up after it, made two complete flips, and landed solidly on his feet, where he steadily, silently, confidently reached up and caught the falling cudgel before it hit the ground. Every move, every maneuver, was accomplished with perfection, and the crowd reacted with frenzied applause; the Monkey King performed his cudgel artistry in the light of the bonfire: he became a coiled dragon, his cudgel a swimming dragon. Jab, strike, brush, sweep, pound, press, block, draw, mix, poke, every move done with precision, each maneuver a sight to behold. The cudgel whistled like the wind as it flew through the air. The demonstration came to an end when he flung it to the ground, where it stood on end like a stake. He leaped into the air, landed with one foot on the top of the cudgel, and assumed the golden rooster stance, shading his eyes with his hand, like a monkey gazing into the distance. The finale: a backward leap sent him back to the ground, where he landed solidly, brought his hands together in front of his chest, and bowed to his audience. Neither breathing hard nor sweating, he was perfectly poised, entirely natural, an extraordinary individual. The crowd applauded and shouted:

  “Bravo!”

  General Yue Fei issued a second command:

  “Bajie, heed my command—”

  The general who had taken on the appearance of Zhu Bajie waddled forward.

  “Your servant is here!” he replied in a muffled voice.

  “I order you to demonstrate for this crowd the eighteen models of manure rake skills.”

  “As you command!”

  Dragging his manure rake up in front of the crowd, Zhu Bajie greeted them with a foolish laugh—ke ke ke—the way a simple-minded farmer would approach a pile of manure to be raked. There was no mistaking his weapon: it was an ordinary manure rake, the sort that all families owned and all farmers knew how to use. Dragging it behind him, he circled the crowd with a silly grin, did it again, and then a third time. The crowd laughed, but they were getting annoyed, as they wondered whether walking around them with a silly grin was all this general was capable of doing. After the third revolution, he threw away his rake, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled on the ground, making pig noises—oink oink—like an old sow rooting for food. The crowd could hold back no longer. An explosion of laughter greeted this sight, but stopped abruptly when the people glanced at General Yue, who stood ramrod straight and immobile as a statue. Maybe, the people wondered, maybe this third general is leading up to some unique skills.

  Sure enough, once he’d finished his rooting old sow act, his hands and feet began to speed up, until he was crawling along faster than any pig could possibly run, oinking the whole time. He crawled and he crawled, and then he rolled on the ground, rolled and rolled, quickly becoming a black whirlwind that spun him into a standing position. How, his puzzled audience wondered, had his manure rake wound up back in his hand? His movements seemed clumsy and awkward, but any expert could have told them that clumsy, awkward movements sometimes hide beauty in motion. Every move, every maneuver, was just as it should have been, and the crowd showed their appreciation with a generous round of applause.

  General Yue said:

  “Revered villagers, be heedful. The Jade Emperor has commanded me to take control of the divine altar in order to form and train a homeborn army to make war against the foreign devils. They are the reincarnation of Jin soldiers; you will be the disseminators of the way of Yue Fei. The foreign enemy
is in possession of powerful rifles and cannons, and of sharp bayonets. How will you ward off their assaults unless you master the martial arts? The Heavenly Emperor has sent me to pass on the secrets of the divine fists, whose mastery will make you impervious to their knives and bullets, unaffected by water or fire, immune to death. Are you willing to do as your general asks?”

  “We await your instructions, great general!” the crowd roared.

  “Sun, Zhu, heed my command!” General Yue said.

  “Your servant awaits his orders!” one said.

  “Your servant awaits his orders!” the other said.

  The General commanded:

  “Demonstrate the Golden Bell Shield technique of divine boxing to the assembled crowd.”

  “As commanded!” Sun and Zhu replied in unison.

  General Yue Fei personally turned two paper tallies into ashes and told Wukong and Bajie to swallow the solution. Then he recited a secret incantation, this time clearly enunciating every word, as if wanting the crowd to commit it to memory:

  “Golden Bell Shield, iron shirt, both parts of Righteous Harmony fist. Righteous Harmony fist holds up the sky, ingesting tallies as an iron immortal in the celestial mist. An iron immortal sits on an iron lotus terrace. Iron head, iron waist, iron stockade, all fortified against enemy weapons . . .”

  The incantation ended, the General sprayed a mouthful of water over Wukong. Then he sprayed another mouthful over Bajie.

  “It is done!” he said. “Now perform!”

  Sun Wukong concentrated his strength and pointed to his head; Zhu Bajie twirled his manure rake, took aim at Sun Wukong’s head, and swung. Wukong straightened his neck—his head was unmarked.