“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.”
“What am I supposed to do with no performers or costumes?” Changpu asked.
“You were going to have to find a new wusheng anyway,” the inspector said. “Keep auditioning new players. Let me look for Wangshu. If I find her, hopefully I will find the missing costumes as well. Where do you think she might have gone?”
“Back to the empress, I suppose,” Changpu said. “I’m going to send her a letter right now. It is her fault the little dog was sent here, and it has brought me nothing but grief. The loss of my wusheng, the low ticket sales, now the loss of costumes and canceled shows. The empress should pay dearly for this.”
The inspector couldn’t help but somewhat agree. If the empress hadn’t been so intent getting seeing a woman on stage, none of this would have happened. The empress had upset the social order, and now countless people would pay the price. She should have left well enough alone.
“Now that you have had more time to think about it,” the inspector asked, hoping to get an honest answer while Changpu was ruffled, “who do you think killed your nephew?”
“I wish I knew,” Changpu said. “It has been the constant question in my mind. The only answer I have is Wangshu. She and Fanhua were at odds and she did the deed. Though, that she should be so angry with Fanhua as to kill him is simply beyond me. I never would have suspected…” He seemed to be at a loss for words and simply shook his head.
The inspector didn’t blame him. There seemed to be no clear motive for the crime. Though this would not be the first murder he had come across where the motive was less than clear. Sometimes people just killed each other. Whether they snapped, felt a sense of power from it, or were simply insane—the truth of the matter was that humans sometimes acted in a way that defied all logic or understanding.
“If you do think of anything else,” the inspector said, “let me know.”
Changpu nodded and then headed to his office, most likely to write his scathing letter to the empress.
Inspector Gong headed backstage, back to Wangshu’s dressing room. He wanted to take a look at it one more time in case she had left behind a clue as to where she might have gone. But as he entered the hallway, he saw a cloaked figure crouched before Fanhua’s door. The person laid a bouquet of flowers on the ground and placed a hand on the door.
The inspector wondered who it was. A fan who found out that Fanhua had died? A heartbroken lover? He couldn’t be sure. He took a step forward, hoping to get a better look, but he accidentally nudged a box of props, making a scraping sound.
The cloaked figure looked up at the inspector, but the face was dark, so the inspector couldn’t see who it was.
“You there,” the inspector called out with a commanding voice, taking a large step toward the person, hoping to intimidate him—or her—into staying put.
But it didn’t work. The person turned away and bolted down the hallway.
The inspector cursed under his breath as he chased after the person. But he wasn’t quick enough. But the time he reached the end of the hallway and rounded the corner, the cloaked figure was gone.
13
“Tell me about your eldest daughter,” the empress said to Lady Li as she was about to take her leave.
“She is well,” Lady Li said, unable to hide a hint of pride in her voice. “She is excelling at her studies and growing taller every day I believe.”
“The next time you come see me,” the empress sai
d, “you must bring her with you. After all, I could be her mother-in-law one day.”
Lady Li’s heart nearly fell into her stomach at the empress’s words. For First Daughter to one day be an imperial consort had long been her life’s ambition, but to hear the empress speak so plainly of the possibility for the first time, she was surprised that she didn’t feel excitement in her chest, but fear.
“Of…of course, my lady,” Lady Li said with a bow. “I am sure she would love to visit the palace.”
“Perhaps my son could be present as well,” the empress said, leaning in and whispering conspiratorially. It was not common for young men and women—even imperial ones—to meet one another before their wedding day, unless they happened to grow up together.
“It would be interesting to see how they get along,” Lady Li said.
“Quite right,” the empress said. “Gods forbid they actually know one another and find each other pleasing before they are forced to marry.”
“And if they can’t stand each other?” Lady Li asked jokingly but was genuinely concerned.
“Who wouldn’t instantly love your charming child?” the empress asked. “And who wouldn’t love the emperor? No, it will be a match ordained by Heaven!”
