The Night Watcher of Great Jing - Chapter 13

The Pacification Office, fifteen years ago.

Old Yi remembered it far too well.

Even if he wanted to forget, he could not.

When he saw Lu Zhao’s powerful build and bulging temples, he understood something and began bending his knees to kneel.

Yan San, standing nearby, had no idea what was happening.

But in Shengjing, where one could kill an official merely by throwing a stone into a crowd, commoners knew how to read a situation. His knees bent too. Better to kowtow first and ask questions later.

“Stand up!” Lu Zhao barked.

They had come without Jingning Guard uniforms precisely because they did not want to draw attention.

Old Yi and Yan San shakily straightened again.

Zhao Li stepped in to smooth things over.

“There is no need for either of you to panic. We only want to ask a few questions.”

She was young and beautiful, with wide, innocent eyes. Beside Lu Zhao and his hulking men, she seemed far less threatening.

Her reassurance calmed the two corpse bearers somewhat.

They were thin, dark, and drenched in sweat. Zhao Li felt sorry for them and offered the peach-blossom shumai tucked in her sleeve.

Neither man dared accept. They refused twice before Lu Zhao angrily ordered them to take it.

Old Yi’s hands shook as he placed his extinguished pipe between his lips and sucked on it.

“Was the young lady you asked about surnamed Lin, my lord?”

Delight appeared on both Zhao Li’s and Lu Zhao’s faces.

They had found the right person.

Old Yi could not share their excitement. A complicated expression crept across his features.

Fifteen years earlier, he had already been working as a corpse bearer.

In any era, there was good money to be made in the funeral trade.

Old Yi had only himself to feed. From time to time, he could even visit an alley and find a blind courtesan. His life had been comfortable enough.

That day, he and several other corpse bearers had crouched at the entrance to Coffin Street at first light, waiting for work.

The early bird caught the worm.

The sun had barely risen when a middle-aged man came striding toward them.

One glance told them money was coming. Their hearts leaped, though they arranged their faces in expressions of profound grief before greeting him.

Sure enough, the man’s surname was Lin, and someone in his family had died.

Offering condolences, they accompanied him through Coffin Street to purchase a thin black coffin, incense, wax candles, paper money, and paper servants and horses.

The coffin lid had not been closed. Funeral goods filled the interior, including two paper figures with rosy cheeks lying at an angle.

Mr. Lin did not even need to worry about transporting it.

Following Coffin Street custom, several corpse bearers hoisted the coffin and carried it toward his home.

The farther they walked, the more uneasy they became.

At last, they entered the Pacification Office. Two of the less steady men nearly lost the strength in their legs.

The emperor’s personal guard monitored every official and possessed the authority to execute first and report afterward.

Commoners feared officials. Officials feared the Jingning Guard.

The oppression of standing at the top of that food chain left the corpse bearers hardly daring to breathe.

Only after entering the courtyard did they relax enough to notice that something was wrong.

The place was unnaturally desolate.

No guests had come to mourn. A narrow offering table stood inside the main room, holding two square persimmons and several crabapples on white porcelain plates.

Before it, a door panel rested across two benches.

A corpse covered with white cloth lay on top, while a bowl of white rice had been placed upside down at its feet.

The arrangements were so poor and simple that they hardly resembled the funeral of an official family.

The corpse bearers wondered but dared not ask. Each received three copper coins and temporarily became a funeral helper, arranging the mourning hall.

A woman lit three sticks of incense and tossed several pieces of spirit money into the brazier at the dead woman’s feet.

“You have found peace, but how are your parents supposed to endure everyone’s contempt?” she said without expression.

She paused, then abruptly laughed.

“Death is good. Death is quiet. Once you are dead, no one can point and gossip about you.”

A moment later, she threw herself across the corpse and cursed.

“Why didn’t you die sooner? Why wait until we had fallen this far?”

Her voice sounded especially harsh in the silent mourning hall.

Mr. Lin, who had disappeared earlier, returned with a Daoist priest.

The priest had black hair and beard and a dignified appearance.

His work, however, was crude.

He shook a bell, mumbled two lines, and ordered them to place the body in the coffin.

Apparently, they intended to rush straight to the burial.

The corpse bearers all felt something was wrong, but the family said nothing. What place did hired hands have to object?

They lifted the dead woman into the coffin in a flurry of hands.

Then each man took the hemp rope from his shoulder and fastened it to the carrying poles. They would nail the lid shut at the grave.

Following the Daoist’s tinkling bell, they carried the thin black coffin out.

The instant they crossed the threshold, the woman behind them released a piercing wail.

“My daughter!”

At the heart-rending cry, Old Yi heard a sharp snap.

The thumb-thick rope around the coffin broke.

The black coffin tilted, top-heavy, and plunged headfirst into the ground.

The lid slid aside. The dead woman spilled out.

The white cloth wrapped around her body fell open.

Only then did Old Yi and the others see the bright-red wedding robe she wore and the red silk shoes embroidered with paired mandarin ducks. A bridal veil decorated with dragons and phoenixes lay beside her.

The sight frightened several strong young men in broad daylight.

They knew their trade. Combined with what the dead woman’s mother had said, they could guess part of the story.

The air seemed to freeze.

After a long while, the Daoist cleared his throat.

“It is nothing. She is reluctant to leave her home.”

The coffin had fallen, and the job had gone wrong. Worried that the family might blame them, the men hurried to repair the damage and lift the corpse back inside.

Old Yi stood nearby. He picked up the veil and prepared to cover the dead woman again.

That was when he saw her face.

At this point in the story, Old Yi swallowed hard.

Even after fifteen years, the memory still made him ill.

Pipe clenched between his teeth, he raised both hands and gestured over his own face.

“Her tongue hung way out. Her face had rotted and melted, and it was covered in yellow, pus-filled scabs.”

“What happened after that?” Lu Zhao asked with a frown. “Where was Miss Lin buried? Do you know?”

“I do, I do.” Old Yi nodded hastily.

He still remembered that face after fifteen years. Naturally, he remembered the burial as well.

“At the foot of Mount Jin, beside the Ancient Qin Canal.”

Lu Zhao smiled with delight.

“If we went now, could you still find Miss Lin’s grave?”

Old Yi hesitated.

He thought he could, but if he failed, he feared he would suffer for it.

Lu Zhao immediately understood. His face darkened.

“Are you trying to deceive us?”

At the question, the commandants stationed around the courtyard turned their burning gazes toward Old Yi.

His heart lurched. He instinctively looked at the most harmless and kindly person there—Zhao Li.

“I’m not deceiving you. It has simply been too long. Mountains and rivers change.”

“Three years ago, they rebuilt a canal at the foot of Mount Jin. I don’t know whether Miss Lin’s grave was flooded.”

Three years ago!

Zhao Li caught the key phrase at once.

Was that not exactly when the registrar’s entire family had died in Fragrant Orchid Courtyard?

Her expression hardened.

“Let’s go. We’ll look now.”