by Guo Xiaoting
As soon as the two entered, several people called a greeting, but the two hardly responded. They sat down at a table next to the one where Ji Gong was sitting, but behind his back. From their behavior it seemed clear that the two simply wanted to quietly finish their conversation. The waiter, however, had no choice. He went up to their table, wiped it with a cloth, and asked, “What would you like to eat?” They ordered two pots of wine and two plates of food.
The monk turned his head and spoke to them. “Did you two just arrive?” They did not hear him and did not answer. The monk slapped the table and said, “I, the monk, spoke to you in a friendly fashion. You can ignore me if you want to, but I will call you a couple of pigs in a friendly fashion, and if you still ignore me, call you vermin, lice, and a few other things.”
The two did not realize that the monk was speaking to them and again did not reply, although all the other customers knew that the monk was cursing these two men. The other customers wondered if those two had something to be ashamed of. Everyone was now looking at the two. The monk continued to call them names until one of them said to the other, “I’m going to ask him who he’s cursing,” and started to get up.
“Sit down,” the other said.
The monk proceeded to link their ancestry to every despised and disgusting beast in the lower regions of Chinese mythology. “Go ask your parents if it isn’t true!” he temporarily concluded.
One of the men said, “Don’t talk nonsense!” and started to rise.
The other remonstrated, “You don’t know him. Don’t speak to him!” and the first man sat down again.
“I am speaking to you!” said the ragged monk.
At this the two men stood up and one asked, “Monk, who is it that you are cursing?” They were becoming angry.
The monk repeated everything he had said, adding, “You think you can ignore me because I’m poor and you don’t like my ragged clothing.”
At this the two men, who had been growing warm with anger, became reasonable again. One said, “Look, monk, if you even know who we are, just say our names and we’ll see if what you’re saying applies to us.”
The monk turned to the first man and said, “You are called ‘the High-Flying Buzzard’ and your name is Zhang Fu. You’re the third of three children. There are two people in your family now, yourself and your partner in crime, a woman with a pale face like yours. You are now twenty-five years old.”
Then turning to the second man he said, “You are called ‘the Street Rat’ and your name is Li Lu. You are the fourth child of your parents. There are also two of you now, and your, partner in crime is a woman with a dark complexion like yours. I know everything—how many tables and chairs each of you have, how many quilts and pillows. I know all! All!”
At that the two men were ready to fight. The monk said, “Fight! If you want to fight, let’s go out in the street. Let’s not disturb the business of the restaurant.” The two men, Zhang Fu and Li Lu, left the Inn of the Two Dragons and walked outside with the monk.
Zhang Fu and Li Lu each tried to catch hold of the monk but the monk always seemed to be circling around them both. Twist and turn, snatch and grab, they could not catch him. Then the infuriated Zhang Fu managed to punch the monk on the back of the head at the base of the skull. It was like hitting a piece of soft tofu. Blood began to flow.
The monk said, “But you hit me!” He turned and fell. His legs kicked a few times and his lips twitched. Then the life seemed to leave him and the monk’s body was still.
Zhang Fu was shocked. “What a weak old drunkard’s head!” he thought. “I hit his head and it simply smashed.”
“Well,” said one of the local officers who had seen the men fighting with the monk and now approached the men, “you have killed the monk. Don’t argue with us. Just come to the yamen. Then you may tell us all about it.” As he spoke, the other officers were locking the two in cuffs and chains.
Just as they were about to take the two men away, the officers heard the sound of an approaching group and a voice calling out, “Make way for the magistrate’s sedan chair!” Then the magistrate came into view. He was on his way back to the yamen from examining the scene at the Yang’s hotel.
