Sandalwood Death: A Novel (Chinese Literature Today Book Series)

executioners knelt in place, raised their glasses, and toasted Liu, who clinked glasses with each of them and, as his eyes brightened, said:
    “I can see that you are all men of indomitable spirit. It takes courage to engage in your profession. And nothing celebrates courage like fine spirits. So drink up!”
    The men grew increasingly spirited as the level of the alcohol in the bottle dropped. No longer so tense or concerned about where they placed their arms and legs, they took turns toasting Liu, their constraints disappearing as fast as the spirits and the meat. Liu Guangdi, who had abandoned his official airs, picked up a pig’s foot and attacked it with such vigor that his cheeks shone from the grease.
    By the time the meat and spirits were gone, they were all fairly drunk. Zhao Jia was beaming; Liu Guangdi had tears in his eyes. First Aunt was sputtering nonsense; Second Aunt was snoring with his eyes open. Third Aunt’s tongue was so thick that no one could understand a word he said.
    Liu got down off the kang. “Wonderful,” he said, “this was just wonderful!”
    Zhao helped Liu into his boots, and the young nephews helped him back into his official robe and hat. With the executioners in tow, Liu stumbled his way into the room where the tools of the trade were kept. His eyes fell on the sword whose handle proclaimed it “Generalissimo.”
    “Grandma Zhao,” he blurted out, “how many red-capped heads has this sword separated from their bodies?”
    “I never counted.”
    Liu tested the rusty blade with his finger.
    “It’s not very sharp,” he said.
    “Nothing dulls a blade like human blood, Excellency. We have to hone it before we use it.”
    With a laugh, Liu said:
    “By now you and I are old friends, Grandma Zhao. If I fall into your hands one day, I hope this blade is at its sharpest.”
    “Excellency . . .” It was an awkward moment. “You are an upright, incorruptible official, a noble man of great integrity . . .”
    “An upright, incorruptible man deserves to die like anyone else. The slicing death repays nobility and integrity!” Liu sighed before going on. “Let’s say it’s a deal, Grandma Zhao.”
    “Excellency . . .”
    Liu Guangdi left the room weaving from side to side, watched by the executioners with tears in their eyes.
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    4
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    As a dozen horns blared their mournful music, the celebrated Six Gentlemen of the Wuxu Reform Movement were lifted down off a dilapidated prison van by a dozen uniformed guards and up onto the elevated execution platform, over which a thick red felt mat had been laid. A fresh layer of dirt had been spread on the ground around the platform. Zhao Jia, the principal “grandma” of the Board of Punishments, was somewhat comforted by the sight of these preparations. He and his apprentice followed the Six Gentlemen onto the platform. The mournful music was persistent and increasingly shrill. The musicians’ foreheads were sweaty; their cheeks had ballooned out. Zhao Jia took a good look at the six distinguished men lined up on the platform, and saw a range of expressions. Tan Sitong’s chin was raised as he looked skyward, a solemn, tragic look on his dark, gaunt face. The face of the young man, Lin Xu, who was next in line, was ghostly white; his thin, bloodless lips quivered. Heavy-set Yang Shenxiu had cocked his square head to one side; drool oozed from his twisted mouth. The delicate features of Kang Guangren were distorted by incessant twitches as he kept wiping tears and snot with his sleeve. Yang Rui, short in stature but full of energy, kept sweeping the area around the platform with his dark eyes, as if hoping to find an old friend amid the spectators. Liu Guangdi, the tallest among them, wore a solemn expression; eyes downcast, he was making a guttural sound.
    It was approaching noon. The shadow cast by a fir pole behind the platform was slowly forming a straight line with the pole. It was a brilliant autumn day, with radiant sunshine and a deep blue sky. Sunlight reflecting off the platform mat, the red capes of the official witnesses, the red flags, banners, and umbrella canopies of the honor guard, the officials’ red caps, the red tassels on the soldiers’ helmets, and the red hilt of Generalissimo sent fiery rays of light in all directions. Flocks of doves flew in circles above the execution ground, round and round, filling the air with the whisper of flapping wings and their shrill cries. Throngs of