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

toward their retreating backs, spat mightily in their direction, and cursed at the top of my lungs, Fuck you—followed, in a barely audible voice, by: Qian Ding.

C HAPTER F OUR

Qian Ding’s Bitter Words
The Gaomi Magistrate, drunk in the Western Parlor, his mind on the lovely Sun Meiniang. (A drunken body, not a drunken heart!) Eyes limpid as ripples on an autumn lake, red lips, ivory teeth, a maiden young. Dog meat and strong drink stir my emotions, an affecting aria from the opera Maoqiang. No general can pass up a beautiful woman, the adage goes, a hero prostrates himself before feminine charms. You and I are like fish in water, cavorting together. We shy not from carrying on in the yamen court (outraging our ancestors). Alas, a shame that a dream that seems so right soon gives way to what is wrong. Fighting has broken out in Northeast Township, led by Sun Bing, once an opera singer with a beard so long. I think back to early days in Gaomi County, when he spouted nonsense in a song. When a red tally was tossed, he was detained at my command and sent in chains to be flogged. At a competition over beards, he was weak, I was strong. That day I first saw Sun Meiniang, like the Tang Consort reborn. The daughter of Sun Bing means that he and I to a single family must belong. The cruel German devils want to punish him with savagery at the hands of the executioner, Zhao Jia, gongdieh of the fair Meiniang . . .
    — Maoqiang Sandalwood Death. Drunken ramblings
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    Please sit, dear wife. I cannot ask you to bother with the lowly chore of preparing food and drink. I have told you so a thousand times, and yet you treat my words as wind passing by your ear. So please sit, dear wife; tonight you and I shall drink to our hearts’ content, till we are both pleasurably tipsy, and then retire to my sleeping quarters. Do not fear the prospect of inebriation or how the spirits will loosen your tongue. Though it be true that we are in the depths of this compound, where secrets are safe, even in a teahouse or wine shop surrounded by a gathered crowd I would say what is in my heart, for I could not rest until I had my say. Dear wife, you are descended from a towering official of the Great Qing, born into a family of affluence, maternal granddaughter of Zeng Guofan, who came to the rescue of the dynasty, expending energy under the most difficult of circumstances, sparing no effort as a true loyalist amid a desperate state of affairs, to become a mainstay of the nation. The Great Qing would not exist today but for the Zeng family. A toast, dear wife, to us. Do not assume that I am drunk, for I am not. Oh, if only I were! While drink may have an effect on my body, my soul remains beyond its power. I will not mislead you, dear wife, nor could I if I tried, for this once-great dynasty is nearing its fated end. The Empress Dowager holds the reins of power; the Emperor is but a puppet. The rooster broods the eggs; the hen heralds the dawn—yin and yang are reversed, black and white all mixed up, with villains holding sway and black arts running wild. It would be a monstrous absurdity if the death knell of such a royal house were not struck. Let me have my say, dear wife, for I shall burst if I do not. Great Qing Court, you magnificent edifice on the verge of toppling, do so quickly and let your demise come swiftly. Why must you hang on between life and death, neither yin nor yang? Do not try to stop me, dear wife, and do not take my glass from me. Let me drink to my heart’s content and speak my piece! Revered Empress Dowager and He Who Has Received His Mandate from Heaven, as beneficiaries of a nation’s respect, how could You show no regard for Your exalted position and make a grand show of allowing an audience with an executioner? An executioner—the dregs of society, a man at the bottom of the heap! We who serve in official positions rise before dawn and do not eat until it is dark, performing our duties with diligence, and even a glimpse of the Dragon countenance is an event of earth-shaking rarity. Yet a bottom-feeding denizen spurned by dogs and pigs has been accorded the dignity of a grand and solemn audience, at which Her Royal Highness presented him with a fine ring of prayer beads and His Imperial Majesty favored him with the very chair occupied by His noble person, treatment that barely fell short of granting high rank and hereditary title. Dear wife, your esteemed grandfather, Zeng Guofan,