The Qing Dynasty Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Amanda Roberts

  He had barely eaten a bite when he heard a knock on his door.

  “Enter,” he said. He was surprised when his mother walked in.

  “You slipped in like a ghost,” she said. “Are you avoiding me?”

  “No,” he said. “Just tired. This case is weighing on my mind.”

  “Can I help you with it?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “You are kind to offer, but I have more than enough help.”

  “Well, maybe when you solve this case, you can take a break to focus on more important things,” she said.

  “Like what?” he asked as he sipped his baijiu.

  “Like family,” she hedged. He didn’t say anything, but waited for her to continue. “Like…starting your own family,” she finally finished.

  “Don’t think you are being sneaky,” Inspector Gong said. “I find out information about people for a living. I know that you’ve been making inquiries.”

  “And you are not angry?” she asked, a gleam of hope in her eye.

  He sighed. “I don’t know how I feel about it,” he said.

  “That’s good!” his mother said with a bit too much excitement. The fact that he wasn’t thoroughly rejecting her mention of marriage was an improvement to her. “You have been so different lately. So much more…mature. Settled. Yet…unsettled. You are looking for something more in life, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I don’t know that a wife is the answer.” In fact, he knew it wasn’t. Well, not just any wife. He wanted Lady Li, but he knew even the force of nature that was his mother couldn’t make that happen.

  “You know how this works,” she said. “If you give me your blessing to make a marriage inquiry, and your father and I arrange a match, there is no going back. You can’t reject her if you change your mind later. Once the deal is struck, the girl we choose will be your wife, even before the ceremony.”

  “I know,” he said. “Which is why I’m not saying yes just yet. I want to see her first.”

  His mother gasped. “You know you can’t do that. It would be too…personal, too intimate to see her before the wedding.”

  “Paint a picture if you must,” he said. “I won’t marry a girl I’ve never seen.”

  She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “She also needs to be smart,” he said. “Not just a dumb girl who can sit at my feet and wait for me to talk. She needs to be able to hold a conversation.”

  “By the Gods!” his mother exclaimed. “Whoever asked for such a thing in a wife? No one! Why do you need to talk to her? She just needs to lay on her back and make sons.”

  “That’s exactly what I don’t want,” he said. “Is that all you do for Baba?”

  His mother leaned over and moved to strike him, but he jerked out of the way.

  “Where did I get such a vulgar, ungrateful child?” she asked.

  “Smart,” he said. “And pretty.”

  “Any other ridiculous requirements?” she asked.

  He paused for a moment, because he knew the next request would be the one to send her over the edge.

  “And…she can’t have bound feet.”

  “What?” his mother nearly screamed. “What do you want? A dirty peasant girl to be my daughter-in-law? You have been spending too much time with that Manchu prince! He spits on our people and our ways. He will let the foreigners run right over our people in the streets.”

  “Mama!” Inspector Gong said firmly. “Don’t speak about Prince Kung that way. You know he has done much for me and this family. He only does what is best for China. For all Chinese.”

  His mother stood up to leave the room. “If you don’t want a wife why didn’t you just say so?” she asked.

  “I will honor my words,” he said. “If you want me to marry, she needs to be pretty, smart, and flat-footed. It is up to you if you want another daughter-in-law or not.”

  “You are a cruel child,” she said.

  As she left, he almost laughed to himself. She was so mad. But then the reality of his situation sat in the depths of his stomach like a stone.

  This was his mother he was talking about. If she set her mind to something, she accomplished it.

  He was going to be married.

  The next morning, Inspector Gong woke with a throbbing headache. At first, he couldn’t remember what happened. But as he dressed, he kicked the empty bottle of baijiu and clarity hit him like a lightning bolt. He threw on his clothes and rushed to the family’s communal dining area. Two of his sisters and one of his older brothers were sitting there eating their breakfast.

  “You look like shit,” his sister Biyu said as she put a dumpling in her mouth.

  “Shut up,” he said harshly. “Where is mother?”

