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

Tianjin?”
    “Your servant went to Tianjin to carry out a slicing death for Excellency Yuan.”
    “You mean carving up a living person so he will suffer before he dies?”
    “Yes.”
    “The Emperor and I have decided to abolish the slicing death punishment. Are We not expected to initiate reforms? Well, this is one of them. Is that not right, Your Majesty?”
    “Yes.” It was a melancholy sound that floated over to me, and when I boldly looked up, I saw someone in a chair to the left and a bit ahead of the Empress Dowager. He was wearing a bright yellow robe, a golden dragon with glittering scales embroidered on the chest, and a tall hat whose centerpiece was a sparkling pearl the size of a hen’s egg. The face beneath that hat was large and as white as fine porcelain. The August Ruler, the Son of Heaven, Emperor of the Great Qing Dynasty. Of course I knew that he had fallen out of favor with the Empress Dowager over the commotion caused by Kang Youwei and his fellow reformers, but that did nothing to alter the fact that He was the Emperor. Long live His Majesty the Emperor, may He live forever and ever! The Emperor said:
    “What my august progenitor says is true.”
    “Yuan Shikai has said that you desire to return to your native home in retirement.”
    The sarcastic tone in the Empress Dowager’s comment was unmistakable, and I felt two of my three souls departing in abject fear. “Your humble servant deserves to die ten thousand deaths,” I said. “Your humble servant is a pig and a dog, and has no right to cause the Old Buddha any concern. But your humble servant is not thinking of himself alone. It is his thought that while an executioner may be demeaned, the work he performs is not, and as such he is a symbol of national power. We are a nation with a thousand laws, but in the end it is we who enforce them. Your humble servant ventures to propose that executioners be included in the personnel ranks of the Board of Punishments with a monthly wage, and hopes for the creation of a retirement system for executioners, who can subsist on a national pension and not be reduced to wandering the streets in poverty. Your humble servant . . . humble servant hopes as well for the creation of a hereditary system for executioners, so that this ancient profession will be viewed as an honorable one . . .”
    A stately cough by the Empress Dowager sent shivers through me. I stopped talking, went back to kowtows, and said over and over:
    “Your humble servant deserves death . . . humble servant deserves death . . .”
    “What he says is sensible and has merit,” the Empress Dowager said. “No single trade may be excluded from the list of professions. It is said that every profession has its zhuangyuan. Zhao Jia, in my view, you are the zhuangyuan of your profession.”
    “By investing me with the designation zhuangyuan of my profession, the Empress Dowager brought me immeasurable glory.” More kowtows.
    “Zhao Jia, you have put many people to death on behalf of the Great Qing Empire, which has brought you credit for hard work, if not for good work, and has earned praise from Yuan Shikai and Li Lianying. So I shall break from precedent and award you a grade seven medallion for your cap and allow you to return home in retirement.” The Empress Dowager tossed a ring of sandalwood prayer beads at my feet and said, “Lay down your knife and turn at once to a life of Buddhist contemplation.”
    My kowtows continued.
    “How about Your Majesty?” she asked. “Should you not reward him with something for all the people he has put to death for us, including those running dogs of yours whose heads he lopped off?”
    I sneaked a glance at His Majesty, who, clearly flustered, got to His feet and said:
    “We have nothing prepared. What do you suggest We reward him with?”
    “I think, maybe,” the Empress Dowager said with a distinct chill, “You should give him the chair You have just vacated!”
    ————
    6
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When I listened to my dieh-dieh relate history, my heart sang. Dieh-dieh, Dieh-dieh, you are wonderful, for the Imperial audience you had. Xiaojia wants to be an executioner, to learn the trade from his dad . . .
    — Maoqiang Sandalwood Death. A father and son duet
    Xiaojia sat on the rustling straw mat, leaning against a tent post as the night deepened. He looked like an oversized rabbit, his eyes dim with sleep. Flames in the belly of the stove flickered on his young face, and words that