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

lashes!”
    “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for proof,” Chunsheng said as he moved to look under her clothes.
    Sun Meiniang knocked his hand away. “Don’t get fresh with me,” she said. “Aren’t you worried the Magistrate would chop off your grubby paw?”
    “You see what I mean, Mistress Sun, you do have feelings for him. All I did was stick out my hand, and you stopped me by bringing up his name. The truth is, the Magistrate is seriously ill this time, and the First Lady has no choice but to invite you, our Living Bodhisattva, to work your magic. Think for a minute—would she be doing this if there were any other path open to her? Even if she did order someone to use a whip on you, why is this so surprising? Sending me for you is an admission of defeat. This hill is the excuse you need to ride the donkey, so what are you waiting for? If your ministrations speed up the Magistrate’s recovery and set him on the road to health, even the First Lady will praise you for having performed a great service. What was once hidden will be out in the open; the private will be made public. That, Mistress Sun, will usher in good times for you. But it is your decision. Are you coming or aren’t you?”
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    8
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    Dog meat basket in hand, Sun Meiniang pushed open the door to the Western Parlor and spotted a slightly pock-scarred woman with dark skin and a downturned mouth seated in an armchair. Meiniang’s heated body abruptly turned icy cold, and the elation with which she had arrived was suddenly coated with frost. Dimly she sensed that she had fallen into another trap, one also engineered by the Magistrate’s wife. She was, however, the daughter of an actor, well acquainted with all sorts of poses; and she was, after all, the wife of a butcher, equally well acquainted with the glint of a knife and the sight of blood; and she was, in the end, the Magistrate’s lover, and thus familiar with the ways of officials. All that made it possible for her to bring her tangled emotions under control, brace herself, and match stratagems with the Magistrate’s wife. Two women, two pairs of eyes meeting, neither about to back down. As their gazes fought for supremacy, their hearts carried on a resounding dialogue.
    Magistrate’s wife: Are you aware that I come from an old and distinguished family?
    Sun Meiniang: It is clear to anyone with eyes that I am a great beauty.
    Magistrate’s wife: I am his legal and formal wife.
    Sun Meiniang: I am his most intimate soul mate.
    Magistrate’s wife: You are nothing but a remedy for my sick husband, no different than a canine gallstone or bezoars of ox.
    Sun Meiniang: You are, in fact, the Magistrate’s backroom ornament, a marionette, a clay sculpture.
    Magistrate’s wife: All your bewitching talents and seductive airs can have little effect on my position here.
    Sun Meiniang: What good is being the revered First Lady if you are denied the Magistrate’s love? He has told me that he fulfills his conjugal duties with you only once a month, but with me . . .
    Thoughts of lovemaking with the Magistrate sent shivers through Meiniang’s heart, and as vivid scenes of romance flooded her mind, radiant lights, moist and bright, glowed in her eyes. The somber First Lady had become a blurred outline.
    The Magistrate’s wife noticed that the face of the woman across from her, fresh and tender as a freshly picked honey peach, had flushed, that she was breathing fast, and that her eyes were suddenly unfocused, all signs that her emotions were heating up. She had, she felt, achieved a moral victory, and her face, taut and unyielding up till then, softened slowly as her ivory white teeth poked out between purplish-red lips. Tossing a jade bodhisattva on a red cord at Meiniang’s feet, she said arrogantly:
    “I had worn that since childhood, until some dog stole it and covered it with ugly canine smells. Since dogs are butchered at your house every day, you should not find it objectionable. You may have it.”
    Sun Meiniang blushed. The sight of the jade bodhisattva sent stabbing pains into her backside and brought back the memory of what had happened that night. Rage boiled inside her, and she’d have rushed up and scratched the woman’s pock-scarred face if her legs would have done her bidding. For the Magistrate, all for the Magistrate, you may have your little victory. She knew that more than just a piece of jewelry, the First Lady had tossed over her status, her