He turned to Bao and asked, “When is this man’s case scheduled to be heard?”
“Master, it can be heard as soon as you are officially invested,” Bao replied.
“Good, that will not be long. I will see to that,” he replied. Turning to Guanting, he said, “Theft is a reprehensible crime. I will hear your case as soon as is practicable. The constable will inform you in the usual manner.”
“Thank you,” Guanting said, adopting a more pleasant tone. “He can find me in the Garrison Inn, on East Street.”
As the merchant left, a squat man with a square chin and large forehead walked into the chambers. Hanging from his belt was a variety of spikes, knives and hammers.
“Sheng,” Gang said. “Excellent timing, as always.”
“At your service,” Sheng said with a curt bow. He liked the man. He was his enforcer.
“Sheng, come with me, Bao is going to show us the jail house.”
In the cellars across the way from his chambers, Gang found two rows of cells on either side of a gloomy, damp corridor. As he reached for a ’kerchief to quell the stench of human excrement, the guards stood and bowed to him in studied unison. In the background, he could hardly ignore an inmate’s piercing screams, who was no doubt being introduced to the delights of cudgels and thumbscrews. A man in a military uniform was berating the guards when Gang arrived in their annex.
“What’s the trouble here?” Gang asked.
“Ah, you must be… the new magistrate,” the man said, glancing at Gang’s identity tablet. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Major Renshu.”
Mmm, what a piece of brittle arrogance, Gang mused to himself. “The honour is mine, Major,” he said blithely. “I heard about the awful attempt on the prince’s life. Have you caught the conspirators yet?”
“You may well ask,” Renshu replied. “My men have apprehended so many suspects, the jail is overflowing.”
“Are any of them guilty of Park’s murder?” he asked. “After all, what’s the point of convicting innocent men? The real conspirators would still be out there, wouldn’t they?”
“That’s right,” Renshu replied, tugging on his chin. “My chief jailor – a man affectionately known as Thousand Cuts Liu – has never yet been known to extract a false confession.”
That was unlikely, Gang knew, but instead of expressing his disdain, he said, “Can you show me the cells?”
“My pleasure,” the major replied. A guard grabbed a bunch of keys and a wicker torch, before ducking beneath the low ceiling and leading them along a dingy corridor. The guard held the torch against the bars of the first cell.
“This is Suitong. He’s as regular as the sun and moon – he keeps returning. This time, he’s accused of murder,” the major said, the torch casting flickers of light on a man distinguishable by a scruffy skull cap, a long white beard, a single leg and a single hand. By a quirk of karma, the hand that remained was on the same side as the leg. These punishments were inflicted as a result of Suitong’s previous brushes with the law. It was clear he could ill afford many more.
Renshu stopped outside the next cell. “This is criminal Ru.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard about this one. He’s guilty of stealing Guanting’s silver. Open the cell,” Gang ordered. The guard unlocked the door and thrust the torch into a cradle. Ru cowered at the back of the cell, encumbered by a large cangue, which sat like a stiff board from his neck to his knees. Not only did he have a hole for his head, his wrists were tied to the edges of the device. Unable to feed himself, Ru looked gaunt, emaciated and distraught.
“Kow-tow before the magistrate,” Sheng insisted.
In slow, awkward movements, Ru dragged himself to the floor, but not quick enough to satisfy Sheng, who pummelled Ru’s back with a heavy baton. Ru collapsed in a heap of limbs on top of the cangue. Time and again, Sheng thumped his baton across Ru’s back. The major glanced at Gang, a look that oozed a need for compassion. Gang ignored him, he was enjoying the spectacle. There was something delightfully visceral about human blood: the smell of it, the scent of fear, the sting in the nostrils. Glorious. After a while, Sheng grew bored and stopped.
“Stand up,” Gang ordered.
