by Jeannie Lin
She looked so heartbreakingly young! The painting showed her seated in a meadow with tall grass around her. There was a faint hint of a breeze in the sway of the grass and the way her hair flew about her face. Blood had spilled onto the paper, forming a ghastly frame around her.
“Your face was the last thing Deng Zhi saw in this life,” Wu remarked. “He sent his guards away to be with you. He was anticipating your arrival the moment he was killed.”
She shook her head, wanting to deny everything, but it was impossible to ignore. “I don’t know how that came to be here. I meant nothing to Deng. He wanted me the way a soldier procures a horse. As property.”
“Do not lie to me, for if I find that you have tried to trick me, there will be consequences,” Wu warned. “Were you involved in Deng’s death?”
At that moment, she was convinced his relentless gaze could pierce straight into her soul.
“No.”
Mingyu said nothing else, letting that one word stand. Wu had never been lured or swayed by any of her artfulness. She expected another rainstorm of questions from him, but he remained silent.
Finally the constable stepped back from the desk. The nod he gave her was a begrudging one, hard-earned, but Mingyu still wasn’t certain whether he believed her or not.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE MOMENT MINGYU was free of the house, she fled to the side of one her courtesan-sisters who was waiting in the street. They ducked beneath the shade of a parasol, heads held close in conversation like a pair of sparrows on a branch. Once more, Kaifeng was left to watch as Mingyu walked away, hanging on to the last sight of her until she was nothing more than a shape in the distance.
Mingyu was frightened and desperate and she was certainly hiding something, but his gut told him she wasn’t guilty. Unfortunately his gut and every other part of him were susceptible to Mingyu. He couldn’t trust his instincts around her.
Kaifeng returned inside to gather Deng’s belongings as evidence. It was striking that among the few personal items in the study, one of them should be a painting of Mingyu.
Had Deng been captivated by her? Had he gazed affectionately at the painting, so smitten that he’d missed the warning signs of an imminent attack? Lust and longing might have made him careless enough to dismiss his servants for some privacy, but he was an accomplished soldier. Why was there no struggle?
As Kaifeng packed the items into a wooden crate, he noted one more glaring detail. There was no sword among them.
Mingyu claimed that the general always feared for his safety. Yet there was no weapon on his person or at the scene of the crime. Whoever had killed him must have taken his sword along with the head. But was it the murder weapon?
The next course of action was clear. At the magistrate’s yamen, Kaifeng instructed the other constables to seek out Deng’s bodyguards. Those men had either failed miserably in their duties or they had been part of the conspiracy. As to identifying the general’s political enemies, that was a task Magistrate Li was more suited for. He would speak to Li as soon as the tribunal had adjourned for the day.
With that plan in place, Kaifeng proceeded to the records room with the evidence crate only to find a stranger riffling through the papers at his worktable. His initial urge to grab the interloper by the throat was thwarted when Kaifeng saw his red robe and official’s cap.
Kaifeng set the crate by the door before approaching. “Sir?”
It galled him to have to address the man with such respect. The color of his uniform denoted that the stranger was higher in rank than even Magistrate Li.
The official appeared to be thirty years of age. He had a scroll in hand and continued to read from it by the light from the window. He didn’t look up as Kaifeng approached.
“The body was found seated at a desk in an open chamber. The door was unlocked. Only a single person was found in the house. One Lady Sun Mingyu. She claimed to not have witnessed the death. Records indicate the property was owned by General Deng Zhi.” The stranger finally glanced up from the report. “Are you this—” He made a show of squinting at the inscription. “Wu Kaifeng?”
“Yes.” And after some deliberation, “Sir.”
Kaifeng knew the visitor held some elevated rank and was apparently arrogant because of it, but there was little else he could discern.
“Constable Wu Kaifeng, is it? The magistrate must be quite overburdened to task his constables with record keeping.”
“It seemed fitting for me to make the report given that I was the first to inspect the crime scene,” he replied.
The official looked over his writing with a look of disdain. “This isn’t a common occurrence, I hope. Such tiny characters. Closed off, hard to decipher. Your calligraphy leaves something to be desired, Constable.”
Kaifeng raised an eyebrow. They were investigating a murder and the official was berating his writing skills?
With some effort, Kaifeng constructed his next request. “May this humble servant ask to whom he is speaking?”
“Inspector Xi Lun, attendant censor of the Palace Bureau,” the stranger replied crisply.
Though Kaifeng wasn’t one to be impressed with titles, this one made him pause. Imperial censors reported directly to the Emperor and were tasked with investigating corruption among appointed officials.
The censor continued with his diatribe, “As any scholar knows, the quality of writing conveys many things. These brushstrokes are crude, hasty. The observations and descriptions are abrupt as if no thought was given to them. What does this say about the care given to this investigation? Is it similarly hasty and untended? This report is practically unreadable.”
Kaifeng didn’t answer. To his ears, the conversation was as nonsensical as the babbling of an infant. He had work to do and he wanted this official with his expensively dyed robe to go somewhere else.
“Magistrate Li should consider that a case this important be assigned to someone more appropriate,” the censor continued. “Someone with the proper training.”
