With a confident tone, Cí went on to assert that the wound to the lung had been the sole cause of death. Though its edges didn’t have the hard, pinkish patches produced when living flesh is cut—nor did the ankle and neck stumps, nor did the gash around the sex—Cí found definitive signs of collapse in the lung, which happened only when a living person’s lung was punctured.
He rejected the idea that an animal had been involved. The lung had clearly been removed with a great degree of brutality, as if someone had been trying to access the heart, but, he pointed out, there were no scratches or bite marks, nothing to indicate the involvement of any large animal. And though the ribs had been broken, they were clean breaks, as if made by some kind of tool. It seemed, in any case, as though the murderer had been looking for something inside the corpse. And it would appear that whatever it was had been found.
“Why? What might he have been looking for?” asked Kan.
“That I don’t know. Maybe an arrowhead broke off inside and the killer tried to remove it because, say, it was reinforced with some kind of precious metal or something else that would point to the culprit.”
“As for the amputations…”
“I believe they were a red herring. Professor Ming’s idea that the corpse belonged to a noblewoman, and that the feet had been removed to prevent her identification—though an excellent reflection—is, I think, what the murderer wanted us to believe. Add that to the smooth, feminine body, and the breasts above all—”
“Male genitalia, but also breasts? Should we be thinking about the victim as some kind of aberration of nature?”
“Not at all. The deceased was, in fact, none other than an Imperial eunuch.”
But Cí’s astuteness did not have the desired effect. From the way Kan clenched his fists and muttered under his breath, it seemed that he was kicking himself for not having drawn the same conclusion. Everyone knew that eunuchs often developed feminine features, especially those castrated before puberty. Kan glared at Cí as though he were responsible for the oversight, as if he had somehow caused Kan to misinterpret the evidence.
“That will be all,” he hissed.
On their way back to the academy, Ming asked Cí to explain his logic.
“I worked it out during your remarks, when you said it would have been easy to identify the woman by her deformed feet…”
“Yes?”
“Well, as you yourself pointed out, foot binding is only something the upper classes do. Kan would definitely have known that. So we have to assume he’d already interviewed all the noble families about a disappearance. Since he asked you to help, it must have been because those interviews bore no fruit.”
“But from there to saying the corpse was a eunuch?”
“Something just struck me. Right after I arrived in Lin’an I was unfortunate enough to witness a castration of a child whose parents wanted the boy to be an Imperial eunuch. That poor boy has stayed with me so strongly…And then all the details fell into place.”
Ming didn’t say another word on their way back to the academy. Cí tried to guess his mood, but his clenched jaw and hard eyes didn’t bode well. Cí thought his pride might have been hurt by not figuring out the eunuch. The situation reminded him of when he’d tried to help Feng and it had ended worse than he could have imagined, with his brother being accused. Although Cí had already effectively been expelled, he had a feeling things were about to get even worse.
As they arrived at the academy, Ming announced that he had a meeting, and that Cí was to wait for him so they could talk. He said he would be back by nightfall.
No sooner had Cí crossed the academy threshold than the guard appeared and took him by the arm.
“A man came by earlier,” he said, leading Cí into the gardens, “and claimed to be your friend. I told him you weren’t here and he went into a rage, so I kicked him out.” He lowered his voice, stopping to face Cí. “He said something about being a fortune-teller, about a reward or something. I thought you should know. Be careful. If the professors see you hanging around with his kind, they won’t like it. Not one bit.”
Cí flushed. Xu had found him, and it would seem he was ready to follow through on his threats. Cí felt his world crashing down. He was being kicked out of the academy, and Xu was going to be there waiting to report him the moment he set foot on the streets. Even though Ming had told him to wait, Cí knew he had to pack his things and flee the city before things got any worse.
Cí wandered through the academy for the last time. The empty classrooms struck him as somehow desolate, as if the sorrow crushing him were contagious. The walls seemed like mute witnesses to his vain efforts; they were part of the dream from which he was now forced to wake. When he passed the library and its shelves lined with generations’ worth of knowledge, it felt like a hammer’s blow to his already dejected state of mind.
Night was falling as he made his way along the streets of Lin’an. He walked aimlessly through the city he knew so well. He thought that he would walk until he happened upon a wagon or a boat—anything—that could take him far away. He went to the house he’d lived in with his parents and Third in what seemed another lifetime, and he stopped, silently wishing that someone would come to a window, open it, call out to him. But no one came. He was about to continue on, when all of a sudden four soldiers came around the corner and ordered him to stop. He recognized one of them from the palace.
“The Corpse Reader?” said the highest-ranking soldier.
“That—that’s what they call me,” stammered Cí.
“We have orders to take you with us.”
Cí didn’t put up a fight.
They took him to the prefecture building, where they covered his head with a hood and put him in the back of a cart. During the journey through Lin’an he heard insults being hurled by people who must have thought him a criminal being taken to the gallows, but gradually these subsided, and eventually the cart came to a stop somewhere extremely quiet. Cí heard the squeak of gate hinges followed by voices, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. The mules were whipped into action and the cart continued on for a while. Suddenly the cart came to a halt and Cí, with the hood still on, was helped down. He was led along a paved path and up a slippery ramp. He began to smell mildew and earth, and he had a terrible feeling he wouldn’t be leaving this place alive. He heard a key turn in a lock, and then a hard push to his back caused him to stumble forward. The lock turned again, and everything went quiet.
He thought he was alone, but then he heard footsteps, and the hood was suddenly removed.
“On your feet!” ordered a voice.
A burning torch was held up. Cí could feel its heat on his face and was blinded by it. The soldier holding it stood back, and Cí’s eyes began to adjust to the dungeon darkness. There were no windows, only filthy walls, rank and damp and cold. The soldier pushed him into the next room, where torture instruments hung on the walls. At the far end of the room was a stout figure surrounded by a group of sentries. The man, who had only one eye, came forward.
“We meet again,” said Councilor Kan.
“What a coincidence,” said Cí.
“On your knees.”
Cí cursed himself for not having fled the city more quickly. Hanging his head, he prepared for the worst. But instead of a deathblow, another figure stepped forward into the torchlight. Cí saw a pair of curved shoes decorated with gold and inlaid gemstones. As he slowly looked up, his eyes came to a mother-of-pearl belt, then a red brocade tunic, and a magnificent gold necklace. Before him stood a slim, ill-looking man with an intense gaze. He wore the royal seal that confirmed what Cí thought from the man’s attire: this was the emperor. Cí began trembling.