The Qing Dynasty Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Amanda Roberts

  When she arrived at the Forbidden City, she was shown directly into the empress’s sitting room. The empress was seated in her chair, smoking her water pipe, several of her ladies seated around her on lower stools working on their embroidery.

  Te-hai, the empress’s chief eunuch—and Lady Li suspected much more—announced her arrival. The empress and the ladies all stood, but only the ladies bowed to Lady Li, acknowledging her superior status. Lady Li nodded to the girls, and then did a lady’s kowtow to the empress, one in which she kneeled on one knee as opposed to knocking her forehead to the floor.

  “Leave us,” the empress ordered the ladies and eunuchs. They all did, except for Te-hai, who lingered near the door. The empress could never be completely alone.

  Lady Li squeezed the empress’s hand as they sat close together. “How are you, dear friend?”

  “I’m quite well,” the empress said. “Prince Kung told me that you were at Wangshu’s debut performance. You must tell me all about it.”

  “Wh-what did the prince tell you?” Lady Li stammered. She did not want to be the person to have to tell the empress that Wangshu killed someone her first night on stage.

  The empress pouted. “Oh, you know him. Always too busy for me.” Lady Li doubted that. If Prince Kung had time for anyone, it was the empress, but she nodded in commiseration. “He told me to ask you since you saw it as well. What happened?”

  “She was wonderful,” Lady Li said honestly. “It is so inspiring to see a woman on stage. Male dans are talented, to be sure, but there was something so…believable about Wangshu’s performance.”

  The empress leaned back and draped her arm over her head dramatically. “I so wish I could have seen it for myself.”

  “But you’ve seen her many times,” Lady Li said. “She’s part of your private troupe.”

  “It’s not the same as seeing her perform in a real theater, in front of hundreds of patrons,” the empress said. “What about the crowd? Did they love her?”

  “Eventually,” Lady Li said. “They heckled her at first. Booing and hissing. But she was so professional. She continued her performance perfectly and eventually, no one could resist being enraptured by her.”

  The empress sighed. “Incredible. You think people will be more accepting of female performers in the future?”

  “One can hope,” Lady Li hedged, but the empress must have sensed her reticence.

  “What?” the empress asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Lady Li said, but she knew the empress was on to something, like a tiger who smelled blood.

  The empress stared Lady Li down with dark eyes that had broken men with just a glance, but Lady Li continued playing dumb. Finally, the empress slapped Lady Li’s leg.

  “Meimei!” she yelled. “Tell me!”

  “You’re only going to be angry,” Lady Li said, shaking her head.

  “I have simpering toadies around me all day only telling me what they think I want to hear,” the empress said. “You are the only person I can trust to tell me the truth, so out with it! Did she miss her cues? Did she fall off the stage? Did she lose her voice? Was she terrible?”

  “No,” Lady Li said with a sigh, shaking her head. “She was wonderful, I promise you.”

  “Then what is the problem?” the empress asked.

  “You know the opera? The story of it, I mean,” Lady Li said.

  “Of course,” the empress replied.

  “There is a scene where Xueyan kills the general,” she said. “Where she runs him through with a sword.”

  “Yes, I know,” the empress said anxiously, waiting for Lady Li to get to the point.

  “To make the scene look real, the troupe used a fake sword, one that would collapse when Wangshu stabbed Fanhua,” Lady Li said. The empress nodded. “Well, someone switched the swords. Wangshu used a real sword in that scene.”

  She paused, and the two women looked at each other for a moment.

  “And…” the empress pushed, not understanding what Lady Li was trying to tell her.

  “So…Wangshu really killed Fanhua,” Lady Li finally said, squinting in expectation of the empress’s wrath. But the wrath didn’t come. It took far too long for the empress to finally comprehend what Lady Li had said.

  “How…what?” the empress finally asked. “On stage? During the actual performance? Wangshu…killed Fanhua?”

  Lady Li nodded. “I’m afraid it’s true. I saw it and spoke to her after the show.”

  “Then why isn’t it in all the papers?” the empress asked. “Where is Wangshu? Has she been arrested?”

  “No one other than myself, Prince Kung, and Inspector Gong seemed to realize that the general was really dead,” Lady Li said. “The audience all thought it was just part of the show.”

  “It must have been an incredible show, if people thought the death was only part of it,” the empress said. “So what happened? Where is Wangshu now?”

  “She’s still staying in her room at the theater while Inspector Gong investigates,” Lady Li said.

  “Investigates what?” the empress asked. “If you saw Wangshu kill the poor boy, what is the inspector looking for?”

  “He is looking for the real killer,” Lady Li said. “Wangshu said she had no reason to kill Fanhua. Someone else switched the swords. Someone else wanted Wangshu to kill Fanhua and frame her for the murder.”

  “Are you sure?” the empress asked. “Seems very complicated to me.”

