The Qing Dynasty Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Amanda Roberts

  On the stage, five women were performing one of Xueyan’s dances from The Concubine’s Lover under Changpu’s watchful eye. None of them were as graceful as Wangshu had been, though. Inspector Gong marveled at the fact that he knew that. One night at the theater and suddenly he was an opera expert. Changpu must have been holding auditions for new actresses to join the troupe. It wasn’t until he got right up to the edge of the stage and looked at the performers more closely that he realized they were actually men. Young, thin, effeminate men like Fanhua had been.

  “No! No! No!” Changpu exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “Slower. With more grace. Have any of you ever actually seen a woman?”

  The men tried to follow Changpu’s direction but were now clearly flustered as they missed their cues or faltered on their tall pot-bottom shoes.

  That’s enough,” Changpu finally said. “Leave. I’ll let you know if I decide to settle for any of you.”

  The actors grumbled as they left the stage in a huff.

  “Holding auditions for a new dan?” Inspector Gong asked as he ascended the stage.

  “Torturing myself is more like it,” Changpu said, shaking his head. “These boys think they can just put on a dress and be a dan. They don’t seem to understand how to embody the essence of a woman.”

  “Why are you not auditioning women for the role?” the inspector asked. “You said you were comfortable with Wangshu being a member of the troupe.”

  Changpu grimaced and then nodded. “Well, given the outcome of that little experiment, surely you can understand my hesitance to take on another woman so soon. Maybe someday…” He let his voice trail off, apparently not seeing the need to further justify his decision.

  Inspector Gong couldn’t blame him. What Changpu undoubtedly thought would be a quick way to earn some money and the good graces of the empress had cost him his dan, his wusheng, and had brought him untold negative attention. And most people didn’t even know about the murder yet.

  “I don’t know how we are going to be ready for the performance in only two days,” Changpu lamented. “Even if I do find a new dan, I’m not sure how he will learn the role so quickly.”

  “Can you hire someone who already knows the role?” the inspector asked. “How popular is The Concubine’s Lover?”

  “It is a rather well-known opera,” Changpu said. “Many of our regular patrons saw Fanhua perform in it dozens of times. It is a show that should be in any troupe’s repertoire.”

  “So it would be common knowledge that a sword is used to kill the general toward the end of the show,” the inspector said, more to himself than to Changpu, but Changpu nodded.

  “Tell me,” the inspector went on as he surveyed the stage and saw a crate of props sitting off to one side. “I noticed you didn’t have a guard to protect the actors or keep people from going backstage. How do you protect yourselves or keep things orderly?”

  Changpu stuck out his chin. “We never needed any sort of protection before Wangshu joined the troupe. People who attend the theater know the rules. They respect tradition and the…the mystery of it all. If they were to see Fanhua out of costume, the magic of it all would be lost.”

  “I understand that,” the inspector said. “But that means anyone could go backstage or simply be here in the theater at any time without reason. On the night of the murder, did you see anyone messing with the props who shouldn’t have?”

  Changpu laughed. “So you believe her little story about some phantom switching out the swords?”

  “I’m pursuing several angles,” the inspector replied. “And it makes no sense for her to murder someone in cold blood in front of an audience. But I take it you believe differently?”

  “What I believe,” Changpu said, “is that Wangshu is the most gifted actress I have ever seen. I don’t know why she would want to kill Fanhua, but I would not be so quick to assume she didn’t have her reasons.”

  “Well, if you discover her reason, do let me know,” Inspector Gong said. “But until then, I’ll be looking for whoever switched that sword.”

  Changpu sighed. “I don’t remember seeing anyone, but Fanhua frequently let his little admirers visit him backstage. There was always some simpering female mooning about.”

  Inspector Gong thought about what Hungjian had insisted. That since Fanhua was a cut sleeve, he didn’t entertain female lovers. What Changpu said seemed to contradict that.

  “I hope you find the killer soon,” Changpu went on. “It’s too late to cancel the next show, and tickets have sold out. I might be able to find a new wusheng, but I need Wangshu to play the dan one more time. After that, I can close the theater until I find someone new or stage a play without a female role.”

  “Who will you get to play the role of the wusheng?” the inspector asked.

  “Hungjian, the face-changer,” Changpu said.

  “Isn’t he popular enough already?” the inspector asked. “And Szechuan opera is a completely different style. How can he just step into the role of the wusheng?”

  “Assuming a new role in an instant is what Hungjian does,” Changpu said. “Though you are right about him being popular. I assume he wants to amass Fanhua’s admirers for himself. By combining Fanhua’s following with his own, why any troupe in the city would be clamoring for Hungjian to join them. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Inspector Gong let Changpu leave the stage. He wondered if Hungjian could be the killer after all. Maybe he always planned to take Fanhua’s place, garner his followers for himself.