Kaifeng had training, but it was questionable whether hunting outlaws in Suzhou or observing his foster father carry out the duties of a county physician were considered proper.
This official was apparently one of the scholar-gentry that crowded the administrative bureaus of the capital. In his eyes, if an individual could not quote lines of poetry at odd times in conversation, he was nothing more than a half-wit.
“Are not all cases equally important?” Kaifeng posed mildly. “In the end, a life is a life. A wrong is a wrong.”
Inspector Xi smirked, pleased and amused that Kaifeng would attempt to engage in debate. “The death of a high general like Deng Zhi threatens the stability of our state. What is the purpose of justice if not to protect the social order?” He glanced back at the report, rolling the ends of the scroll to read the next passages. “The neighbors were interrogated. Passersby. Why were the family members and servants not questioned?”
Kaifeng ground his teeth. “This was done out of respect for the mourning period.”
“Constable,” the censor began with mock surprise, “you must be aware that memories and recall of events will erode with time. Also with additional time, the perpetrators have opportunity to fabricate lies and cover up their involvement.”
Inwardly, he cursed Magistrate Li and his proper and genteel ways. Outwardly, Kaifeng bit his tongue.
“The only person you questioned who appeared to have any personal knowledge of General Deng was—” The official squinted at the report again. An annoying habit. “Lady Mingyu, courtesan of the Lotus Palace and foster daughter to a Madame Sun Linjiang. You seem to have conversed with her in length. No arrest was made.” He glanced up with a shrewd look. “I’ve heard of this Mingyu. Perhaps you were moved to be lenient when faced with a beautiful woman?”
T
he way he lingered over Mingyu’s name made Kaifeng’s fists clench. Striking an official would certainly be seen as a threat to the stability of the state.
“There was not enough evidence for an arrest,” he replied. “And she can be easily found in the Pingkang li if further questioning is required.”
“No matter. I’ll advise Li Yen to assign his official deputies to this task. To men who understand the prescribed practice of enforcing the laws. Ones who have been educated beyond a few scrawls.” With a curl of his lip, he rolled the scroll closed. “Your talents are better served in the street, dragging in vagabonds and lending a heavy hand when needed.”
Magistrate Li appeared at the doorway. Behind him was the same official Li had met with several days earlier, the one who had requested that he be dismissed.
“Inspector Xi Lun,” Li greeted with a low bow. “We apologize for the delay.”
“No need for apology. This conversation was quite useful.” Xi Lun tucked the report beneath his arm and slanted a final glance at Wu Kaifeng before joining his colleagues. “I would like to hear what else is being done to investigate this crime, Magistrate Li. As you know, the Emperor himself is interested to know who would dare to assassinate one of his highest ranking generals, right here in the imperial capital under the Emperor’s watch.”
* * *
TALENTS BETTER SERVED in the street.
Indeed.
Kaifeng would gladly keep to the streets if it meant no more useless exchanges with self-important bureaucrats. If there was some scheme to have him dismissed, then so be it. There was little he could do about it, but perform his duties. So by the next morning, he had brushed such concerns aside and instead pondered the nature of cuts and wounds as he walked through the market.
Lady Mingyu would likely be unimpressed by such knowledge. She might even find it horrifying, but it certainly made him useful. Kaifeng had no illusions. Mingyu wouldn’t have looked twice at him if he wasn’t useful.
He reached the lane where the butcher’s shop was located and caught a scrawny youth darting from the crowd toward the street corner.
Kaifeng closed the distance and grabbed the boy’s shoulder. The urchin yelped and struggled while he shouted for help. Anyone who might have been inclined to intervene took one look at Kaifeng and kept on moving.
“Sir! Constable, sir, where are you taking me? I didn’t do anything.”
With Kaifeng’s long stride, the boy was skipping to keep pace as Kaifeng dragged him back toward the shop. As soon as the youth saw where they were going, he renewed his struggles, clawing at Kaifeng’s wrist. The butcher paused with his cleaver poised over a haunch of pork.
Kaifeng raised his arm, the gesture lifting the boy half off the ground. “Here is your thief.”
The butcher stared incredulously from Kaifeng to the boy in his grasp.
“That runt you caught a few days ago was innocent, but there was indeed a thief snatching your earnings. I saw this one waiting for you to be occupied with those hogs from your assistant.” Kaifeng nodded toward the pig carcasses stacked on the back counter. “Once your back was turned, he crept by to swipe a few coins.”
This boy was in rags very much like the first one. He started to squeak out a protest, but Kaifeng merely let him drop to the ground. A quick search of his person revealed two copper coins tucked into his shoe.
There was no need to test the coins in water for streaks of grease and blood. The boy, in the typical fashion of the guilty, piped up that this was only his first time stealing from the butcher.
“It wasn’t me all those other times,” he insisted.
The butcher’s face flushed red and his jowls shook as he roared, “I should chop off your hand myself, you no-good dog.”
He raised his cleaver to make good on the threat, which sent the thief scrambling behind Kaifeng for protection. “Sir! Constable, sir. Don’t let him kill me.”
