City of Ink

by Elsa Hart

  “In the temple,” said Chan, gesturing to it. “Lighting incense and making an offering of fruit with the fervor of someone hoping to turn a bad day into a good one. A man burdened by troubles, I’d say. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “An acquaintance,” said Li Du. He rubbed his eyes. “Will you be so kind as to tell him I will be with him shortly?”

  “I will take him to the office and serve him tea,” declared Chan. He turned and padded lightly across the courtyard, his red robes dark in the muted blue light that preceded dawn. Li Du retreated into his room, where he hurriedly rinsed his face and mouth and donned a clean robe, all the while trying to guess what could have brought Bai to see him.

  As soon as he was ready, he went to the small office that was used by the clerics to host visiting benefactors and manage the temple accounts. Inside, he found Bai sitting on a bench padded with rugs, and Chan hovering attentively nearby. At Li Du’s entrance, the scholar looked up, revealing a countenance that had undergone a subtle change since their last conversation. Bai’s face was drawn, as if he had not been sleeping well, and there was a rigidity in his shoulders that had not been there before.

  Bai looked at Chan, who had moved to the corner of the room with the obvious intention of staying to listen. “Thank you for your solicitude,” said the scholar stiffly. “I’m afraid I must trespass a little further on your hospitality. The matter that brings me here is of a confidential nature.”

  The dismissal did not appear to dampen Chan’s spirits, though the look he gave Li Du as he left was alight with curiosity. When the door was shut behind him, Li Du waited for Bai to speak. He noted that the scholar’s fatigue had not diminished his capacity for fastidiousness. Bai’s gaze lingered on the worn, unmatched furnishings with evident displeasure.

  “I admire your forbearance,” said Bai, “to be able to live in such conditions.”

  “I am very comfortable here,” Li Du replied, trying to repress his annoyance. If he was going to start the day so early, he had many more important things to do than listen to Bai criticize his lodgings.

  “That cannot be true, but I understand it was necessary in order not to draw attention to yourself. You are employed as an office assistant. You must live within the means of an office assistant. It must be convincing, and it is.”

  Li Du was instantly, completely awake. “Convincing? I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning.”

  Bai nodded. “Of course that is what you must say. But you see, I know.”

  Trying to ignore the tension that gripped his throat, Li Du did his best to look merely puzzled. “I think you have made a mistake.”

  “I thought so, too, at first. I wasn’t sure. But now that I have considered everything, what I know of your past—” Bai made a small gesture, indicating the room around them. “—what I know of your present circumstances, and perhaps most important, what my instincts have told me from the moment we became reacquainted, I am certain. You are not what you claim to be.”

  Li Du spoke carefully. “My past has, without a doubt, required me to adapt to diverse occupations and living situations, but that is no secret.”

  “Let us not circle around each other,” said Bai. “I know about your visit to Feng Liang.”

  The name remained suspended between them. With an effort, Li Du kept his voice steady. “I don’t know anyone of that name.”

  The scholar exhaled slowly. “Then it is I who must leap. So be it.” He stood up, lifted his chin, and met Li Du’s eyes with his reddened ones. And, for the first time, Li Du saw that the arrogant scholar was afraid. “Have—” Bai swallowed. “Have you reported the document you saw on my desk to your superior?”

  This was not what Li Du had expected, but even in his surprise, he perceived that the revelations were more likely to continue if he concealed his mystification. Still, his next words were not as deliberate as he would have liked. “My superior?”

  Bai paled. “Yes, whoever he is, unless, you cannot—surely you cannot report directly to the Emperor himself?”

  Li Du’s expression remained carefully blank. “I have made no report.”

  The scholar sagged, sinking back down to the cushion of faded rugs. “I am greatly relieved to hear it.” His voice was slightly hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “I fear you have fallen into a misapprehension about me, a misapprehension for which I know I am, myself, responsible. I have come to tell you everything.” Hoping that Bai would continue unprompted, Li Du remained silent.

