The Qing Dynasty Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Amanda Roberts

  “Of course, it does,” Wangshu said. “You should see the stacks of angry letters in my dressing room.”

  “Wait here,” Lady Li said and then walked over to the prince and Inspector Gong.

  “…she’s going to be furious,” the prince was saying as she approached.

  “Who is?” she interrupted.

  “The empress,” the prince said in annoyance. “Surely you know how important this was to her.”

  Lady Li shook her head. “I know she loves opera and was very proud of Wangshu, but she didn’t speak to me about this.”

  “This was supposed to be her first big act to improve social attitudes toward women and people of lower classes,” he explained. “You must understand how radical this whole experiment was.”

  “I do,” Lady Li said. “In fact, I think that might have something to do with why Fanhua was killed. Wangshu said she has received many threatening letters. Whoever did this was probably furious about a woman taking the stage.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Inspector Gong said. “But I’m shocked that neither of you will let me arrest her. She’s still a murderer.”

  “How can you be so rigid?” Lady Li asked, exasperated. “If you were riding a horse and…and…” She looked around for inspiration, her eyes falling on the bright red beard one of the actors was still wearing. “And the King of Hell jumped out from behind a tree, intentionally spooking the horse, and the wild horse trampled a person to death, who would be responsible? You for riding it or the King of Hell for causing the horse to run? Would it be fair for you to be put to death when the accident was not your fault?”

  Inspector Gong pressed his lips and breathed out his nose, unwilling to admit that Lady Li had made a good point.

  “If we wait to arrest her until we know the whole story,” the prince said, “I might be able to persuade the ministry to act leniently with Wangshu. But if we arrest her now, the only evidence they will have is that she killed the man. I won’t be able to protect her.”

  “Exactly,” Lady Li said. She turned to the inspector and gently touched his arm, giving him a small smile for good measure. “I appreciate your dedication to justice. But arresting her now will only result in the death of another innocent person. It would be better to wait until you have the full story before presenting the case to the Ministry of Justice.”

  Inspector Gong threw up his arms. “Fine, you both win,” he said, and Lady Li did her best to suppress her face from glowing in victory.

  Some of the prince’s guards returned with a sheet and laid it over the dead body.

  “The audience was shockingly oblivious to what they witnessed tonight,” the prince mused. “Perhaps keeping the death quiet for a while will help with tracking down the killer.”

  Inspector Gong nodded. “It won’t stay a secret for long,” he said. “These things never do.”

  “Then work quickly, inspector,” the prince said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “I’m going home. Keep me updated.”

  “Yes, your highness,” the inspector grumbled.

  “Is there any way I can assist you?” Lady Li asked the inspector sweetly.

  “No,” he said. “You should go home as well. I will be here all night interviewing the rest of the actors and the backstage crew.”

  “If you do need anything,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “do let me know.”

  “Anything?” he asked quietly.

  “Almost anything,” she whispered back.

  6

  Inspector Gong watched as Lady Li walked away, swaying on her pot-bottom shoes. He didn’t recall Swan having such desirable curves, but he had never really looked at her that closely before. He shook his head to clear his thoughts of both women so he could focus on finding out who would want an opera performer dead.

  He walked over and pulled back the sheet from Fanhua’s body to get a closer look. It was hard to see his face clearly through all the makeup, but he seemed to be fairly young. The costume was bulky, but he thought the man had a rather lithe build from what he remembered of the show. He motioned to one of the guards who had been ordered to stay behind to help him turn the body over. Fanhua’s eyes were shut, but his jaw was clenched tightly. He’d been in considerable pain when he died, which was to be expected for being run through with a sword. Inspector Gong had, of course, never been mortally wounded in battle himself, but he had his share of scars from his years in the military and had seen firsthand the damage a blade could do to the human body.

  He examined the wound as best as he could without actually removing the clothes. The costume was designed to look like military armor, but it was little more than several layers of fabric. Still, it would take some effort to make sure the sword went through the clothes and then deep enough into the body to kill the man. He found it hard to believe that Wangshu had no idea that something was wrong before it was too late.

  He covered the body back up and then explained to one of the guards how to deliver the body to Dr. Xue, the only doctor Inspector Gong trusted with bodies in his cases. He didn’t think Dr. Xue would be able to tell him anything he didn’t already know, but the man often surprised him.

  He looked up and noticed that Wangshu—and her guard—was gone. His heart sped up for a moment. He wouldn’t blame her for running. Even though the prince had put a guard on her, it wouldn’t be impossible for her to slip away. He had threatened to arrest her more than once. Her life was on the line. She would certainly run if she had the chance.

  Several men and women who were not actors but worked with the troop and for the theater were clearing the stage and cleaning up.

  “Where did Wangshu go?” the inspector asked no one in particular.

  “She is in her dressing room,” one of the women replied, pointing down a hallway.

  Inspector Gong nodded his appreciation and went that way. He wasn’t sure which room would be hers, but about halfway down he saw the prince’s guard standing by an open door. The inspector nodded to him as he entered the room without knocking.

