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

the rotten smell of a skunk. Dieh called out in a stern, deep voice:
    “Come back here, Xiaojia!”
    The summons reawakened my sense of responsibility; I stopped backing up and, in a roundabout fashion, headed toward him. The fake Sun Bing’s insides were probably a pile of mush by now. Normal excrement didn’t smell that scary bad. Now what? Dieh was still holding the stake in place, waiting for me to start pounding, while I was wondering what would come out of his backside once the stake entered his body. Dieh had emphasized over and over the importance of what we were doing that day, and I knew I’d have to put that mallet to use even if he fired bullets out of his ass. Truth is, the smell that emerged from his asshole was worse than bullets could possibly have been. I took a tentative step forward despite the vomit rising into my throat. Show me some mercy, Dieh! If you make me follow through with this execution, I’m afraid I’ll die of suffocation before the stake pokes out from between his shoulders.
    Well, the heavens came to my rescue. At that crucial moment, Yuan Shikai, who looked like he was about to fall asleep up on the stage, ordered that Xiao Shanzi, originally sentenced to die by the sandalwood death, be beheaded instead. Dieh wasted no time tossing the sandalwood stake to one side; holding his breath and scowling, he unsheathed the sword at the waist of the nearest yayi, took several quick steps, looking more energetic than his years, raised the sword, and created a shining downward arc; before anyone could so much as blink, the head of the real Xiao Shanzi, the fake Sun Bing, lay on the ground beneath the slaughtering rack.
    Meow ——

C HAPTER E IGHTEEN

The Magistrate’s Magnum Opus
    Sandalwood grows deep in the hills; its blood red flowers bloom in the fall,
    Champion of trees and hero of the forest, it stands the tallest of all.
    People say that red lips open softly, a song of beauty their goal,
    Song of the phoenix, murmurs of the swallow, cry of the oriole.
    People say that maidens throw fruit at the young man with cheeks like a rose,
    Graced with a tender visage, until his cart overflows.
    People say that sandalwood clappers produce a crisp new sound,
    In the performance of the Pear Garden actors peace and prosperity abound.
    People say that a parade of sandalwood chariots by warhorses pulled,
    Moonlight of the Qin, soldiers of the Han, by emperors ruled.
    People say that Zhuge Liang’s Empty City Strategy came to jell,
    While playing a lute amid the lingering sandalwood smell.
    People say that Tanyue befriended Buddhism in his style of living,
    And escaped the karma of poverty by good deeds and giving.
    But who has ever seen sandalwood used to impale a man?
    In the dying days of dynasty, a wicked punishment inhumane!
    — Maoqiang Sandalwood Death. A noble air
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    1
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    When Xiao Shanzi’s head fell to the ground, the sun turned from white to red. As he picked it up, I knew that the dignified look Zhao Jia wore was false—Disgusting! Nauseating! That son of a bitch, no better than a pig or a dog, raised Xiao Shanzi’s bloody head high in the air and announced to me:
    “May it please Your Honor, the execution has been carried out!”
    My mind was a tangle of confusing thoughts. A curtain of red fog rose before my eyes as thunderous bursts of cannon fire rang in my ears. The stench of blood was everywhere, such a foul, repulsive smell, one that has already infiltrated the doomed Qing Court. Am I abandoning you, or will I be buried with you? Not knowing what to do, I vacillate, I hesitate; everywhere I look, there is nothing but desolation. There is evidence that the Empress Dowager has fled with His Majesty to Taiyuan. Peking has become a city of wild savagery; the sacred halls of the Imperial Palace have been turned into the playground of the willful Eight-Power Allied Forces. An Imperial Court that brought the capital to its knees now exists in name only, does it not? But Yuan Shikai, Excellency Yuan, has taken from the Imperial Treasury tens of thousands of silver ingots to form and train a cohort of crack troops, not to defend the capital against invaders and protect royalty, but to join forces with the foreign demons to crush my loyal Shandong countrymen. The wolf’s ambition is abundantly clear, his designs known to all, as were those of the Three Kingdoms usurper Sima Zhao. Even urchins in shantytowns sing a ditty: “The Qing is no more, swept