4

granddad was only twenty-four when he murdered shan tingxiu and his son. even though bythen he and grandma had already done the phoenix dance in the sorghum field, and even though,in the solemn course of suffering and joy, she had conceived my father, whose life was a mixtureof achievements and sin (in the final analysis, he gained distinction among his generation ofcitizens of northeast gaomi township), she had nonetheless been legally married into the shanfamily. so she and granddad were adulterers, their relationship marked by measures ofspontaneity, chance, and uncertainty. and since father wasn’t born while they were together,accuracy demands that i refer to granddad as yu zhan’ao in writing about this period.

when, in agony and desperation, grandma told yu zhan’ao that her legal husband, shanbianlang, was a leper, he decapitated two sorghum plants with his short sword. urging her not toworry, he told her to return three days hence. she was too overwhelmed by the tide of passionatelove to concern herself with the implications of his comment. but murderous thoughts hadalready entered his mind. he watched her thread her way out of the sorghum field and, throughthe spaces between stalks, saw her summon her shrewd little donkey and nudge great-granddadwith her foot, waking the mud-caked heap from his drunken stupor. he heard great-granddad,whose tongue had grown thick in his mouth, say: ‘daughter?.?.?. you?.?.?. what took you so long totake a piss??.?.?. your father-in-law?.?.?. going to give me a big black mule?.?.?.

ignoring his mumbling, she swung her leg over the donkey’s back and turned her face, brushedby the winds of spring, towards the sorghum field south of the road. she knew that the youngsedan bearer was watching her. struggling to wrench free of this unknown passion, she had a dimvision of a new and unfamiliar broad road stretching out ahead of her, covered with sorghumseeds as red as rubies, the ditches on either side filled with crystal-clear sorghum wine. as shemoved down the road, her imagination coloured the genuine article until she could notdistinguish between reality and illusion.

yu zhan’ao followed her with his eyes until she rounded a bend. feeling suddenly weary, hepushed his way through the sorghum and returned to the sacred altar, where he collapsed like atoppled wall and fell into a sound sleep. later, as the red sun was disappearing in the west, hiseyes snapped open, and the first things he saw were sorghum leaves, stems, and ears of grain thatformed a thick blanket of purplish red above him. he draped his rain cape over his shoulders andwalked out of the field as a rapid breeze on the road caused the sorghum to rustle noisily. hewrapped the cape tightly around him to ward off the chill, and as his hand brushed against hisbelly he realised how hungry he was. he dimly recalled the three shacks at the head of the villagewhere he had carried the woman in the sedan chair three days ago, and the tattered tavern flagsnapping and fluttering in the raging winds of the rainstorm. so hungry he could neither sit stillnor stand straight, he strode towards the tavern. since he had been hiring out for the northeastgaomi township wedding and funeral service company for less than two years, the peoplearound here wouldn’t recognise him. he’d get something to eat and drink, find a way to do whathe’d come to do, then slip into the sorghum fields, like a fish in the ocean, and swim far away.

at this point in his ruminations, he headed west, where bilious red clouds turned the settingsun into a blooming peony with a luminous, fearfully bright golden border. after walking westfor a while, he turned north, heading straight for the village where grandma’s nominal husbandlived. the fields were still and deserted. during those years, any farmer who had food at homeleft his field before nightfall, turning the sorghum fields into a haven for bandits.

village chimneys were smoking by the time he arrived, and a handsome young man waswalking down the street with two crocks of fresh well water over his shoulder, the shifting watersplashing over the sides. yu zhan’ao darted into the doorway beneath the tattered tavern flag. noinner walls separated the shacks, and a bar made of adobe bricks divided the room in two, theinner half of which was furnished with a brick kang, a stove, and a large vat. two rickety tableswith scarred tops and a few scattered narrow benches constituted the furnishings in the outer halfof the room. a glazed wine crock rested on the bar, its ladle hanging from the rim. a fat old manwas sprawled on the kang. yu zhan’ao recognised him as the korean dog butcher they calledgook. he had seen gook once at the market in ma hamlet. the man could slaughter a dog inless than a minute, and the hundreds of dogs that lived in ma hamlet growled viciously whenthey saw him, their fur standing straight up, though they kept their distance.