  “I give you my word,” Bai went on, “that I have played no part in the corruption that has infiltrated our ancient sanctum of knowledge and achievement. You must believe that I would never compromise the integrity of the examinations. They are my life. Which is why I have been trying to discover the means by which they have been compromised. You and I share an objective. The only difference between us is that your authority was given to you by the Emperor, while mine comes only from my own—” Bai hesitated. “From my own commitment to what is right,” he finished.

  Understanding arrived, and spread in waves of relief through Li Du’s mind. If the situation were not so precarious, he might almost have laughed. “You believe me to be a spy for the Emperor,” he said. “One of his agents, disguised as a citizen.”

  “I understand you cannot admit it to me officially,” said Bai. It was the first time Li Du had ever detected humility in the scholar’s voice.

  Aware that if he hesitated he would risk ending the charade before he had the chance to see how far it would lead, Li Du made his choice in an instant. “What, may I ask, gave me away?”

  A hint of Bai’s natural arrogance returned. “As I told you in my studio, I am a perceptive judge of character. When I said you did not belong in these reduced circumstances, I meant it more than I myself knew at the time. You cannot hide your intelligence from the man who graded your examinations. I never forget the minds that write the essays worth remembering. In the days since I saw you at the North Borough Office, I have become more and more convinced that you could not possibly be merely an assistant spending his days answering invitations and making copies.”

  “I am certainly flattered by your reasoning,” said Li Du. He tried to think what a spy for the Emperor would sound like in conversation. “You must understand that I cannot speak to you about current investigations. If, as you say, you feel I am under some misapprehension, you have my attention.”

  Bai regarded this new Li Du as if he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or wary. “When you came to interview me about the murders at the Black Tile Factory,” he said, after a pause, “I wondered why you were devoting yourself so assiduously to an unremarkable crime of passion. I also wondered why you chose to speak to me about it, when I have so little connection to the events. With these questions in mind, I noticed that when you left, you stopped to examine the papers on my desk.”

  Li Du thought back to the morning in Bai’s studio. He hadn’t been looking at the papers at all. He’d simply been staring at the ink stone, lost in memories. “I see,” he said.

  “Even then,” Bai went on, “I would not have been concerned, had my servant not informed me that he recognized you.”

  Now Li Du remembered the wide, penetrating eyes that had stared at him so intently. With a sudden jolt, he knew where he had seen the man before. “Your servant,” he said. “He was watching Feng Liang’s door from the temple across the lane.”

  Bai nodded vehemently. “He was there on my orders. I had received information that Feng Liang has been using his seat on the Examiner Selection Committee to pressure examiners into agreeing to pass certain candidates. No doubt the families of the candidates are paying him a generous sum. I sent my servant to watch his door, in the hope of gaining entrance to Feng’s home, and obtaining some proof of his guilt. In this, my servant was unsuccessful, but he did see you.” Bai took a deep breath. “At first, I thought you might be complicit, but I dismissed the idea almost at once. I can identify corruption in a man�
�s face as easily as I can identify the soot that stains our walls. I do not see it in yours. So, having dismissed the idea that you were working with Feng, I began to wonder if you, too, were there to investigate. In the days since you visited me, I have looked more closely at what is known of your past, specifically the pardon that ended your exile. In gratitude for performing a great service to the Emperor, they say. From there, the pieces fell into place. Whatever you did earned you the Emperor’s trust. He brought you back to be one of his agents in the capital, and you have been investigating examination fraud, just as I have.”

  “You have been acting alone?” asked Li Du.

  Bai nodded. He withdrew a piece of paper from a purse at his belt. “I became suspicious of one of my fellow examiners. With some effort, I was able to persuade him to confide in me that he had accepted a bribe. With still more effort, I convinced him to give me the name of the person who had paid him—Feng Liang—and the list of candidates he had agreed to pass. This is that list, which I know you saw on my desk. If I am right, and you did come to my home that day because you suspected me of involvement in this crime, I hope I have convinced you of my innocence.”

