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

the defense of the nation in its hour of peril, you sought to absolve Sun Bing of his crimes. Your apparent sympathy was actually an act of harboring the guilty; what you considered benevolence was in truth collusion with the enemy. How could anyone as well read and sensible as you do something so foolish? And all because of a woman who peddles dog meat!”
    The shamefaced Magistrate bowed his head under the penetrating gaze of his wife.
    “I know that being barren is one of the seven causes for divorce, and I am grateful to you, my husband, for choosing not to abandon me,” she remarked delicately. “That is something I shall not forget . . . once things have settled down, I will find a woman of virtue for you, someone who will bear your offspring to carry on the Qian name. But if your infatuation with the Sun woman endures, we can arrange a divorce from her butcher husband so you can install her as your concubine. You have my word that I will treat her as family. But this cannot happen now. If you fail to free the foreign hostages and arrest Sun Bing, you and I are fated to come to a bad end, and you will be denied the pleasure of her charms.”
    As sweat soaked the Magistrate’s back, he tried but failed to stammer a response.
    ————
    2
    ————
    As he sat in his palanquin, the Magistrate’s mood oscillated between righteous indignation and utter dejection. Rays of sunlight filtering in through gaps in the bamboo curtain landed first on his hands and then on his legs. He saw the sweat-soaked necks of the bearers up front through those same gaps. His body shifted with each rise and fall of the shafts, a reflection of his drifting thoughts. The dark, sedate face of the First Lady and the bewitchingly fair image of Meiniang entered his mind, one after the other. The First Lady represented reason, his official career, and the dignity that went with it. Meiniang was emotion, life, romance. He would not willingly give up either one, but if he had to choose, then . . . then . . . it would have to be his wife. The granddaughter of Lord Wenzheng was, without question, the proper choice. If he failed to rescue the hostages and take Sun Bing into custody, all would come to naught anyway. Meiniang, oh, Meiniang, your dieh may be your dieh, but you are you, and for you I must take him into custody. It is for you that I must arrest your dieh.
    The palanquin crossed the Masang River stone bridge and headed toward Masang Township’s western gate along a badly pitted dirt road. It was the middle of the day, but the gate was tightly shut. Broken bricks and shards of roof tiles had been piled atop a rammed-earth wall, behind which men with knives and spears and clubs were on the move. Flapping high above the gateway was an apricot banner embroidered with the large single word YUE, representing the Song Dynasty hero Yue Fei. Young men in red kerchiefs and sashes, their faces smeared with a red substance, kept guard over the banner.
    The Magistrate’s palanquin was lowered to the ground in front of the gate. He stepped out, bent slightly at the waist. A voice from high up on the gateway demanded:
    “Who comes calling?”
    “Magistrate Qian of Gaomi County.”
    “What is the purpose of your visit?”
    “To see Sun Bing.”
    “Our Supreme Commander is practicing martial skills and is unavailable.”
    With a sardonic little laugh, the Magistrate said:
    “Yu Xiaoqi, you can stop putting on airs for my benefit. When you held a gambling party last year, I spared you from the obligatory forty lashes for the sake of your seventy-year-old mother. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
    With a smirk, Yu Xiaoqi replied:
    “I have taken the place of the Song general Yang Zaixing.”
    “I don’t care if you’ve taken the place of the Jade Emperor, you are still Yu Xiaoqi. Summon Sun Bing, and be quick about it. Otherwise, the next time I see you will be in the yamen when you are getting the lashes you deserve.”
    “Wait here,” Yu Xiaoqi said. “I’ll take a message in for you.”
    Wearing an inscrutable smile, the Magistrate glanced at his attendants. They are nothing but simple farm boys, he was thinking.
    Sun Bing, wearing a long white gown and a silver helmet adorned with a pair of stage-prop plumes, appeared in the gateway. He was still carrying his date-wood club.
    “Visitor at our city wall, state your name!”
    “Sun Bing, oh, Sun Bing,” the Magistrate said sarcastically, “you still know how to