Now, when the magistrate had earlier reached the Yang family’s hotel outside the east gate to examine the corpse of the monk who had been beheaded, he had brought with him several interrogators and attendants. The local officers had already prepared fifty pints of spirits for washing their hands after touching the corpse, and had asked for a roll of new matting with which to wrap the corpse and a new pan for hand washing. The local official’s name was Gan. He had rushed there early and said, “Now, everybody, close your eyes when the examination is over. I, because of my position, must have my little something—the remaining spirits.”
These underlings whose duty it was to examine the body and call out any marks or wounds they saw replied: “Very well, we will use only half a pint.” The underlings made their report to Gan, who prepared the death certificate for the magistrate to sign. The murder weapon, however, was nowhere to be found.
When the magistrate arrived, he called for the manager of the inn to appear and asked him, “Do you know who killed this monk?”
“Sir, it happened last night at the third watch, but I do not know who killed him.”
How many days had he stayed here?” continued the magistrate with his questioning. “And how many were staying with him?”
He lived here by himself for twenty-three days,” the manager replied.
“How many servants have you, and who among them had trouble with the monk?” were the magistrates next questions.
“There are eight servants,” the manager answered, “and none of them had any trouble with the monk.”
As the magistrate made ready to leave the inn in his sedan chair, the underlings asked Gan: “How was it? Was everything all right?”
“If you like noodles,” Gan said, “you may each go across the street and have two bowls. I will be over to keep count and pay the bill.”
“We had hoped there might be a few coins,” said the underlings. “Who would have thought of noodles? Anyway, we don’t feel much like eating right now. There is other work we have to do, so we’ll talk about it later.”
The magistrate then entered his sedan chair and started back with his retinue to the yamen. They had just reached the crossroads, when an officer approached his chair saying, “Sir, I must report to you that a monk has just been killed in a fight.”
“Which monk is that?” asked the magistrate.
“A poor, ragged monk,” replied the officer, “and we already have two suspects.”
The magistrate ordered his chair to be put down and to have the suspects brought before him. Zhang Fu and Li Lu were immediately led before the magistrate for questioning. Who would have expected still another case of murder?
CHAPTER 60
Two scoundrels accuse each other; Ji Gong teaches strange table manners
WHEN the magistrate looked at the two suspects, Zhang Fu and Li Lu, he said, “You two men, what are your family and personal names and what are you called?”
The first one replied, “This small person is named Zhang Fu, and he is called the High-Flying Buzzard.”
The other answered, “This small person’s name is Li Lu, and he is called the Street Rat.”
“Which of you two men killed the ragged monk?” asked the magistrate.
“It was Zhang Fu who killed the monk,” said Li Lu. “I was trying to stop him.”
“It was Li Lu who killed that monk!” protested Zhang Fu.
“Who actually killed him? You two scoundrels!” exclaimed the magistrate.
“If Your Honor doesn’t believe me, look at the blood on Zhang Fu’s hand,” pointed out Li Lu. “There is no blood on my hand.”
The magistrate at once ordered an officer to make an examination. Of course, there was blood on Zhang Fu’s hand. “Zhang Fu, it is very clear that you kill
ed the monk. Do you still deny it?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” replied Zhang Fu. “I killed the monk—but outside the north gate at the entrance to the Gao family money changers, the murder of Liu Er Hun was committed by Li Lu.” As soon as the magistrate heard this, he suddenly remembered something.
Now, strangely enough, when the monk had insulted these two men at the table, he talked about their each having a woman who was his partner in crime. To begin with, Zhang Fu and Li Lu were riffraff who pretended to be more respectable than they actually were. They would loiter around together sometimes, but each of them usually acted separately. One of them would find a younger man who came from a well-to-do family, but who spent his time idling around town away from his home. The older man would then gradually make friends with him, treating him to meals and drinks, lending him small amounts of money, and finally bringing him to his house and making him feel like a member of the family. After a while the wealthy young man would be supporting Zhang Fu or Li Lu and buying expensive presents for the woman who was his partner. Zhang Fu or Li Lu would encourage the younger man’s every weakness and let him drink himself to death or ruin himself gambling. When his money was gone, Zhang Fu or Li Lu would turn him out and find another victim. The two were not seen as breaking any law, but their conduct was low and despicable.
