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

be cured, not in this life. I have come for release, though I know he could never give a passing glance to the big-footed wife of a butcher. If I throw myself at him, he will only push me away. For me there is no hope and no salvation, so I will let you watch me die, or maybe I will watch you die and then follow you by my own hand.
    In order to find the courage to break through the curtain before her, she had to intensify her hatred. But that sense was like nothing so much as willow catkins lifted into the air by a spring breeze—rootless and insubstantial, powerless to keep from being blown out of existence by even the slightest breath of air. The bouquet of lilac dulled her mind and unsettled her heart, just as a faint whistle rose from the other side of the curtain, like the melodious twitter of a bird. The idea that an eminent personage such as the County Magistrate was capable of whistling like a frivolous young man caught her by surprise. A cool breezed seemed to caress her, raising gooseflesh and opening a seam in her mind. Heavenly Laoye, if I don’t do something fast, my courage will desert me altogether. She needed an immediate change of plans. Reaching into her basket, she took out the knife, intending to rush into the room and stab him in the heart before turning the knife on herself. Their blood would flow together. Steeling herself, she tore open the curtain, took one step, and was in the document room; the egrets on the embroidered curtain fell back into place to cut the two of them off from the outside world.
    The document room’s broad writing desk, the writing implements atop it, the scrolls of calligraphy hanging on the walls, a flower rack in the corner, the flower pots on it, and the flowers and plants in them were illuminated by sunlight streaming in through the latticed window; it all slowly entered her consciousness once the intense emotions had peaked and were beginning to retreat. When she’d first parted the curtain, the only thing that had entered the curtain of her vision was the Magistrate. Casually dressed in a baggy robe, he was leaning back in an armchair with his white-stockinged feet on the table. Startled by her entrance, he took his feet down, a look of astonishment frozen on his face. He sat up, laid down the book he was reading, and stared at her.
    “You . . .”
    Then two pairs of eyes were riveted to each other, as if linked by red threads that quickly became entangled. An invisible rope seemed to bind her tightly, and she hadn’t an ounce of strength to struggle against it. The basket over her arm and the knife in her hand clattered to the brick floor. Light glinted off the knife. She did not see it; neither did he. The cooked dog’s legs gave off a mouth-watering aroma. She did not smell it; neither did he. Hot tears gurgled from her eyes and wetted her face as well as the front of her jacket. She’d put on a lotus-colored satin top whose sleeves, collar, and hem were all embroidered with pea-green floral piping. The high collar enhanced her long, delicate, fair neck. Her haughty breasts cried out from under her jacket, and her slightly reddened face looked like a dew-covered pink lotus—fragile, tender, timid, abashed. Magistrate Qian was profoundly moved. This beautiful woman, who seemed to have fallen out of the sky, was like a lover who had returned after a long absence.
    He stood up and walked around the table, oblivious to the bruising bump on his leg when he skirted the corner of the desk. He could not take his eyes off hers. She filled his heart, leaving room for nothing else, like a butterfly-to-be imprisoned by the thin skin of its cocoon. His eyes were moist, his breathing labored. He stretched out his arms, opening up to her, stopping just before they met. Their eyes never wavered, despite the tears filling them. Their strength was gathering, the heat was rising, until finally they were in each other’s arms, though who had made the first move would always remain a mystery. They were quickly entwined, like a pair of snakes, investing all their strength in the embrace. They stopped breathing at the same moment; their joints cracked noisily. Lips drew closer and were frozen together. Their eyes closed in the midst of a frenzy of activity by hot lips and searching tongues. Rivers roiled, seas churned; you swallow me, I devour you, lips began to melt from the heat . . . afterward, flowing water formed a channel, ripe melons fell from the vine, and no power