‘barkeep, a bowl of wine!’ yu zhan’ao called out as he sat on one of the benches.

the fat old man didn’t stir, his rolling eyes the only movement on the kang.

‘barkeep!’ yu zhan’ao shouted.

the fat old man pulled back the white dog pelt covering him and climbed down off the kang.

yu zhan’ao noticed three more pelts hanging on the wall: one green, one blue, and one spotted.

the fat old man took a dark-red bowl out of an opening in the bar and ladled wine into it.

‘what do you have to go with the wine?’ yu zhan’ao asked.

‘dog head!’ the fat old man snarled.

‘i want dog meat!’

‘dog head’s all i’ve got!’

‘okay, then.’

the old man removed the lid from the pot, in which a whole dog was cooking.

‘forget the head,’ yu zhan’ao demanded. ‘i want some of that meat.’

ignoring him, the old man picked up his cleaver and hacked at the dog’s neck, spattering thescalding soup about. once he’d severed the head, he stuck a metal skewer into it and held it outover the bar. ‘i said i want dog meat!’ yu zhan’ao snapped, his ire rising.

the old man threw the dog head down on the bar and said angrily, ‘that’s what i’ve got. takeit or leave it!’

‘who do you think you’re talking to?’

‘just sit there like a good little boy!’ the old man warned. ‘what makes you think you can eatdog meat? i’m saving that for spotted neck.’

spotted neck was a famous bandit chief in northeast gaomi township. just hearing the namewas enough to intimidate yu zhan’ao, for spotted neck was reputed to be a crack shot. histrademark of firing three shots in a circular motion had earned him the nickname three-nodphoenix. people who knew guns could tell just by listening that spotted neck was nearby.

reluctantly yu zhan’ao held his tongue and, with the bowl of wine in one hand, reached out andpicked up the dog head, then took a spiteful bite out of the animal’s snout. it was delicious, andhe was ravenously hungry, so he dug in, eating quickly until the head and the wine were gone.

with a final gaze at the bony skull, he stood up and belched.

‘one silver dollar,’ the fat old man said.

‘i’ve only got seven coppers,’ yu zhan’ao said, tossing the coins down on the table.

‘i said one silver dollar!’

‘and i said i’ve only got seven coppers!’

‘do you really expect to eat without paying, boy?’

‘i’ve got seven copper coins and that’s it.’ yu zhan’ao stood up to leave, but the fat old manran around the bar and grabbed him. as they were struggling, a tall, beefy man walked into thebar.

‘hey, gook, how come you haven’t lit your lantern?’

‘this guy thinks he can eat without paying!’

‘cut out his tongue!’ the man said darkly. ‘and light the lantern!’

the fat old man let go of yu zhan’ao and walked behind the bar, where he stoked the fire andlit a bean- oil lamp. the glimmering light illuminated the stranger’s dark face. yu zhan’aonoticed that he was dressed in black satin from head to toe: a jacket with a row of cloth buttonsdown the front, a pair of wide-legged trousers tied at the ankles with black cotton straps, andblack, double-buckled cloth shoes. his long, thick neck had a white spot on it the size of a fist.

this, yu zhan’ao thought to himself, must be spotted neck.

spotted neck sized up yu zhan’ao, then stuck out his left hand and rested three fingers on hisforehead. yu zhan’ao looked at him curiously.

spotted neck shook his head disapprovingly. ‘not a bandit?’

‘i’m a sedan bearer for the service company.’

‘so you make your living with a pole,’ spotted neck said derisively. ‘interested in eatingfistcakes with me?’

‘no,’ yu zhan’ao replied.

‘then get the hell out of here. you’re still young, so i’ll let you keep your tongue for kissingwomen! go on, and watch what you say.’

yu zhan’ao backed out of the tavern, not sure whether he was angry or scared. he hadgrudging respect for the way spotted neck carried himself, but not to the exclusion of loathing.

born into poverty, yu zhan’ao had lost his father when he was just a boy. so he and hismother had eked out a living by tending three mou – less than half an acre – of miserable land.

his uncle, big tooth yu, who dealt in mules and horses, had occasionally helped mother and sonfinancially, but not all that often.

then, when he was thirteen, his mother began an affair with the abbot at tianqi monastery.