  “She’s out,” his other sister Daiyu said. “She knew as soon as you woke up you would change your mind, so she left at first light to make inquiries for a bride.”

  “Damnit!” he said.

  “It’s about time, brother,” his brother Zhuang said as he offered Inspector Gong a bowl of congee. “But must you insult us all by marrying a flat-footed girl?”

  “I’m not marrying anyone,” he said as he waved away the offered bowl. “I have work to do. But when mother comes back, tell her not to make any deals!”

  “You know it’s too late,” Daiyu teased, waving her chopsticks at him. “You’ll be married by sundown.”

  He stomped away as his siblings laughed in the background.

  What had he done? How was he going to tell Lady Li?

  He had screwed up, and not for the first time in his life. But he needed to get his head out of his ass and focus on his case. He was running late, and his men were already waiting outside his house for their orders. He had two of them accompany him and told the others to await further instructions.

  As he passed by the foreign legation on the way to the neighborhood where the dead girl’s parents lived, he noticed that the crowd outside was even bigger than before. They weren’t rioting, but it was only a matter of time.

  As he approached the Zhaos’ house, neighbors who had been sitting or working outside scattered. He knew he did not have a friendly bearing. He was walking quickly, and was followed by two of his biggest men. When he arrived at the house, the door was open to let in the morning sun.

  “Zhao Laoye. Zhao Fuwen,” he called as he stepped inside. “We need to talk.”

  They both came out of a side room. “What is all this?” Mr. Zhao asked.

  “Sit,” Inspector Gong ordered as he sat at one side of a table. “We need to talk about your daughter.”

  They both sat down uneasily.

  “What have you found out?” Mr. Zhao asked.

  Inspector Gong reached into his bag and pulled out the arrow. As he laid it on the table, Mrs. Zhao gasped and began to cry.

  “What is this?” Mr. Zhao asked as he recoiled from the arrow like a snake.

  “This is the weapon that was used to kill your daughter,” Inspector Gong said. “You are a woodcarver, yes?”

  Mr. Zhao pressed his lips, then slowly nodded.

  “Did you make this arrow?” the inspector asked.

  He shook his head. “It is an old family heirloom,” the man said. “It was made by my grandfather.” He sihed and then picked up the arrow and ran his fingers along the carvings. “You see these mountains? The rivers? The clouds? What does this look like to you?”

  “It looks like Kwangsi,” the inspector said.

  Mr. Zhao nodded. “This is our home,” he said. “Our people are made of the mountains, carved out hard and strong. You can’t imagine what it was like when we were forced to leave.”

  “Is that why you killed you daughter with this arrow?” the inspector asked. “Because she had dishonored the family in some way?”

  “No,” the old man said earnestly. “She was our pearl. A good girl who worked hard. I know I was mad when I found out about the boy, but she was old enough to m
arry. Past age to marry! If she had requested the match, I would have given my blessing. My wife says the boy was good quality.”

  “But someone killed her,” Inspector Gong said. “And using this arrow was not random. You said it was a family heirloom. If you didn’t kill her with it, who else had access to it?”

  The old man went silent.

  Inspector Gong turned to the man’s wife. “Will you tell me? Will you get justice for your daughter?”

  She held her hand to her lips, trying to control her crying, but her tears flowed freely.

  “Is it a family member?” Inspector Gong asked. “A brother? An uncle? Who was your daughter afraid of?”

  “Afraid?” Mrs. Zhao asked. “What makes you think she was afraid? She never said anything.”

  Inspector Gong pulled out the stack of letters and turned to the one with the passage Lady Li had translated.

  “She was writing love letters to Wang Bolin in English so they wouldn’t get in trouble,” he explained. “In one of the letters she said, ‘if he comes back, I don’t know how I will survive.’ Any idea who she was talking about?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Zhao looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “We don’t know,” Mr. Zhao said. “She never said she was afraid of anyone in the legation. She always said she was very happy there.”