Ru shuffled around in the excrement on the floor, until he righted himself on his knees with a weary, prolonged sigh of pain. There Ru stayed with the base of the cangue on the floor, his head bowed, peering up at him with pleading, hang-dog eyes.
“What is this man’s family?” Gang asked.
“He’s the son of Luli, the local doctor, geomancer and astrologer,” the major replied.
“Ah. I remember her. Her husband fell from the wall. Tragic death,” he added with a smirk. He was going to enjoy his work here.
He had seen enough of the cells and decided to return to his chambers. When he got there, he found the oval doors ajar. From the sound of shuffling papers, someone was inside… pilfering.
“Thief!” Gang shouted, as he burst in. Bao and Sheng stood behind him, blocking the exit.
The man nearly leapt out of his skin and yelled back, “I’m no thief.”
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Gang bristled with indignation.
“I’m Feng, the son of Park, the magistrate who’s passed over to Heaven. And who, may I ask, are you?”
“I am Gang, the new county magistrate. And you are in my chambers, stealing my papers.”
“I’m collecting my father’s personal possessions. There,” Feng replied, stuffing a large parchment into a bamboo box. Then he picked up a bronze mirror next to the window opening and headed towards the exit.
“Let me deal with him,” Sheng said, with a vicious snarl.
“No,” he replied. “That won’t be necessary.” Then Gang turned to Feng and said, “Master Feng, I can’t allow you to remove imperial papers and objects from my chambers.” Question was – how was he going to deal with it; the iron hammer or the silk glove?
For once, he decided to wear the glove. “Think,” he said, “your mother needs you. Your father’s spirit cries out for retribution. Your ancestors call for the proper rites. Go home. Bao will arrange for porters to bring your father’s things to you.”
“You are kind, though that won’t be necessary. When I return home, I will send my boy,” Feng protested, nervously fingering one of the boxes.
“Please. It’s no problem, Master Feng,” he protested mildly, but just enough to get his way. “I will need to assess those papers as they may pertain to active cases. You can understand that.”
“Yes… I… Oh, very well,” Feng said with obvious reluctance. He plunged his hands in his sleeves, bowed and headed towards the open doors.
Bao stood in Feng’s path and said, “And when will you vacate the magistrate’s residence please? Magistrate Gang needs to move in as soon as possible.”
Feng stopped, taken aback at the request. “My mother is very unwell. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t…”
Gang was insistent. “I’m a considerate man. You can move today. It’s no problem. I can help. Bao will find you another residence. You can have the rooms I occupied last night – in the temple. Bao, despatch runners to help Master Feng move his goods and chattels. Good. That’s settled then.”
Feng looked like a devil had punched him in the midriff. Bent double with pain, he shuffled out of the chambers.
Gang grabbed the papers that Feng had been so reluctant to release and flicked through them. “They must conceal court secrets,” he chimed. “Otherwise our goodly Master Feng would not have been so keen to remove them. Here, study them and see what you can find.”
“Of course, Magistrate,” Bao replied, taking the wad of papers.
“I want to have a fortunate date for my investiture. Bring me an astrologer. Not Dong,” he snapped. “I’ve had enough of monks for one life-time.”
“I agree,” Bao smirked. “I will personally go and find you one.”
“I have an idea,” Gang said, as Bao was leaving. “Bring me Luli. Yes, she will be ideal.”
“Yes, master,” Bao said and left with Sheng.
Gang sat down at his desk and picked up his well-leafed copy of the Great Ming Legal Code. Protruding from between the pages was a piece of paper – that wasn’t there when he left it. Opening the page, he found a note which read:
“The Zhendong Gate: fourth night watch.”
That watch was the last one before the dawn. What a time and place!
He glanced around, as if his eyes would miraculously land on the person who left it. There was no one in his chambers, nor in the alley that ran by the window.
When he examined the note, he saw it had on the reverse side the Mongol motif, a leaping Blue Wolf. Hah! He had collaborated with them in the past. So why not again? This message was meant for him. Guanting wore a Blue Wolf tattoo. The merchant must have left it.