  Inspector Gong then realized that he once again had faltered in his original line of inquisition. Instead of focusing on who was framing Wangshu, he had ended up trying to figure out who would want to eliminate Fanhua. The women had made it sound like following one line of questioning was so easy, but it was all connected somehow, he was sure of it. Fanhua was simply too popular to be “collateral damage,” as Lady Li had called him. Fanhua was too high of a cost to get rid of Wangshu. No one would have simply killed the boy without cause. It was too risky. Too conspicuous. Besides, with the backstage completely accessible, anyone could have killed Wangshu at any time. Or Fanhua for that matter.

  Someone must have been sending a message. Inspector Gong simply needed to decipher it. Was the killer sending a message to Wangshu? A threat? A warning? A message that she should not try to take the place of a man. Possibly.

  Was the message for Changpu? Telling him he should not allow a woman to perform in his troupe? Again, possibly, but he felt that was unlikely. Changpu had only been doing as ordered by the empress.

  Was the message for the empress? That was certainly a possibility. A warning to her to not upset the status quo.

  He supposed the message could have been for Fanhua, who certainly got the point of it. But why make a public display of it? Why attract the attention? If the message had been for Fanhua, it must not have been only for Fanhua, but for the theater community at large.

  But what was the message? What was the killer trying to say by killing the opera scene’s most popular actor?

  Unfortunately, Inspector Gong didn’t know the theater world well enough to understand the message on his own. He would have to keep looking, keep inquiring, keep digging.

  16

  Lady Li felt energized after her conversation about the case with Inspector Gong, Swan, and Wangshu. She was irritated by the way Inspector Gong had deferred to Swan and gave her so much attention, but that was overshadowed by the fact that there might be some progress on finding Fanhua’s killer. Mostly. She wavered back and forth between feeling slighted by Inspector Gong and accepting that things were progressing the way they should. If Inspector Gong was going to marry Swan, then he should show her the most attention. In truth, he shouldn’t be showing Lady Li any attention at all. He shouldn’t be in her home and he shouldn’t be relying on her to help him solve his latest case.

  Actually, he wasn’t relying on her. He hadn’t asked for her assistance at all this time like he ha
d in the past. He was only investigating because she and the prince had asked him to. Any information she had gleaned about the case had come from her own investigating, and she wasn’t sure she had learned anything useful.

  “I’m going out,” she declared to Wangshu and Swan, who looked at her with surprise.

  “Where are you going?” Wangshu asked.

  “To speak with one of Fanhua’s admirers,” Lady Li admitted. “They knew Fanhua better than anyone perhaps, so they might know something no one else would know. One of them might even have killed him.”

  “Killed someone they profess to love?” Swan asked, aghast.

  “Love is a powerful force,” Wangshu said knowingly. “Many operas use love as a driving force behind murder as the plot.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Swan said. “Same with novels. But I suppose I never thought of people actually killing those they loved in real life. It’s too awful to imagine.”

  “I agree it is a very wicked thing to happen,” Lady Li said. “But it is an all too real possibility. And Inspector Gong can’t talk to the young women who followed Fanhua on his own, so I must call on them.”

  “Did he ask you for your help?” Swan asked, standing up.

  “Of course, he did,” Lady Li lied. “I wouldn’t do something so reckless on my own.”

  Swan sighed dreamily. “I hope to be as useful to him one day as you are.”

  “You just focus on getting well,” Lady Li said. “Have a rest. Drink the tea Dr. Xue left for you.”

  Swan gave Lady Li a small bow. “Yes, my lady,” she said and solemnly headed to her room.

  “The inspector didn’t really ask for your help, did he?” Wangshu asked the moment Swan was out of earshot.

  Lady Li felt her ears go hot. “What do you mean?” she asked innocently, but knew she’d been caught.

  “Don’t try to lie to me,” Wangshu said. “I lie…I mean, act for a living.”

  “I suppose acting is a form of deceit, isn’t it?” Lady Li said. “Perhaps that is why so many people think it is a rather unsuitable job for a woman—”

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” Wangshu interrupted. “Why are you doing this if the inspector didn’t ask you to? Do you know something he doesn’t?”

  Lady Li chuckled. “Oh, I know a great deal he doesn’t.”

  Wangshu cocked her eyebrow suggestively.

  “I didn’t mean…” Lady Li started to say but let her words wonder off. Of course, she had meant it in the way Wangshu understood it, she had never had anyone around who understood her double entendres before. “I just mean that Inspector Gong often needs more assistance with his cases than he realizes. He prefers to work alone, but he doesn’t know everything.”

  “You seem to know this man who isn’t related to you quite well,” Wangshu said. Lady Li opened her mouth as though scandalized, but then Wangshu said, “Well done.”

  “W-w-why?” Lady Li couldn’t help but ask in surprise.

  “I live in a world that would make most people blush,” Wangshu said. “A world where women work as writers and poets and men have scandalous affairs with other men. Humans are complicated creatures who find happiness in many ways in life, not only the ways our grandparents wish we should stick to.”

  Lady Li finally resigned herself to the fact that this girl, this opera performer, understood her far better than anyone else. While she still couldn’t admit to her relationship with Inspector Gong, she could perhaps unburden herself a tiny bit.