Lady Li tried to smile but felt her lips quiver at the thought. She remembered the last time she was here in the Forbidden City, when she was helping Inspector Gong find out who killed her sister-in-law, Suyi. She had learned that the palace was full of sorrow for the women trapped within the walls, walls that held terrible secrets.
Even though she had always dreamed that one day her daughter might be the next empress of China, she knew that such a life was truly only one of misery. Could she really sentence her daughter to that life?
Did she have a choice?
Lady Li kneeled before the empress. “My lady, my dear friend, thank you for summoning me, but I am afraid I have many pressing matters to attend at home.”
“Of course,” the empress said sadly.
Lady Li knew that the empress had few confidants, few real friends in the palace, but she couldn’t linger. She needed to see to Swan, and she felt a pressing urge to rush home and hold her daughters close to her chest.
“I will alert you to any updates on Wangshu,” Lady Li said.
“Please do,” the empress said. “And let me know if there is anything I can do to help her.”
Lady Li nodded and then took her leave. She wasn’t sure what the empress could do to help, but such an offer was not one to take lightly.
As she rode home in her sedan chair, she knew she should be thinking about the murder and how to help Wangshu, but she found herself more worried about First Daughter’s future. But if the empress and the grand councilors selected First Daughter to be a consort, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. It wasn’t an offer she would be able to refuse. And why should she want to? Was it not what every Manchu woman dreamed of? One day being the most powerful woman in the country? Yet she couldn’t shake the gnawing dread growing in the put of her stomach.
When she arrived home, it was early evening, and her daughters were already having their dinner. She walked up behind them and kissed them both on the tops of their heads.
“What’s wrong with Auntie Swan?” First Daughter asked, not even noticing her mother being near to tears.
“What do you mean?” Lady Li asked.
“There is a doctor in her room,” Second Daughter explained. “Is she sick?”
“Perhaps a bit,” Lady Li said, not wanting to alarm them. “But I am sure it is nothing serious.”
The girls nodded, unconcerned, and went back to eating. Lady Li tried to convince herself she was just being overly emotional with regards to her daughters and forced her concerns deep inside as she went to check on Swan.
The door to Swan’s room was open and Eunuch Bai was standing watch. Lady Li gasped when she looked into the room. Swan was lying face down on a couch completely naked save for a silk sheet covering the lower half of her body. She had acupuncture needles sticking out from her neck, shoulders, arms, and along her spine. A pungent incense was burning and some tea was brewing in a small pot.
“This is highly inappropriate!” Lady Li snapped, but the old man who was hovering over Swan administering the acupuncture shushed her.
“Do you want her to be cured or not?” he asked in a low voice.
“Of course, I do!” Lady Li said. “But Inspector Gong can’t have known that this is what you meant, for you to be seeing so much of his bride.”
“He told me to heal her by any means necessary,” the doctor said. “And believe me, this is necessary. The opium has infected every part of her body.”
“But—” Lady Li started to protest again.
“I have been supervising the entire time to make sure nothing…untoward happened,” Eunuch Bai interrupted.
Lady Li sighed but said no more for the moment. She would have to let the doctor do his work. Thankfully, he had been nearly done when she arrived. He removed the acupuncture needles and covered Swan completely with the sheet, but she didn’t move.
The doctor then poured a cup of the tea and set it on a small table by the couch. “When she wakes, make sure she drinks this,” he said. He then handed several small sachets to Eunuch Bai. “The instructions are on each one. Make sure the directions are followed exactly. I will return tomorrow and every day this week to perform more acupuncture.”
Eunuch Bai took the sachets and motioned for a maid to help dress Swan and move her back to her bed. Lady Li walked the doctor to the gate.
“Thank you for coming, and for your assistance,” Lady Li said. “It was simply a shock to find you here, and to see Swan in such a state.”
