26
The perfume maker arrived, breaking Cí out of his state of deep concentration. He had been thinking about the corpse with the tiny scars on its face and had come up with a few ideas but had yet to reach a conclusion he found satisfactory. So when the perfumer said they were in luck, he was delighted.
“Smell this,” said the perfume maker, holding out a small vial. The fragrance was deep and sticky-sweet, almost like jelly; it had notes of sandalwood and patchouli, and its intensity intoxicated Cí’s senses.
“Essence of Jade,” said the perfume maker, replacing the stopper. “Which just happens to be a fragrance I’ve been making for the emperor for many a year now.”
“It’s what the emperor wears? I’ve had the privilege of being in his presence, but I didn’t get close enough to smell him.”
“No, no,” said the perfume maker, as if it were common knowledge. “The emperor doesn’t wear Essence of Jade.”
The perfume maker explained how he made the fragrance using secret ingredients and in secret proportions. The only people allowed to wear it were the emperor’s wives and concubines.
“And could anyone from your workshop have gotten hold of some of the fragrance?”
“Impossible!” He was genuinely offended. “I’m the only one allowed to have anything to do with Essence of Jade. I not only mix it myself but bring it to the court in person.”
“And might anyone have tried to imitate your mix?”
“They might have, but it’s punishable by death to do something like that with a product the emperor himself favors.”
“And you’re absolutely sure this is the scent on the corpses? Even with all the other odors?”
“Boy, I would know this smell if it were stuck in the middle of an army of elephants. But there was one other smell I picked up. An unusual smell, very acrid. But I’m afraid I couldn’t work out what it was.”
Cí made a note.
“All right,” he said. “And what about this Essence of Jade? Who in the palace do you deal with when delivering it?”
“A woman…” The perfume maker’s eyes opened wide as if he were imagining her there before them, naked. He cleared his throat. “A nüshi. She handles all of the emperor’s encounters with his concubines. Generally I stock her up every first moon or so with thirty vials like this one. Don’t forget, the harem’s made up of more than a thousand women! I can promise you she keeps a close eye on the batches; she wouldn’t let it be squandered.”
Cí thanked the perfume maker and showed him out, then made his way toward the interior gardens.
Before long he was in the vicinity of the Palace of Concubines, which he knew full well he was forbidden from going anywhere near. He hid behind a tree and peeked out at the beautiful latticework stretching all the way to the end of the building. He imagined that the delicacy of the edifice mirrored the beauty of the women inside. Graceful silhouettes, apparently naked, moved behind the paper window screens. He couldn’t help but stare; it had been a long while since he’d lain with a “flower.” But he needed to purge the sensual thoughts from his mind and concentrate. Cí had to find a way to speak to the nüshi.
First, though, he needed to check on the artist’s progress.
Cí was very pleased when he saw how lifelike the portrait of the young corpse was. The artist had perfectly reflected every single line and feature—except for one thing, a grave error.
“I should have been clearer with my instructions,” said Cí. “I need you to render him with the eyes open.”
The portrait artist was surprised and extremely apologetic, bowing repeatedly. Cí said the fault was partly his own. Fortunately, the artist said it wouldn’t be too hard to remedy.
“Could you also add some scars?” asked Cí.
Cí described in detail the type, size, shape, and distribution of the scars, specifying that the artist should avoid painting around the eyes. He waited for the changes and additions to be made and, looking at the amended work, expressed his satisfaction.
“It’s tremendous, really.”
The portrait artist bowed proudly, handing Cí the silk canvas to roll up and put in its fabric container. Cí headed off to his quarters, where he took the portrait out and admired its lifelikeness again. The only problem was that it would be impossible to duplicate and distribute. But Cí still thought it would be useful in helping him understand where those scars had come from.
Cí had reached a point where he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Ming was the one person Cí knew who always had new ways to approach a problem. Although he wasn’t sure how the professor would receive him, Cí had to go and ask for his help.
When he tried to leave the palace, however, the sentry barred his way. Cí, holding out his pass, didn’t understand.
“Take it up with the councilor,” spat the unfriendly guard. “He’s the one who said you weren’t allowed to leave.”
Cí clenched his jaw and kicked a pebble, picturing it to be Kan’s head. He decided he had to address this with the emperor; if the case was going to progress even an inch, Cí needed someone above him who wasn’t intent on obstructing his every move. Cí went to the office of the emperor’s personal secretary. He introduced himself and asked how he might go about arranging an audience with the emperor, but the secretary, an old, sleepy-looking man, acted as though a fly had just landed in his eye. It was unusual, insulting in fact, that a worker would even imagine he might be able to speak directly with the emperor.
“People have died for less,” said the secretary, barely deigning to look at Cí.
But Cí was convinced that if the authorities had really wanted him dead, he’d already be dead. Besides, he had already spoken directly with the emperor.
So he asked again but only managed to make the secretary more indignant. He ordered Cí to get out or he’d call the guard, but Cí was determined to get things straight. He didn’t budge, though the secretary began to shout and he knew a guard would appear at any second. But just then Cí saw the approach of the Imperial retinue, including the emperor himself and Kan. He rushed past a guard and prostrated himself in the retinue’s path. The group stopped, and Kan ordered for him to be arrested, but the emperor overruled him.
“Strange way of presenting yourself to your emperor.”
Cí knew he was being extraordinarily improper, and he didn’t dare look Ningzong in the eye. He pressed his forehead against the floor and begged indulgence. He stammered that it had to do with the crimes he was investigating, and that it was urgent.
“Majesty,” said Kan, “this is unacceptable!”
“There will be plenty of time for punishments. Have you made progress?” he asked Cí.
Cí thought about asking to speak with the emperor alone, but he also didn’t want to push his luck further than he already had. Still prostrate, he cast a sidelong glance at Kan.
“Your Majesty, with the greatest respect, I think someone’s trying to sabotage my work.”
“Sabotage?” He waved his sentries aside and came forward. “What on earth do you mean?”
“I’ve just been prevented from leaving the palace grounds,” he said quietly. “The pass I was given by His Excellency the Councilor doesn’t allow me to get on—”
“I understand,” said the emperor, looking over at Kan, who seemed unconcerned. “Anything else?”
Perplexed, Cí opened his mouth, but it took him a few moments to speak.
“Yes, Majesty,” he said finally, forehead still on the ground. “The reports I was given don’t mention the palace judges’ investigations. I’ve been given no information as to where the bodies were found or how, no witness statements or police reports, and if there have been any advances in terms of suspects or motives, none of this has been communicated to me.” He glanced over at Kan again. “I interviewed one of Soft Dolphin’s intimates yesterday. He was very forthcoming until a certain point. When I pressed him he said he’d been forbidden from saying too much. By the Councilor for Punishments.”