  Inspector Gong nodded. He wasn’t surprised. It was common for children to keep things from their parents so as not to cause them worry.

  “Who was she sending money to?” Inspector Gong asked.

  “She sent money to us, of course,” Mr. Zhao said. “She was a good daughter.”

  “There was someone else,” Inspector Gong explained. “In another letter, she specifically says that she was late to work because she was sending money to Jiaolong. Who is Jiaolong?”

  Mr. Zhao froze and the color drained from Mrs. Zhao’s face.

  “Tell me,” Inspector Gong ordered, banging his hand on the table.

  “Jiaolong is dead to us,” Mr. Zhao finally said through gritted teeth.

  “Who is he?” Inspector Gong asked firmly.

  “He is…was our son,” Mr. Zhao admitted with hatred in his eyes. “I disowned that bastard years ago.”

  “Why?” Inspector Gong asked.

  “He is an opium eater,” he said. “He spends all his time and money in opium dens with whores and gangsters.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Inspector Gong asked. “Didn’t you think it was important?”

  “No!” the father spat. “We have not seen him in years! We had no idea that Weilin was sending him money! Why would she? She was just a girl when we sent him away. She saw what he did to us. How he nearly destroyed us. Why would she allow that scoundrel in her life?”

  “You tell me,” the inspector said. “Why would your daughter remain in contact with her brother?”

  “He must have gone to her,” the father said. “Maybe he threatened her. When he learned she had a good job, he must have pressured her to give him money.”

  Inspector Gong nodded. It was possible. “Did you give your son the arrow?” he asked.

  “No,” Mr. Zhao said. “I gave it and the matching bow to Weilin. It was supposed to pass from father to son, but after I threw him out of the house, I gave them to Weilin. She took them with her when she went to live at the legation.”

  “So how did your son get a hold of it?” Inspector Gong asked.

  “You think our son used the arrow to kill our daughter?” the man asked. Mrs. Zhao burst into wailing.

  “It makes sense,” Inspector Gong said. “You insulted him by giving the arrow to Weilin, so he insulted you by killing her with it.”

  Mr. Zhao leaned back in his seat. His face turned green, then he ran to the door and vomited in the street. Then he wandered outside and ripped his clothes, screaming curses. His wife ran after him, screaming out her pain.

  Inspector Gong followed them. His men started to approach the couple, but he motioned for them to hold back. The old couple were not merely putting on a show, they were truly grieving. He needed to see what they would do. What they would say.

  They cursed themselves. They cursed their son. They cursed the Gods for failing to protect such a filial daughter. Interestingly, though, they also cursed Mr. Gibson, Weilin’s employer.

  “Why Mr. Gibson?” Inspector Gong asked as he walked along beside them.

  “It is all his fault,” Mr. Zhao said. “It all began with him.”

  “In what way?” Inspector Gong pushed.

  “Don’t you know?” Mr. Zhao asked. “He is the biggest opium importer in China!”

  “What?” Inspector Gong asked. “How do you know that?”

  “Everyone with a child addicted to opium knows,” he said.

  “Then why did you let her work for him?” the inspector asked.

  “I didn’t know until she was already working there,” he said. “I knew the missionaries were helping her get a job in the legation, but I didn’t know it was with him. After I found out, the job was too good for her to quit, and I thought it was a way for him to pay off part of his debt to me. But now, that bastard has cost me both of my children!”

  “Calm down,” Inspector Gong said. “Let’s focus on your son right now. Where can I find him?”

  “Death to the opium runners!” Mr. Zhao shouted as he stood and raised his fist. “Death to the British! Death to the foreigners!”

  “Death to the foreigners!” many voices echoed.

  Inspector Gong looked around and realized the Zhaos had moved down to a busy intersection and large crowd of people had gathered around them. He ran up to Mr. Zhao. “Stop this now or I will have you arrested!”

  “You protect the foreigners while they kill our children with drugs!” Mr. Zhao screamed. “You are no better than them!”