The doctor nodded. “I understand. I know you have been helping Inspector Gong with the strange murder at the theater.”
“Do you?” Lady Li asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I examined the body of the young man,” the doctor explained. “But there was nothing unusual about it.”
“I suppose you are the person who examined Yun Suyi’s body as well,” Lady Li said. “Thank you for taking such care with her.”
The doctor nodded. “I am Dr. Xue, Lady Li. I think you and I have been working together for some time without realizing it thanks to our mutual friend.”
“I guess so,” Lady Li said with a small smile.
“I have known the inspector for many years,” the doctor said as they approached the gate. “I was quite glad to know he had finally heeded my advice and was looking for a wife.”
Lady Li didn’t respond, she was so surprised by the turn the conversation had taken.
“But I was quite dismayed when I discovered who he would be marrying,” he continued.
“Dr. Xue,” Lady Li said with an exhausted sigh. “I appreciate your concern—”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Dr. Xue interrupted. “But if he won’t listen to me, perhaps you will. This marriage cannot go forward.”
“If it were up to Inspector Gong,” Lady Li corrected, “he wouldn’t marry her either. He has made his…affection for me clear. I am the one who insists he look for a companion elsewhere. There is simply no future for us together, so he needs to move on with his life.”
“Lady Li—” the doctor started to say but was interrupted by a pounding on the gate.
Since she was there, Lady Li opened the door herself and was shocked to see Wangshu there, along with several large bags.
“I…I didn’t know where else to go,” Wangshu said.
“Of course,” Lady Li said ushering her inside and helping her with her bags. “I’m sorry, doctor. Perhaps we could not finish this conversation another time.”
The doctor chuckled and showed himself out. “Until tomorrow, my lady.”
“I’m sorry to intrude if someone is ill,” Wangshu said.
Lady Li waved her off and motioned for a maid to assist with the bags. “It is nothing,” she said. “I’ll have the
servants prepare a room for you. Let’s have some hot tea while we wait.” She pulled Wangshu by the arm toward the dining room where her daughters were finishing up their evening meal.
When Wangshu entered the room, Second Daughter’s eyes lit up and she ran over to her with her mouth hanging open.
“You are the beautiful opera singer I saw the other night,” Second Daughter exclaimed.
Wangshu kneeled down to Second Daughter’s level. “I am,” she said. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“Oh yes!” Second Daughter said. She waved her fingers left and right and did a little spin. Lady Li couldn’t help but laugh at how poised her daughter was. “I’ve been practicing. I want to be an opera singer just like you!”
“Well, that makes it almost worthwhile, doesn’t it?” Wangshu asked with a hint of sadness in her voice.
“Come, come,” Lady Li said, moving her daughter out of the way so Wangshu could sit in one of the chairs. “Have some tea. Are you hungry?”
“Famished,” Wangshu said. “I’ve been walking, dragging those bags for hours. I wasn’t sure where to go.”
“Why are you here at all?” Lady Li asked. “Why didn’t you stay at the theater?”
One of the servants brought Wangshu a bowl of rice and a pair of chopsticks, along with a cup of hot tea. The dishes of food were still on the table from when the girls had been eating. They also brought a bowl for Lady Li, who had quite forgotten the last time she had eaten as well.
“The theater isn’t safe for me anymore,” Wangshu said, shaking her head. “I have received so many hateful letters, telling me that I am a whore, an abomination for being on the stage.” She gasped and looked at the two little girls. “I’m sorry to say such things. I’m not in my right mind.”
“No, don’t concern yourself,” Lady Li said, motioning with her chopsticks for Wangshu to eat. “I know this has been a difficult time for you.”
“Today was the worst of it,” Wangshu said, tears welling in her eyes. “A man broke into my room. He was waiting for me after rehearsal. He said he was going to punish me for not knowing my place. I screamed, but no one came! The rest of the troupe, they despise me, I know it!”
Murder at the Peking Opera Page 11