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

Prefect, having resumed a friendly demeanor, replied in the manner of a counselor, “our lives are devoted to serving the nation, and to that end we are the beneficiaries of the Empress Dowager and the Emperor’s favor. Our conscience compels us to carry out our duties to the best of our ability. If, however, we serve our own selfish interests or bend the law to help friends or relatives and are unfaithful to our calling, then that . . .”
    “Your humble servant would never . . .”
    “The death of a scant few stubborn and unruly subjects means nothing,” the Prefect said dispassionately, “and if that will mollify the Germans and end the provocations, well, that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?”
    “But twenty-seven lives were lost . . . the common folk deserve fair treatment.”
    “Just how do you propose to manage that?” The Prefect punctuated his question by pounding on the table. “Don’t tell me you expect reparations from the Germans or expect them to pay with their lives.”
    “But something must be done, in the name of justice,” the Magistrate complained, “or how do I face the citizens back home?”
    With a chilling laugh, the Prefect said:
    “I cannot give you the justice you seek. Nor, I’m afraid, will you find it from Circuit Attendant Tan or Governor Yuan, not even if you were to present yourself to the Emperor or the Empress Dowager.”
    “We’re talking about twenty-seven lives, Excellency!”
    “If you had carried out your duties and taken Sun Bing into custody immediately after the incident and turned him over to the Germans, they would not have sent in troops, and those twenty-seven individuals would be alive today!” The Prefect patted a pile of documents on his desk and, with another chilling laugh, said, “Elder Brother Qian, people are saying that you facilitated Sun Bing’s escape by warning him. The last thing you want is for that sort of talk to reach the ears of Excellency Yuan.”
    By now the County Magistrate was sweating profusely.
    “And so,” the Prefect continued, “the most urgent task before my Elder Brother is not to seek some sort of justice for the people back home, but to arrest Sun Bing as soon as humanly possible and bring him to justice. Taking Sun Bing into custody will be good for all concerned—high, low, those within and those without. No one benefits from failing to do so.”
    “Your humble servant understands . . .”
    “Elder Brother,” the Prefect said with a smile, “this Sun Meiniang must be a raving beauty to have planted the seeds of desire so deeply in you.” He added in a mocking tone, “She doesn’t have two pairs of breasts and two points of entry, does she?”
    “Your Excellency is making fun of me . . .”
    “I’m told that you fell in the street a while ago, and that you lost your hat in the process. Is that true?” he said with obvious portent as he glanced up at the County Magistrate’s hat. Before the Magistrate could answer, he held out his teacup and banged the lid against the lip. “Elder Brother,” he said as he got to his feet, “be careful, be very careful. Losing one’s hat means nothing, but losing one’s head . . .”
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    5
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    The Magistrate fell ill upon arriving home. At first his symptoms included headaches, dizziness, vomiting, and diarrhea; those in turn led to a persistent high fever and periods of delirium. The First Lady split her time between tending to her husband, including seeing that he received appropriate medications, and offering up nightly prayers at an outdoor incense altar. Whether it was the efficacy of his treatment or the intervention of the gods, no one knew, but half a bowlful of dark, rank blood abruptly spewed from the Magistrate’s nose, and almost immediately his fever broke and the diarrhea stopped. It was then the middle of the second month, a time when telegrams pressing for the arrest of Sun Bing were streaming in from provincial, circuit, and prefectural offices, sending the county government clerks into a frenzy of anxious activity. Yet all the while, the Magistrate lay in the space between wakefulness and sleep, neither eating nor drinking, let alone returning to his duties; there was even concern that he might never recover from what ailed him. The First Lady personally went into the kitchen to prepare the finest food of which she was capable, but all to no avail—the Magistrate’s appetite for food had vanished.
    One afternoon a