  Bai extended the paper to Li Du. “I leave this in your charge. I don’t know who among the thousands they are, or how it was arranged, or how much they paid, but I know you must have the resources to discover the answers to those questions more quickly than I can.”

  Li Du took the list. As he scanned the names, the sense of calm he had just been starting to regain deserted him. He pretended to continue his perusal, making use of the time to think. When he knew he could not wait any longer, he forced himself to commit to a strategy he could only hope would succeed. “Why didn’t you report any of this earlier?” he asked as sternly as he could.

  Bai looked as if he’d swallowed something bitter. “I was so close to finding all the answers,” he said. “I thought—”

  “You thought you could conduct the investigation yourself,” said Li Du, cutting him off. “And in doing so, you lied to the Emperor.”

  “I would never,” said Bai, looking horrified.

  “You withheld vital information.” Li Du kept his expression stony. “The examinations are of paramount importance to the stability of the empire.”

  “I know,” Bai burst out. “Imagine what could happen if the public begins to question the integrity of the examiners. I wanted to prevent that. I acted as I did in order to preserve the reputation—”

  “The reputation of the exams, or your own reputation?” asked Li Du. Two spots of color appeared on the scholar’s pale cheeks, and he dropped his gaze. “You have acted wrongly,” Li Du continued. Then he allowed his voice to soften. “But I believe that you were not involved in any criminal behavior. I will not speak against you to the Emperor. I will even praise your initiative. If I may tell him that you do not intend to interfere, ever again, in his policing of the capital, unless he personally asks you to do so.”

  “Yes,” Bai said, almost before Li Du had finished speaking. “I give you my promise. Please understand—I was only trying to do what was best for the city.”

  “I do understand. Now, I must kindly ask you to leave me to my work. There is a great deal to accomplish.”

  When Bai had gone, Li Du, who had remained standing throughout their conversation, sat down in a wooden chair beside a wobbly table. He took a long, exhausted breath. He needed a strong cup of tea.

  * * *

  Hamza was disbelieving. “Feng Liang, our Feng Liang, is taking money from rich families who want their sons to pass the examinations? But I cannot picture that at all. The man we met is a recluse, an eccentric, a collector of books. Such a man does not decide, in the twilight years of his life, to become involved in examination fraud.”

  “According to Bai Chengde, that is exactly what he is doing.” replied Li Du. They were sitting on the veranda outside their rooms, drinking tea and watching the sunlight advance toward them across the courtyard.

  Hamza shrugged. “I will say that I like this arrogant examiner, Bai Chengde, much better now that I know he has aspirations to be a detective. And it pleases me that, upon seeing through your secretarial affectations, he came to the conclusion that you are an elite agent of imperial power in disguise.” An idea occurred to Hamza, and he grinned. “I’ll wager that behind the ponderous tomes on his bookshelves, he hides numerous collected tales of mystery and adventure.”

  “I am just relieved that his conclusions about me were incorrect,” murmured Li Du.

  Seeing that his friend was not deriving as much amusement from the morning’s revelation as he was, Hamza became more serious. “Perhaps Feng Liang needs silver in order to acquire the books he covets. What will you do? Will you go to Chief Inspector Sun, or directly to the magistrate?”

  “Neither,” said Li Du. “Not yet, at least.”

  Hamza’s look turned to one of puzzled concern. “It is not like you to ignore a crime. And, if you do not intend to act, why discourage the scholar from doing so?”

  “Because,” said Li Du, “if the names on the list Bai gave me are brought to the Emperor, the candidates and their families will face grave consequences. The candidates will never be permitted to take the examinations. They may face exile, or worse. If the currents of power dictate that an example must be made, they could face execution.”

  He stood up and went into his room, still holding the list. “Where are we going?” Hamza asked, following after him.