Li Lu, however, had finally come upon a spoiled young man named Liu Er Hun who had been given a few hundred ounces of silver by his family and told not to return. After Li Lu and his female partner had helped Liu Er Hun to use up his silver, they tried to turn Liu Er Hun out, but he refused to go, saying, “I spent my money with you—now you can take care of me. I have nowhere to go. You can’t send me away. I will simply eat and drink with you.”
In his heart Li Lu had come to hate Liu Er Hun. He mentioned his feeling to his friend Zhang Fu while the two were having a pot of wine in a restaurant. “Brother Zhang, look at this fellow Liu Er Hun. He’s drinking and eating me out of my own house. I can’t get rid of him. It’s really hateful! I’m thinking about taking him out and getting him drunk and then killing him. Could you help me with this matter? Afterward, sometime I could do you a favor in return.”
“Well, let’s do it,” said Zhang. The two planned what to do. The next day they took Liu Er Hun out drinking. Li Lu was secretly carrying a long knife. The two friends kept handing the young man drinks until he lost control and no longer knew what was happening. When he was thoroughly drunk, Zhang Fu and Li Lu led him out of the wine shop.
At the second watch that night, they led the drunken Liu Er Hun to the gate of the Gao family money changers. Li Lu had been holding a grudge against this money-changing shop for a long time because he felt he had once been shortchanged there. He thought that it would be good revenge to leave a dead body there, particularly one that was mysteriously headless. Zhang Fu told the story in detail from beginning to end, and finished by saying, “But it was Li Lu who ended the man’s life with one slash of his knife.”
Once the magistrate understood what had occurred, he turned to Li Lu and asked, “Just how did you kill Liu Er Hun?”
Hesitantly, half swallowing his words, Li Lu recited the details. “But it was Zhang Fu’s idea,” he maintained throughout his recital. “He helped me kill him.”
“You two miserable scoundrels!” the magistrate said to them. Then he called to his men and ordered, “Take these two away and keep them in custody. We will now perform an examination of the body of Liu the monk.”
Just as he was about to give the order to the attendants who would make the examination of the corpse, the magistrate suddenly thought about the note that Ji Gong had folded up and given to him. “The monk told me that, when I returned from outside the east gate, after my sedan chair was put down at the crossroads, I should read it,” the magistrate thought to himself. “I think that now I should look at the monk’s writing.”
When the magistrate unfolded the paper, he read these words:
Today this poor monk must die.
Your Honor should first hold an examination of my body.
Order your underlings to look at the wound.
Do not put my body in the grave.
The magistrate secretly bowed his head. “Undoubtedly,” he thought, “Ji Gong had second sight and could foretell the future.” He told his attendants not to remove the monk’s clothing or greatly disturb the body, but simply to examine at the wound.
When the attendants thoroughly understood his order, they responded, “Yes, Your Honor.” Then they looked and reported: “There is a wound between two and three inches long that caused death. There was a great loss of blood.”
The magistrate nodded his head and ordered the death certificate prepared. He then told his men to procure a new roll of matting with which to wrap the body and called the local official as a witness. He repeated his order that Zhang Fu and Li Lu be kept in custody.
The local official then had the body covered with the matting. Outside, he saw the watchman running toward him and asked what was the matter.
“The dead man just smiled at me!” exclaimed the watchman.
“Nonsense!” retorted the local official. “After someone is dead, he can’t smile. There must be something wrong with your eyes. I will look myself.”
The official went to look. Just as he lifted a corner of the matting, the monk rolled over. Then he sat up, touched his head with his hand, and said, “Ah, ha!’” He stood up and ran away to the south, with the official chasing after him shouting, “Hey, stop the corpse!”