  “I…hmm,” Lady Li said. Actually, she couldn’t be sure that Wangshu didn’t kill Fanhua on purpose and then made up the story about the sword being switched. She wanted to believe Wangshu, but she supposed that Inspector Gong’s investigation would only lead him back to Wangshu. “It is possible that Wangshu killed Fanhua on purpose,” Lady Li admitted. “But we need to be sure. We can’t let the Ministry of Justice execute an innocent woman.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t that just please every man in this city if the first female opera singer was executed,” the empress said, squeezing her clawed fingers into fists. “This is a direct attack on me, you know.”

  It was typical of the empress to turn the murder of a young man by an innocent woman into a personal attack on her. But the more Lady Li thought about it, she supposed it was possible. The empress was making a political statement by sanctioning the first public opera performance by a woman. Having that woman then publicly executed would, in turn, also be a political statement. One saying that women were to be neither seen nor heard. And that women were certainly not meant to rule.

  “That isn’t the angle the inspector is pursuing at this time,” Lady Li said, “but I will bring the possibility to his attention.”

  “That poor girl,” the empress said. “She must be terrified. I should never have let her leave the palace.”

  “You can’t keep her locked up forever,” Lady Li said, using the same voice she did when counseling her children. “When this all blows over, the city will thank you for sharing her. Who knows, maybe the entire opera world will change after this. Can you imagine if all women’s parts were played by women?”

  “I imagine it all the time,” the empress said. She stood up and rushed over to her desk, pulling out a stack of papers. “Look at what I have written,” she said.

  Lady Li walked over to see what the empress was so excited about. “The Manchu Daughters of the Lord of the Manor,” the title read. She skimmed the rest of the page. “This is an opera, but one I haven’t seen before.”

  “Because I wrote it!” the empress said. “And every character is a woman. From the daughters to the mothers to the servants. Men, like the manor lord, are referenced but never seen on stage. What do you think?”

  Lady Li was intrigued by the idea of an all-female opera. There were some plays that had largely female casts, such as The Generals of the Yang Family, but, of course, the female characters had always been played by men. An opera about women, written by a woman, and
performed by women? The mere thought made Lady Li’s heart beat fast in her chest.

  “This is very exciting,” Lady Li said. “One day I hope you will be known as a great empress and a great playwright.”

  “But first your Inspector Gong will have to find the real killer,” the empress said.

  Lady Li blushed at the empress calling him her Inspector Gong, but she quickly calmed herself and nodded.

  “I will do my best to help him,” she said.

  12

  Even though the room looked less cluttered with the elaborate costumes gone, the room seemed even more out of order. The dressing table was askew and the stool knocked over. The sleeping couch had been moved as well. It almost appeared to the inspector that there had been a struggle, yet there was something off about it. Could Wangshu have been kidnapped? Would a kidnapper have taken the costumes as well? He wasn’t sure.

  It made more sense to Inspector Gong that Wangshu would take the costumes. They had to be quite expensive. If she hoped to survive somewhere else as an opera singer, she would need the costumes. Or she could sell them and have money to survive until she found some other way to earn money. The problem was he had no idea where she might have gone. She could be holed up in an inn somewhere or she might have just fled the city completely. It was possible she could have returned to the empress at the Forbidden City. That might be the smartest thing for her to do. As head of the Inner Court, the empress could simply take Wangshu in as one of her ladies and no one could say anything about it, not even the prince or the Ministry of Justice.

  He never did finish interviewing the other members of the opera troupe, so he thought now might as well be the best time. He might even learn something about Wangshu that would tell him where she might have gone.

  “This is a disgrace!”

  The voice of the Lord of Hell boomed through the opera hall, even backstage where the inspector was.

  “The people deserve better,” the Lord of Hell lamented. “The death and destruction have gone on too long…”

  Inspector Gong made his way to the side of the stage and watched as the head of the troupe, Changpu, raised himself up to his full height and held his arm out in front of him. He took a deep breath and then belted out the first long note of the solo he was practicing. The other players cowered before the Lord of Hell as the musicians pounded on drums. Even without the makeup and costumes, the practice performance was powerful. The inspector decided to watch the rehearsal for a few minutes.

  “No, no, no,” Changpu said, interrupting his own performance, his face scowling as he stomped over to the musicians and started explaining to them how they were playing the song wrong.

  Inspector Gong clapped as he made his way onto the stage. “I thought it was a fantastic performance.”

  Changpu waved him off. “Only because you don’t know any better.”

  The inspector chuckled as he stepped up to the other players. “Why didn’t you have Wangshu join you.”

  “She wasn’t needed for this scene,” one of the men replied.

  “Good thing,” the inspector said. “Because she’s gone.”

  “What?” Changpu demanded as the other actors looked at each other confused. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where has she gone?”

  “I don’t know,” the inspector said coolly. “I rather hoped you could tell me. All of her costumes are missing as well.”

  “Why that little…” Changpu’s voice trailed off as he stomped backstage.

  “First our wusheng, now our dan,” one of the other actors said.

  “I always said having her here was a curse,” said one of the others as the other concurred with a nod of their heads.

  “Hold on,” the inspector said. “Let me have your names first, then you can tell me about Wangshu’s…curse.”

  “I’m Kangjun,” the first man said, who was tall and skinny. “This is Laquan,” he said pointing to the man next to him who actually looked no older than a teenager. “And that’s Pingru.” Pingru looked to be the oldest of the three, but not by much. Inspector Gong suspected the boy only looked a little older because he had a bit more roundness to him.