On any other day, Kaifeng would leave the thief to the butcher to mete out punishment. There was no use in taking such a petty crime to the magistrate where the youth would only receive a few blows with the light rod as punishment.
“Put him to work,” Kaifeng suggested, seeing the butcher was less enthusiastic about wielding his cleaver on a person than on a side of pork.
Once the failed thief was on his knees scrubbing the floor, Kaifeng returned to his original intent for coming to the shop.
“There is a favor I must ask of you,” he said to the butcher.
“Anything, Constable.”
Kaifeng looked to the pigs stacked on the back counter, still intact. “If I could borrow two of those. You will get them back shortly, I assure you.”
The butcher shot him a questioning look, a look that said he wasn’t certain whether Wu Kaifeng was entirely sane. It was a look the constable got often.
“This might make your job easier for the day,” Kaifeng added.
The butcher set his son at the counter to take care of customers while he helped haul the two carcasses to the storeroom in back.
Hooks hung from the ceiling and the smell of old blood and gore clung to the air. This was where the meat was hung to drain after slaughter. The reformed thief made his way back there and plunked his wash bucket down. Scrunching up his face, he sank down to his knees and started scrubbing with an air of resignation.
Kaifeng secured the pigs onto the hooks, heads up so that their necks were exposed at his eye level. The weight of them was nearly equal to a man’s.
He thanked the butcher for his assistance, but the man remained in the storeroom, too curious to return to his counter. When Kaifeng positioned himself in front of one of the pigs and drew his sword, the boy stopped his scrubbing to watch with fascination.
Setting his feet and squaring his shoulders, Kaifeng sank into his stance. He gripped the broadsword in both hands—he had the feeling he would need the extra power in his swing—and pulled the weapon back.
Tension gathered in his shoulders as he prepared himself. He had watched the executioner deal such a blow, but had never done it himself. He had, however, wielded his sword against a flesh and blood enemy enough times to know the impact of steel into bone.
With a deep breath, he reared back and then struck with the exhale, directing his blow not into the body, but to a point on the other side. The broadsword sank deep, but not through the corpse. The resistance in the body stopped him short even though he was swinging at full force. It took another swipe to sever the head from the body. The carcass fell to the floor with a thump and the boy gasped in amazement.
“A little harder next time,” the butcher said encouragingly.
For the second carcass, Kaifeng circled around so he was facing the back of the pig.
“It’s going to be more difficult that way, Constable,” the butcher warned.
Kaifeng readied himself and struck again. Once again, he’d failed to sever the head in one blow, but that hadn’t quite been his aim. He inspected the cuts he’d made with his broadsword.
The first blow had indeed resulted in a clean cut. The secondary cut was easily discernible from the ragged edge of the wound. Next he tested a few cuts from the butcher’s cleaver and his machete. Tools that the butcher necessarily kept honed. Again, the cuts were discernible. The cleaver was blunter. The machete sharper and cleaner, but not as precise as his sword.
“Did you get the answers you were looking for, Constable?” the butcher asked.
“Too soon for conclusive answers.” Kaifeng cleaned his sword with a rag and sheathed it. “Just gathering information.”
General Deng had been beheaded with a single stroke, by a man who was both sword-trained and strong enough to deliver the death blow. There had been a slight angle to Deng’s wound, a downward cut that would seem more natural for taking a head, especially when the vict
im was sitting or kneeling. Most likely the blow was dealt from the front. By someone who was right-handed.
It was still possible that someone Deng trusted had positioned himself behind the general, but very unlikely. A fighting man wouldn’t allow anyone who was dangerous such an advantage. Even though Kaifeng’s size might render most men less threatening, he was still aware of who was around him. Especially if that person was armed.
The killer would be an experienced fighter, most likely tall in stature, possessing a good sword. Deng’s bodyguards were immediately suspect. Kaifeng had been unable to track them down the day before, but it was only a matter of time.
There was another explanation Kaifeng hadn’t yet considered. Deng had gone without his bodyguards and without his weapon. Was it possible that Deng had expected to die? But why summon Mingyu that morning?
A chill settled in his blood. The general might have wanted to see her one last time before dying. Or he could have planned for her to accompany him on that last, long journey into darkness. Perhaps Deng had planned it that way all along.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I DON’T KNOW why we have to entertain at a public drinking house,” Ziyi complained.
Mingyu was accompanied that evening by Ziyi and Jing-min, one of the younger girls of the house. Their destination was a tavern in the northern quadrant of the ward, reachable on foot, but still a good distance away.
“It will be loud, crowded. Full of all sorts of who-knows-what.”
“It’s good practice and there is a sizable gathering there tonight.” Mingyu led them toward the pair of lanterns flickering at the end of the street. “Good opportunity for introductions.”
“But you’re not performing.”
“I’m in mourning,” Mingyu replied serenely. “And I have less need to cultivate a following than my younger courtesan-sisters.”
Ziyi snorted. Jing-min remained quiet as she kept pace beside them. She had her pipa held close to her side. At fifteen and having been in training for a short five years, she only performed outside of the Lotus Palace once in a while and always under supervision.