  Wangshu had removed most of her costume and her large headdress. She was sitting in front of a mirror at a dressing table removing more of her makeup with some moist towels. It was late, so the room was dim except for two candles on the dressing table and a few more scattered around the room. The room was small and crowded with costumes, props, and stacks of trunks with items spilling out of them. An uneaten bowl of noodles that had long gone cold sat on one end of a small, uncomfortable-looking couch.

  Wangshu looked up at the inspector’s reflection in her mirror but didn’t respond as she went back to cleaning her face.

  “This room is rather a disaster,” he said as he ran his finger over the silk of one of the gowns hanging by the door.

  “I haven’t had time to unpack properly,” Wangshu said. “I only arrived a few days ago and have no idea how long I’m staying.”

  “Why was that?” the inspector asked as he casually watched Wangshu for any clues in her demeanor.

  “Fanhua was the troop’s dan before I came along,” Wangshu said. “And he was quite popular. I’m sure the troupe would like to see me gone as soon as possible so their lives can get back to normal. I wouldn’t mind getting out of this hellhole myself.”

  Inspector Gong nodded. Fanhua had traditionally played the role of the young woman. That would explain why he didn’t seem to have the build of a typical wusheng, a male character of military power.

  “And how did Fanhua feel about being replaced?” he asked.

  Wangshu froze, except for her eyes, which raised and stared at the inspector pointedly. Finally, she sighed, put her washcloth down, and turned in her chair to face him. “Anything I say is going to make me look more guilty in your eyes.”

  The inspector looked around the room and spotted a stool under a pile of clothes. He pushed the clothes off and moved the stool closer to Wangshu so he could sit near her.

  “Then you might as well tell me everythi
ng,” he said. “It would be better for me to hear of any troubles between you and Fanhua from you than someone else.”

  Wangshu pressed her lips and looked away for a moment. She knew he was right; he only had to wait for her to come to terms with that face.

  “Fanhua hated playing the wusheng,” she said. “You saw how poorly he performed tonight. He wasn’t mean to be a sheng, of any rank. He was born to play the dan.”

  “So how did you come to join this troop?” the inspector asked. “Aren’t most troops families?”

  “The Dashu Opera Troupe is the most popular in all of Peking,” Wangshu said. “When the empress decided to make an example of me, she had to put me in the group that would have the largest audience. She couldn’t have me perform with any back-alley group.”

  “So the empress ordered the troupe to take you on as a member,” the inspector said. “How did the rest of the troupe feel about it?”

  “You’d have to ask them,” Wangshu said. “But the empress paid them handsomely for the honor, so I don’t think the rest of them minded much.”

  “Who is the head of the troupe?” the inspector asked.

  “Changpu,” Wangshu said. “He played the Lord of Hell. His dressing room is at the end of the hall.”

  The inspector nodded, taking a mental note. “I’ll speak to him later. So what was supposed to happen now? If Fanhua hadn’t died, would you be going back to the Forbidden City now that you’ve opened the door for other women?”

  “That is what the empress told me,” Wangshu said. “Well, she wanted me to perform here for a few weeks. Long enough for people to grow comfortable with the idea of a female dan. Then I could return to my own troop at the Forbidden City.”

  “So this was only a temporary arrangement?” the inspector asked. Wangshu nodded. It made no sense, then, for Wangshu to kill her rival when she wasn’t planning to stay.

  “At least, I hoped it was,” Wangshu finally added. “But you know the empress. Her mind is changeable. If she liked the public’s response toward me, she might have ordered me to stay longer.”

  “Do you think she would have ordered you to join the troop permanently?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Wangshu said. “I am the best dan the opera world has ever seen. And the empress always collects the best of everything for herself. She wouldn’t want to let me go forever. But after I cleared the path, she might have ordered another woman to take my place.”

  Inspector Gong couldn’t suppress a smile from the side of his mouth. While the character of Xueyan was a model of humility, Wangshu clearly had none. He had to admit, she was good, but he hadn’t seen enough operas in his life to know if she was really the best.

  “I’m going to ask you a hard question,” the inspector said, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. “And it would be best if you answer truthfully. Will anyone else tell me that you had a reason to kill Fanhua?”

  Wangshu cocked her head and blinked slowly. She leaned back in her seat. In truth, Inspector Gong couldn’t yet see a reason why Wangshu would kill Fanhua. He was hoping that her reaction to this question would tell him something new. Most people would simply blurt out no, whether they were guilty or not. Some people would hesitate, as though really considering the question from other perspectives, but they would be anxious to say no. Wangshu’s long, easy deliberation confused him. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Though the more he considered her, the less sure he was of her answers. After all, she—by her own account—was an incredible actress. Could he believe anything she said?

  “No,” she finally said. “I had no reason to kill Fanhua. If anything, he had reason to kill me. I was the one who took his place, after all.”

  “Do you think he hated you enough to want you dead?” the inspector asked. “Did you kill him preemptively? A form of self-defense?”

  Wangshu laughed. “You are really grasping at straws now, inspector.”

  He reached a hand behind his neck and stretched. Perhaps he was. But it was late, or possibly early. He wasn’t sure at this point. And he still had more interviews to do before people started forgetting what they saw.