Hearing that a dead man was walking, who wouldn’t run the other way? The people all feared that if they were touched by a dead man they would die.
The monk went straight to the south gate, passed through it, and then turned east. Just as he came to the corner of the city wall and turned north, he saw a man walking in front of him. The man was quite short. He wore a matching cap and jacket of dark brown with gold markings. As Ji Gong passed him, he noticed that the man’s face had an evil appearance and that he had dark, thick hair growing from his ears. Ji Gong thought, “If I am to solve the other two murder cases, this is the man I must deal with.” Then he started talking aloud to himself. “This place is not like other places. If a person wanted to get something to eat, he would be wise to observe where others go.”
At the same time, a thought formed itself in the other man’s brain. “I must follow him and do whatever he does.”
They went on northward to the cluster of buildings outside the east gate. There, the monk entered a wine shop on the north side of the street. The short man followed him. Ji Gong found a chair, sat down, and stamped with one foot as he called out, “Come, you rascal. Bring a pot of wine.”
The short man thought to himself, “This must be the local custom. If I want anything, I had better do the same as he does, so he also stamped and called out, “Come, you rascal. Bring me a pot of wine.”
The waiter thought it amusing. He did not dare speak to the short man, but he did say to the monk, “Teacher, do not shout out ‘you rascal’ like that.”
The monk said, “Well, I guess I was wrong, but do bring the wine, and if you have any of those pancakes filled with meat and vegetables, bring me one of those, too.”
“Strange,” thought the waiter, “we call them stuffed biscuits.” And he started back to the kitchen.
Just then the short man called him and said, “I will have one of those filled pancakes with my wine, too.”
The pancakes or biscuits, each about two and a half inches across and three-quarters of an inch thick, arrived on a saucer just a little larger than necessary. They were fried to a rich, dark golden brown, and the combined odor of pork, green vegetables, and seasoning was tantalizing. When Ji Gong received his stuffed pancake, he said, “There’s only one way to eat these things.” He thrust a single chopstick through the round of flat filled bread and bit off half at one bite. The juices from the filling ran down his chin in a way that was unpleasant to see. The sh
ort man watched and copied the monk’s actions.
The monk ordered more pancakes until he had eaten ten. The short man followed suit. Each of them then had ten saucers on his table. Ji Gong carefully stacked the saucers and stood up. He picked up the saucers and held the stack in his right hand, low and almost level with his knees. He was facing the short man, looking him straight in the eye. The short man was doing the same thing. Suddenly the monk threw the saucers, striking the man in the face and covering him not only with the juices that had run out of the filling, but also the soy sauce and vinegar that Ji Gong had added to the saucers while eating. Before the other man had a chance to throw his stack of saucers, the monk ran out of the restaurant. The short man chased after him, clutching the saucers and hoping to get close enough to the monk to throw them effectively.
CHAPTER 61
A reformed robber meets a false monk; Xu Za meets the Painted Lame Man
NOW, when Ji Gong threw the saucers at the short man, the man was furious and wanted to fight, but the monk ran with the short man chasing him, and the waiter chased them both. The waiter saw their flight as a way of cheating the restaurant—two people finished eating, threw the dishes at each other, and pretended to fight, all to avoid paying. So he ran after them, shouting, “Don’t go off, you two, pay up! Twenty pots of wine, twenty stuffed biscuits! You have to pay!”
The monk never turned his head. He ran through the east gate into town and continued west. The short man was following closely behind and calling out, “You monk, for no reason you threw those saucers at me! Do you think you can get away from me now? You can’t escape me! You can run to heaven or to hell, into the earth or into water, but I’ll catch you!”
The monk ran on calling out, “Oh dear, we’re having a fight. Let’s go to the yamen.” Meanwhile, he ran on until he reached the crossroads where he supposedly had been lying dead under the matting. There he encountered Yang Guodong and Yin Shixiong coming from the south. These two headmen had also been chasing the monk.