  Li Du handed him the list, and began to search for his hat. “Look at the sixth name,” he said.

  Hamza looked. “Li Yujin,” he said. “And there’s a number beside it.”

  “The number is the code assigned to the candidate,” said Li Du as he put his notebook into his satchel. “Intended to keep the grading anonymous.”

  “Li Yujin,” Hamza said again. “Li—” He stopped. “But he cannot be a relative of yours?”

  Shouldering his bag, Li Du started toward the door. “We have to see Lady Chen,” he said. “Li Yujin is Tulishen’s son.”

  Chapter 39

  Tulishen’s mother was receiving visitors that morning, which meant that before they could speak to Lady Chen, Li Du was obliged to pay his respects to his aunt. Leaving Hamza in a courtyard garden, he entered an ornate sitting room and bowed to the woman seated on a low couch. Lady Li, a venerable matron with a lifelong passion for sumptuous fabrics, was resplendent in layers of silk and velvet that most would have considered too heavy for the warm weather. Her snowy hair was sculpted into elaborate loops atop her head, secured by jade pins and thick pomade.

  “It occurs to me,” she said, after they had exchanged pleasantries, “that you should apply to one of the ministries. After all, it is not impossible for you to advance, even now. Others have recovered from situations worse than yours. We must keep in mind that you were invited back from exile. This should motivate you to demonstrate your worth, and show your gratitude for the opportunity you have been given to regain your status in society. Now is not the time for lassitude and lack of ambition. Once you have found a more respectable occupation, you must find a better place to live. When you have done that, you must remarry. Look to my son as an example. You will never approach his level of success, but you could improve your current circumstances.”

  It was a speech Lady Li had made to him before. Li Du knew it well, and had to prevent himself from completing her sentences when she paused. Of all his living family members, his aunt was perhaps the only one who had shown him more warmth after his exile than she had before it. While he believed that she genuinely wanted to help him, he also knew that her willingness to do so was dependent on his failure to outshine her son, upon whom she doted.

  “Your cousin has offered to assist you,” she was saying. “You must take him up on his generosity. At present, of course, his time is consumed with preparations for the return of Prince Yinzao. You know that the prince is to compose an inscription for our temple. What an honor
. They say the Emperor will favor Prince Yinzao, now that he is home, and no longer out of the Emperor’s good graces. And he will be our friend. It is difficult to speak of it, I am so overwhelmed.”

  Not too difficult, thought Li Du uncharitably. Like her son, Lady Li had spoken of little else since the arrival of the prince’s letter of intended support.

  “And yet you may not know,” continued Lady Li, “that Tulishen has been invited to attend the welcome banquet? It is a fortunate mother who has such impressive children.”

  A servant appeared with a question about the evening’s menu, and Li Du took the opportunity to extricate himself. Before Lady Li could resume her lecture, he thanked her graciously, promised to devote himself to the reinvigoration of his career, and left to rejoin Hamza. Together, they went in search of Lady Chen. They found her in a garden, seated before an embroidery frame. To Li Du’s disappointment, she was surrounded by a small company of household women, each focused on their own frames.

  At the sound of their approach, Lady Chen was the first to look up. She had disclosed to Li Du in the past that she disliked embroidery, and used the time she was required to devote to it to review memorized poems. In the glimpse he had of her expression before she recognized him, he tried to guess what poem she had been silently reciting to the gleaming, colorful thread. An image of moonlit water and mountain stone appeared briefly before him as his gaze rested on her face.

  She stopped her work and rose to greet them, the ornaments in her hair catching and scattering light. “You find your cousin absent once more,” she said, in a slightly louder voice than usual. She stepped through the keyhole door out of the garden, implying that they should follow.

  “I must speak to you privately,” said Li Du.

  She gave a small shake of her head. “Today, it is impossible. Lady Hua thinks she has not been getting enough attention, and is searching for excuses to do battle. My conversations are more circumscribed by propriety than usual. I must go back.”