In one day, he had allies – a collaborator, an enforcer and a willing assistant. He smiled to himself. This was a rare and beautiful opportunity to wreak further vengeance on the stupid Chinese.
Nothing would stop him.
CHAPTER 19
The Place Where Words are Made
A blind man can’t appreciate a scene of beauty.
A deaf man can’t enjoy the sounds of drums and bells.
But a man can be blind and deaf in his depth of understanding,
as well as physically.
THE BOOK OF CHUANG TZU
Bolin finished his apprentice duties on the wall early that day. Walking home, he heard a man’s plaintive cries in the depths of his soul.
“Help me,” the voice pleaded.
He plugged his ears.
The voice spoke again, louder and more anxious. “Release me!”
“Go away,” Bolin railed. “Leave me in peace.”
“Who are you talking to?” A street urchin laughed at him.
A group of passers-by joined in, mocking his antics. A beggar pointed at him. Ignoring their taunts, he trudged through the churned-up mud, avoiding the wagons bringing supplies through the west gate and entered Shanhai village.
Passing the grocers and the ironmongers, the smell of the sea salt smacked against his nostrils. He glanced disinterestedly at the brocades and vermilion on display at the cloth merchants. Next door, the local wine house was full of fishermen spending their marine profits on the dubious delights of rice wine. His father wasn’t amongst them. A drunk fingered a bamboo flute as several intoxicated customers cavorted to his haunting melody.
Luli’s Po Office was across the road from his house on Fuyuan Street. Healer, seer and geomancer, her intercession on the Laolongtou, when she had prevented them from harming the gulls, reminded him of just how high her reputation was in these parts.
He found himself walking across Fuyuan Street. What was he doing? Was he really going to seek her help? A magpie hopped along her threshold and then flew off, pursued by his mate. A pair of black and white birds: that was a good sign. He fingered his yin-yang coin charm; the black side with a white dot in the middle and a white side with a black dot in the middle. Yin and yang. The Tao had spoken to him. The magpies were a good omen: he was on the right path.
Luli opened the door, bowed and showed him in. The last time he’d entered her Po Office was when, as a youngster, he had played with Ru. Despite that, the familiar fresh smell of camphor wood wafted over him. Boxes and scrolls in one corner, crates in another, the shop was more or less as he remembered it. The pawned items were neatly labelled in small pigeonholes towards the back of the store. The room emanated a mysterious serenity, a sense of everything in its place and a place for everything. Bolin liked that. In a world of tumult and upheaval, such order, any order, was a welcome restraint.
“Master Bolin,” Luli said, wearing a long-sleeved turquoise gown. “You’ve come. What can I do for you?”
Was she was expecting him? She had the foresight of yin-yang eyes, so perhaps she was. “Please, I need your help,” he muttered.
“Go on,” Luli replied.
“I’m frightened, Luli. It started with headaches, then strange dreams. Now I’m seeing and hearing strange things,” he admitted. There, he already felt better.
“What kind of things?”
“Dream visions, terrible things, they are so real, I wake up in a cold sweat. And there’s a hand clasped around my throat. I hear a man’s voice.”
“What does he say?”
“Phrases like ‘release me’ and ‘help me.’ I was convinced there was a demon inside me. Dong tried to exorcise it, but when it didn’t work, he told me I wasn’t possessed.”
“Did he?” Luli said, pacing the floor like a tigress. “I think I know what is happening to you.”
“You do? What is it? Tell me,” he blurted out.
“Can you show me your birthmark?” Luli asked.
“What? Why? I don’t understand.”
“You know I am the custodian of gifts and bequests left by my deceased customers – the soul donors. Some leave letters for their soul receiver. I’ve an inkling one of them is for you.”
“What’s that to do with my birthmark?” he asked, unmasking his exasperation.