  “I’m only twenty-five years old,” Lady Li said. “The world would have me spend the rest of my life as a widow. The very thought makes me miserable. Yet I can’t seem to bring myself to rebel. I don’t know another way to live, and I can’t imagine what such action would do to my daughters and their future.

  “The same is true of Swan,” she went on. “She should remain a widow as well even though she is only twenty, barely older than a girl. But I have found a way for her to escape this life and I think she needs to take it.”

  “Even at your own cost?” Wangshu asked. Lady Li did not look at her or respond. “The desire that pours off of you when you look at the inspector is infectious. And the lust in his eyes for you…” She sighed and fanned herself with her hand. “We should all hope to find a man who looks at us like that. But you are willing to give him up for her? Why?”

  “I can’t stand in the way of her happiness, of her freedom,” Lady Li said. “I’m frustrated. Jealous. Sad, even. But I love her as a sister. At least, I think I do. I didn’t have one growing up. Sisters fight, don’t they? If I can help her escape this life, I will do it.”

  Wangshu shook her head in disbelief and amazement. “You are a goddess among women, Lady Li,” she said. “Daughters and widows will be forced to write poems about your piety and light incense in your name for generations to come.”

  Lady Li paused at that. Where had she heard it before? Was that really all her future held for her? Misery in this life and forced misery upon girls who had yet to be born? She certainly wasn’t doing this to be honored. She was not an example to be imitated.

  Finding neither comfort nor reassurance in Wangshu’s words, Lady Li stood to leave. “I should go make my call before it is too late.”

  “Let me know what you discover,” Wangshu said.

  Lady Li arrived at Liling’s house to find it in a tizzy. The maid who admitted her seemed frazzled, as though unsure of what to do, while the other household staff moved about quickly and quietly. There was shouting and crying from the back of the house, so Lady Li headed in that direction.

  “Liling!” a woman was yelling. “You must calm yourself.”

  “He’s dead!” Liling cried. “What am I going to do?”

  “He’s just an opera singer,” the woman whom Lady Li assumed was Liling’s mother said. “There are others.”

  “No!” Liling yelled. “There will never be another.”

  “Who died?” Lady Li asked, though she had a feeling she knew exactly who had Liling upset.

  Lining’s mother looked at Lady Li in shock. “Who are you? Who admitted you?”

  “I’m…a friend of Liling’s,” Lady Li said with a smile. “We met at the opera and I was calling to talk to her about Wangshu’s performance—”

  “Don’t speak to me of that bitch!” Liling railed at Lady Li.

  “Liling!” her mother gasped. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Could you just give us a moment,” Lady Li said to Liling’s mother. “I’m sure I can help if I talk to her.”

  “Good luck,” her mother scoffed. “She’s been like this all morning!” She shook her head and tottered away.

  “Now, Liling,” Lady Li said, entering the girl’s room and closing the door. “What happened? Why are you so upset?”

  “It’s Fanhua!” she wailed, plopping down on her bed. “He’s dead!”

  “What?” Lady Li gasped in surprise, sitting down beside her. “How? Who told you?”

  “Everyone is talking about it,” Liling said, wiping her nose on her sleeve and handing Lady Li a small two-page newspaper. “A friend sent this over.”

  On the front page of the paper was a story announcing the death of Fanhua. It didn’t have the details, but it did mention that Wangshu was missing and made it sound like she was somehow involved in Fanhua’s death. Other than that, the report had no information about the death but talked about Fanhua’s short but illustrious career. At first, Lady Li wondered why she hadn’t heard this since she read the papers, but she quickly realized that she didn’t subscribe to this one. It seemed to be dedicated to entertainment news around the city, including not only opera performances, but British and Japanese theater news as well. It wasn’t something most respectable ladies would subscribe to, but Lady Li was sure it had a large underground support network. She had no idea who would have leaked the news about Fanhua’s death, but it didn’t seem to matter now. Surely by now all the opera patrons in town would know about
it.

  “Oh, Liling,” Lady Li said, patting her on the back. “I am so sorry. I know how important he was to you.”

  “This is the worst thing to ever happen in my life,” Liling said, standing up and pacing, and Lady Li thought the poor girl—as sheltered as she was—probably wasn’t exaggerating. “How could this happen?”

  “Tragedies happen, my dear,” Lady Li said. “Sometimes for no reason at all.”

  “This is all Wangshu’s fault,” Liling spat. “How could she do this?”

  “What do you mean?” Lady Li prodded. Did Liling somehow know something about Fanhua’s death?

  “She stole his role,” Liling said. “Forced him to play a man. You think it is a coincidence that he died after suffering such humiliation? I saw him before the show, in his general costume. He was so distraught! He smashed the mirror on his dresser. He hated what he saw.”

  “But…he was a man,” Lady Li said. “How could it be a humiliation to play one on stage?”

  Liling scoffed. “You really are new to the opera world, aren’t you?”

  Lady Li held out her hands helplessly.

  “He wasn’t supposed to play a man,” Liling said. “He…how can I explain this? My own mother doesn’t even understand me when I talk about it.”

  “Do try,” Lady Li said. “I want to know what made him so appealing. I was never fortunate enough to see him in the role of the dan.”