  The crowed began to jeer and raise their fists.

  “Burn the legation!” Mr. Zhao yelled.

  “Burn the legation!” the crowed echoed.

  Inspector Gong motioned for his men to arrest Mr. Zhao, but as they moved in, the crowd surrounded him and his wife.

  “You wish to punish me when my daughter is dead?” Mr. Zhao yelled. “You’ll have to kill me before you can arrest me!”

  The crowd cheered and moved in even more tightly around Mr. Zhao. The people began to move toward the legation and grow in size.

  Inspector Gong stood back and let them pass. He couldn’t take on the whole crowd himself.

  “What do we do, boss?” one of his men asked.

  “You, run ahead and warn the legation guards that the crowd is coming,” he told him. “And, you,” he addressed the other one. “Hurry to the Foreign Ministry and tell Prince Kung to send a full contingent of guards to the legation immediately. Hurry!”

  Inspector Gong stayed with the crowd to make sure Mr. Zhao didn’t escape.

  He could do nothing as the crowd erupted into a riot.

  13

  Inspector Gong had no idea what he was going to do. He was alone and unarmed against an ever-growing angry mob. His only goal for now was to keep Mr. and Mrs. Zhao in his sight. Mr. Zhao would have to be arrested for inciting a riot. Something that would only make the people more angry, but Inspector Gong had to do his job.

  As the crowd approached the legation, he saw the guards hurrying the few foreigners who were outside the gates inside. Then the guards locked the gates and held their rifles in a defensive position, ready to fire if necessary.

  Of course all it took was one anxious finger, one boy itching for a fight, or one terrified soldier with sweaty palms to set off a massacre. Inspector Gong knew that the men who were holding the gate had been trained not to fire. To use deadly force only as a last resort. But as a former soldier himself, he also knew that training tended to be tossed to the wind when young men were afraid.

  “This is Chinese land!” he heard Mr. Zhao shout to the guard even though the guard wouldn’t understand him. “You are in C
hina! This is not your land! You get out of here!”

  “Get out of China!” some of the people yelled. “Death to the White Devils!”

  They raised their fists in anger and crowded the guards. It was like there was an invisible line between the guards and the rioters that no one dared cross, but they inched as close as possible, as though dancing with death.

  The growing crowd pushed and shoved, moving the whole group closer to the line of no return. Inspector Gong slowly, carefully worked his way through the crowd. If he could just get to Mr. Zhao. If he could pull him back, he was sure the rest of the crowd would follow. Whatever happened, he had to protect Mr. Zhao. If the man was killed, he would become a martyr. A rallying point for a war that he would be unable to stop.

  Inspector Gong inched his way closer. He reached his hand out and grasped Mr. Zhao’s collar.

  Mr. Zhao turned and looked at him, his eyes wide with surprise.

  Inspector Gong shook his head. “Don’t do this,” he said.

  “It’s too late,” Mr. Zhao said.

  From the corner of his eye, Inspector Gong some something fly by. As he looked up, he saw it. A brick. It flew from the back of the crowd, over all their heads, and was heading straight for one of the guards. Inspector Gong watched as it seemed to move in slow motion. He looked ahead to see where it would land, and saw a young soldier, not more than twenty, with his rifle cocked, his eye on the sight, his brow sweaty, his hands shaking ever so slightly. He was aiming squarely at Mr. Zhao.

  As the brick hit its target, he heard the rifle crack.

  “No!” Inspector Gong shouted. He closed his eyes and pushed Mr. Zhao out of the way as the crowd erupted into screams.

  Some of the crowd rushed the guards. More rifle shots rang out. Inspector Gong hit the ground. He felt someone step on his leg, then his arm. He opened his eyes and met those of Mr. Zhao.

  Mr. Zhao was cowering, with his hands protecting his head.

  Inspector Gong pushed him away. “Get out of here!” he yelled. Mr. Zhao nodded and tried to get to his feet, but then Inspector Gong grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close. “But I will find you. I promise.”