  He stood up to take his leave. “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  Wangshu motioned toward the small, had couch. “Many of the actors live here at the theater, including me, for the time being.”

  “Then don’t go anywhere,” the inspector ordered. “I need to be able to locate you at all times.”

  Wangshu sighed with annoyance and turned away to finish cleaning up.

  As the inspector left the room, he noticed that the prince’s guard’s head was drooping. He slapped the guard on the arm to get his attention.

  “Hey!” he said. “Don’t let her out of your sight, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir!” the man said, standing to attention. “Of course, sir.”

  “I’d hate to see your head roll if she escapes,” the inspector said as he walked down the hall toward the dressing room for the Lord of Hell.

  The door was closed, but he could hear someone inside, so he knocked. “Changpu?” he said, recalling what Wangshu had said his name was.

  A man he didn’t recognize opened the door. “Yes?” the man asked.

  “Changpu?” the inspector asked, confused.

  “Yes,” the man, who was now shorter, bald, and of average build, said. Stage makeup was truly magic. “Can I help you?”

  Inspector Gong pushed his way into the room. “I need to ask you a few questions before I leave tonight.”

  The man sighed. “Very well. I was afraid this was coming but had hoped it could wait until tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”

  “I know the feeling,” the inspector said. “I’ll make this visit brief, but I’m sure we will be speaking a lot over the next few days.”

  “Then let’s get to it,” Changpu said as he motioned to a plush chair in the western style. Changpu took a seat for himself on a long couch. Wangshu’s room was merely a closet compared to this. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer you in the way of refreshments.”

  “No need,” the inspector said. “Wangshu said you are the leader of the troupe?”

  “Yes,” Changpu said with a smile, giving off an air of pride. “The Dashu troupe was founded over a hundred years ago by my great-grandfather down in Anhui. My grandfather moved us here before I was born.”

  “What prompted the move?” the inspector asked, not really caring about the history of the troupe, but he had found that getting people to talk about themselves was a good way to loosen them up for more probing questions later.

  “The Manchu have always been great supporters of opera,” Changpu said. “We were one of four troupes brought to Peking for the eightieth birthday of the great Qianlong Emperor. The current empress is also a great patron. She has elevated us from merely an entertainment for the masses to a respected art form.”

  The inspector nodded. Even he had noticed opera’s growing popularity over the last few years.

  “Most opera troupes are families,” the Inspector said. “Was Fanhua related to you?”

  “He was,” Changpu said with a solemn nod. “My sister’s son. But she died several years ago, and his father abandoned us to seek his fortune on Gold Mountain.”

  “Did he find it?” the inspector asked.

  “We never heard from him again,” Changpu said. “Whether he died on the journey over or is now a fat, rich lord, we have no idea.”

  “You don’t seem particularly distraught over the death of your nephew,” the inspector observed.

  “What can I say to that?” Changpu asked, holding up his palms. “I have three children of my own and a business to run. I cared for the boy, of course, but I’m more concerned about what this will mean for ticket sales. He was quite popular with the ladies.”

  “But didn’t he usually play the role of a woman?” the inspector asked.

  Changpu laughed. “Who can understand the mind of a woman? Especially yo
ung, flighty girls like the ones he usually portrayed.”

  Inspector Gong filed that information away in the back of his mind to ponder over later. “So how did you feel about Wangshu being forced into the troupe and acting on stage?” he asked. “Some might take offense at having to replace a male actor with a lowly woman.”

  “Oh, I didn’t care overmuch,” Changpu said, and Inspector Gong couldn’t help but raise a skeptic eyebrow. “It’s true!” Changpu insisted. “You must understand, Peking Opera is a relatively new form of opera. Remember, we are from Anhui. We used to perform Huiju-style opera. And my wife, she is from a troupe from Hubei. They practically speak a different language. Peking Opera is always growing and changing. We constantly write new plays and new melodies. We are never afraid of trying something new and taking risks. Women are involved in every aspect of the opera already. My eldest daughter is a brilliant choreographer while my youngest daughter can write the sweetest love songs. She wrote the duet between the general and Xueyan you heard tonight. Were you not moved to tears by it?”

  The inspector hadn’t been, but he had noticed that several other people were.

  “Letting a woman perform on stage was…inevitable,” Changpu went on. “I know some smaller family troupes who don’t have enough men sometimes allow their daughters to perform. They don’t advertise it and most people can’t tell under the makeup and costumes. And the fat price the empress paid to give Wangshu the chance to perform? Well, that was a welcome incentive.”

  Inspector Gong felt a twitch behind his eye. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. No one seemed to have a reason to kill anyone.

  “Why would Wangshu kill Fanhua?” the inspector asked.

  “No idea,” Changpu said, flabbergasted. “If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. Fanhua was the person who had been wronged, not Wangshu. Fanhua hated playing the wusheng, and he wasn’t right for it. But I didn’t have any other roles for him to play.”

  “But the situation was only temporary,” the inspector said. “Wangshu wouldn’t be here forever.”