“Please,” she replied. “Bear with me.”
“All right, it’s here,” he said, standing and lifting the lower part of his robe. “There, that squidgy mark above my right ankle.”
“Hah! See! It looks like a reptile; a salamander, possibly a dragon. Let me see if I have a match to it,” Luli said, searching the rows of boxes.
“A match? What are you talking about?”
“I’m the keeper of the Po Office, the house of restless souls,” she said, as her hands moved with swift dexterity along the rows of boxes and packets. “When a person dies, their Po or soul leaves their body and searches for another body to enter – the body of a baby about to be born. Along with the soul, the birthmark of the deceased also transfers to the newborn. It’s the distinguishing mark, the link between the two people, the soul donor and the soul receiver. When the soul donor leaves a gift or envelope for me to pass on to their soul receiver, they draw two things on it: the shape of their birthmark and where it appears on their person.”
“Fascinating,” he said. Dong had told him of the Taoist belief in the transmigration of souls. But to actually read correspondence from the donor of his soul, that was extraordinary and the last thing he had expected from this visit.
“Hah! Here it is!” Luli cried with an air of triumph and held up an envelope. “Yes. There’s a match, both in shape and position. This gives me immense satisfaction. I am a connection between two complete strangers whose lives overlapped simply because they shared the same soul and one of them is standing right in front of me. This letter is written by the hand of the person who donated their soul to you.”
“Are you sure?” He could barely believe it. The envelope she handed him felt like the most precious thing he’d ever received. In a way, it was.
“Yes, I am,” Luli encouraged him. “And please, you can open it.”
Hand shaking, he broke the wax seal.
“Who is it from?” Luli asked.
“How would I know that?” He shrugged.
“Look on the inside of the envelope. The sender should have inscribed his name there.”
He looked. It was blank.
“There’s no inscription.”
“Let me see,” Luli said, examining the envelope. “I always insist that the donor mark their name on the inside of the envelope. Oh dear, you’re right. There’s nothing. Only this note.”
“Let me have it,” he insisted. Incredible, his soul donor had left him a note. His heart pounding with anticipation and he read:
; “To the recipient of this envelope. You are the inheritor of great and marvellous magic powers. Find the Pearl of Wisdom, which waits for you in the place where words are made.”
“That’s wonderful!” Luli said, clearly excited on his behalf. He was more circumspect.
“No, that’s not possible,” he replied. “I’m the son of a fisherman and not worthy to receive anything like that.”
“Well,” Luli said with a mischievous grin, “What about the Pearl of Wisdom? Someone has given it to you.”
“Well,” he said with a frown. “The note says it must first be found.”
Despite that, he shifted on his seat, his breathing shallow. He felt like all the ch’i was being sucked out of him. Yin-yang eyes were difficult enough to accept, but pearls of wisdom were quite another matter.
“Whoever he is, this person is your soul donor,” Luli said, brimming with confidence.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Both of you have the same birthmark in the same place on your body. You also have the same gender. Your donor is a man. Same goes to same, that’s how the Tao works.”
“I don’t know about that,” he muttered, puffing out his cheeks. “No. This is wrong. Look at me. My clothes are splattered in mud. I don’t wear silk gowns or square tile hats. I don’t have a sedan chair to take me around town. I’m not a mandarin of the first or second grade who advises the prince. I’m a lowly apprentice working on the Great Wall. How can I inherit special gifts or a Pearl of Wisdom? No, it’s preposterous. It must be someone else.”
“That’s not what the note indicates,” Luli protested.
“It doesn’t matter. Birthmark or no birthmark, I can’t accept it, so please, here, take it back and pass it on to its correct owner. There’s been a mistake, a mix-up somewhere. To prove I’m right, I will find this Pearl of Wisdom. I’ll find the place where words are made and there I’ll discover to whom this envelope really belongs.”
“No one has ever refused their destiny before,” Luli said, hunching her shoulders.
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