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

Shifu,” Stone said as he brought a slingshot out from under his shirt. “I won’t let you fight them alone. I’m a crack shot with one of these.”
    He let the boy have his way, in part because he was so hoarse he could barely talk. The pain in his chest was nearly unbearable, the same sensation he experienced when his voice cracked as he was training to sing opera. And still, though his hands trembled, now joined by his feet, he hummed arias to himself.
    The clack of hooves on the cobblestone street sounded to the west soon after a crescent moon had ascended into the sky. He jumped to his feet, gripped the club tightly in his feverish hand, and readied himself for a fight. In the weak starlight, he saw the outline of a big, black mule running his way with an awkward gait. The rider, all in black, wore a mask.
    The rider slid neatly off the mule in front of the teashop and knocked at the door.
    Gripping his club even tighter, he held his breath and hid behind the door.
    The pounding was not loud, but it was persistent.
    “Who is it?” he asked hoarsely.
    “It’s me!”
    He recognized his daughter’s voice immediately. The door opened, and in rushed Meiniang, all in black.
    “Don’t say a word, Dieh,” she said. “You have to get out of here.”
    “Why?” For some reason, this made him angry. “They’re the ones who took liberties with a good and decent woman—”
    She cut him off.
    “It doesn’t get any worse than this, Dieh. The Germans have already sent a telegram to Peking and Jinan. Yuan Shikai has ordered Magistrate Qian to arrest you. The constables are on their way, and will be here soon.”
    “Is there no justice, no fairness anywhere—”
    She was in no mood to let him defend his actions.
    “How can you jabber about things like that when the flames are singeing your eyebrows? If you want to get out of this alive, you must go into hiding. If not, then wait here, for they won’t be long.”
    “What happens to my family if I run away?”
    “They’re almost here,” she said, cocking her ear. The sound of horses was faint for the moment, but getting louder. “Are you leaving or are you staying? It’s up to you.” She turned and ran out the door, but immediately stuck her head back in and said, “If you go, tell Little Peach to fake madness.”
    He watched as his daughter nimbly jumped into the saddle and leaned forward until she looked like she was part of the mule she was riding. With a snort, the animal took off running, its flanks flashing for a moment before it disappeared in the surrounding darkness. The sound of its hooves sped east.
    He shut the door, turned, and saw Little Peach standing in the room, her hair already down around her shoulders, soot smeared over her face. A torn blouse revealed her fair bosom. She came up to him and, in a voice that brooked no nonsense, said:
    “Do as Meiniang said: leave, and leave now!”
    An agonizing emotion welled up inside him as he looked into his wife’s eyes, which flashed in the dark room, and in the midst of that seminal moment, he realized that this woman, so gentle and fragile in appearance, was blessed with great courage and a quick mind. He wrapped his arms around her, but she pushed him away.
    “There’s no time; you must go. Don’t worry about us.”
    So he ran out of the shop and headed down the street he knew so well from fetching water, then ran up the Masang River bank and hid behind a large willow tree, where he could look down at the peaceful village below, the gray street, and his house. He could hear Bao’er and Yun’er—they were crying—and that nearly broke his heart. The new moon, hanging low in the western sky, was especially beautiful; the vast canopy of sky was dotted with stars that twinkled like diamonds. Every house in town was dark, and yet he knew that the occupants were not asleep, but were silently and expectantly listening for any activity outside, almost as if darkness was their best protection against bad tidings. The clack of horse hooves neared; dogs began to bark. A dark, tight formation of horses approached—how many it was impossible to say—and reddish sparks flew as the staccato beat of horseshoes on cobblestones announced their arrival.
    The posse rode up and, after some confused jockeying, stopped in front of the shop. He witnessed the blurred silhouette of constables appearing to dismount from the blurred outlines of their horses, a spurt of boisterous wrangling seemingly