  “Okay, Kangjun,” the inspector said. “Tell me about Wangshu.”

  Kangjun scoffed and shook his head. “It was wrong to take her on,” he said firmly. “It’s a perversion, letting a woman strut around, displaying herself in front of all manner of men. Disgusting. I’d never marry a girl like that.”

  “But the troupe was ordered by the empress to take her on,” the inspector said. “Changpu didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “Anyone’s morals are for sale for the right price,” he said. “If we hadn’t taken her on, some other troupe would have, but at least we would have had the moral high ground.”

  “So why would someone kill Fanhua and not Wangshu if Wangshu was the one acting improperly?” the inspector asked.

  The three shrugged their shoulders and looked down at their feet. The inspector thought they must know something they weren’t telling him.

  “We can talk about this at the Ministry of Justice instead, if you like,” he said.

  “No!” Laquan said. “Wangshu is the killer. We were all watching when she did it.”

  “How do you know that?” the inspector said. “You weren’t on stage at the time.”

  “But we were all watching her,” he said. “Ask anyone. Her performance…it was incredible! You heard her. Voice of a fairy. It was like…she bewitched anyone who listened to her.”

  “She had you under her spell, did she?” the inspector asked with a chuckle in his voice.

  “Well, maybe not me,” the boy said shyly. “She never looked at me for more than two seconds. But everyone else, they loved her and hated her. You can’t deny her singing ability, the way she commanded the stage. She was a natural performer. But it wasn’t right! Women shouldn’t be in the public eye. ‘When the hen announces the dawn, it signals the demise of the family,’” he quoted.

  Inspector Gong had always scoffed at that particular admonition. He knew from experience that it was always a woman who awoke first in the morning to light the fires while the men waited until the room was warm before rising. It was the same in most families, he was sure. But he understood the boy’s meaning. Many people would have been offended by the idea of a woman speaking, not to mention singing and performing, in public. But none of that explained why Fanhua was dead and not Wangshu. He kept coming back to this central problem.

  “Everyone loved her?” the inspector asked. “What about Fanhua?”

  Pingru let out what could almost be described as a belly laugh. “Certainly not Fanhua.”

  “Why not?” the inspector asked. “Because she stole his role as the dan?”

  “Sure, that was part of it,” Pingru said. “Fanhua was born to play a dan. It’s the only role he’s good at. You saw it. He was a terrible wusheng.”

  The inspector didn’t know why everyone kept saying that. He thought Fanhua was just fine as a wusheng, but what did he know about opera, really?

  “What was the other part?” he asked. “Why else did Fanhua not like Wangshu?”

  The three players shuffled their feet again.

  “Was it because he preferred men?” the inspector offered.

  “So you know?” Pingru said and then nodded. “Good.”

  “Did it offend Wangshu that Fanhua was a cut sleeve?” the inspector asked.

  “I don’t think she was here long enough to realize,” Pingru said. “She knew he was mad at her for taking his role, so she was always flirting with him, giving him food and silks as gifts to placate him. He was upset over losing the role, but always having her close to him, touching him, it just made things worse between them.”

  “Did he insult her? Hurt her in some way?” the inspector asked. “Could there have been strain between them enough for Wangshu to want him dead?”

  The three looked at each other and then laughed.

  “On
opening night?” Kangjun asked. “In front of hundreds of people? What was her plan then? If she wanted to be the only dan there are easier ways than ending up with your head chopped off.”

  The inspector began to feel a fire in his belly as his irritation grew. This case was simply impossible.

  “What about anyone else in the troupe?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Would anyone else want Fanhua dead? Did anyone find his relationship with men offensive?”

  The three shook their heads.

  “Women love the men who play the dan,” Kangjun said. “That is always the case for every troupe. But also, in most troupes, the dan only loves men. It is…almost natural.”

  “Natural?” the inspector asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I believe that men who are drawn to play the role of a woman,” Laquan said, “were born in the wrong body. They have the spirit of a woman. It is why they play them so convincingly.”

  “And why women are drawn to them,” Pingru added. “Even if the women don’t understand it.”

  “What about the female admirers?” the inspector asked, trying one last line of questioning. “They hated Wangshu as well, correct? Could any of them be behind this?”

  “Many of Fanhua’s followers were upset that he was no longer playing the dan,” Kangjun said. “And they blamed Wangshu for that. Wangshu was scared to leave the theater without a disguise because she thought the other women might attack her. They loved Fanhua. I can’t imagine any of them hurting him.”

  Neither could Inspector Gong. He was feeling near the end of his rope. He saw Changpu return to the stage, so he dismissed the three younger actors and approached the troupe leader.

  “What do you think?” Inspector Gong asked.

  “That little bitch,” Changpu spat. “I’m going to have to cancel the upcoming shows. Even if I could find a new wusheng and dan, she took some of the best costumes. It will cost a fortune to replace what was stolen.”

  “Don’t cancel anything yet,” the inspector said. “If you do, people will know something happened to Wangshu, if not Fanhua.”