the well-to-do monk often brought rice and noodles over, and every time he came, yu zhan’ao’smother sent the boy outside. flames of anger raged inside him as sounds of revelry emerged frombehind the closed door, and he could barely keep from torching the house. by the time he wassixteen, his mother was seeing the monk so frequently that the village was buzzing. a friend ofhis, little cheng the blacksmith, made him a short sword, with which he murdered the monk onedrizzly spring night beside pear blossom creek, named for the trees that lined it. they were inbloom on that wet night, blanketing the area with their delicate fragrance.

granddad fled the village after the incident, taking odd jobs and finally getting hooked ongambling. over time his skills improved, until the copper coins that passed through his handsstained his fingers green. then, when nine dreams cao, whose favourite pastime was nabbinggamblers, became magistrate of gaomi county, he was arrested for gambling in a graveyard,given two hundred lashes with a shoe sole, forced to wear a pair of pants with one red leg andone black one, and sentenced to sweeping the streets of the county town for two months. whenhe’d completed his sentence he wandered into northeast gaomi township, where he hired out tothe service company. upon learning that, after the death of the monk, his mother had hangedherself from the door frame, he went back one night to take a last look around. some time later,the incident with my grandma occurred.

after walking outside, yu zhan’ao went into the sorghum field. he could see the dim lanternlight in the tavern as he waited, following the progress of the new moon across the sky lit up withbright stars. cool dew dripped from the sorghum stalks; cold air rose from the ground beneathhim. late that night he heard the tavern door creak open, flooding the night with lantern light. afat figure hopped into the halo of light, looked around, then went back inside. yu zhan’ao couldtell it was the dog butcher. after the man had gone back inside, the bandit spotted neck dartedout of the door and was quickly swallowed up by shadows. the fat old man closed the door andblew out the lantern, leaving the tattered flag above his tavern to flutter in the starlight as thoughcalling to lost spirits.

as the bandit walked down the road, yu zhan’ao held his breath and didn’t move a muscle.

spotted neck chose a place right in front of him to take a piss; the foul odour hit yu zhan’ao fullin the face. with his hand on his sword, he was thinking it would be so easy to put an end to thisfamous bandit chief. his muscles tensed. but then he had second thoughts. he had no grudgeagainst spotted neck, who was a thorn in the side of county magistrate nine dreams cao, theman who had given yu zhan’ao two hundred lashes with a shoe sole. that was reason enough tospare spotted neck. but he was pleased to think i could have killed the famous bandit chiefspotted neck if i’d wanted to.

spotted neck never learned of this brush with death, nor did he imagine that within two yearshe would die stark-naked in the black water river at the hands of this same young fellow. afterrelieving himself, he hitched up his pants and walked off.

yu zhan’ao jumped to his feet and walked into the sleeping village, stepping lightly so as notto awaken the dogs. when he reached the shans’ gate, he held his breath as he familiarisedhimself with his surroundings. the shan family lived in a row of twenty buildings, divided intotwo compounds by an interior wall and surrounded by an outer wall with two gates. the distillerywas in the eastern compound, while the family lived in the western compound, in which therewere three side rooms on the far edge. there were also three side rooms on the edge of theeastern compound, which served as bunkhouses for the distillery workers. in addition, a tent inthe eastern compound accommodated a large millstone and the two big black mules that turned it.

finally, there were three connecting rooms at the southern edge of the eastern compound with asingle door facing south. that was where the wine was sold.

yu zhan’ao couldn’t see over the wall, so he quickly scaled it, making scraping noises thatwoke the dogs on the other side, who began to bark loudly. after retreating about half thedistance an arrow flies, he hunkered down in the square where the shans dried their sorghum. heneeded a plan. the pleasant aroma from a pile of sorghum husks and another of leaves caught hisattention. kneeling down beside the dry husks, he took out his stone and flint, and lit them. butno sooner had they ignited than he had another idea, and he smothered the flames with his hands.

he walked over to the pile of leaves, some twenty paces distant, and set fire to it. less compactthan the husks, they would burn more quickly and be easier to extinguish. on that windless night,the milky way stretched across the sky, surrounded by thousands of twinkling stars; flamesquickly leaped into the air, lighting up the village as though it were daytime.

‘fire!’ he yelled at the top of his lungs. ‘fire –’ then he hid among the shadows of the westernwall around the family compound. tongues of flame licked the heavens, crackling loudly andsetting the village dogs to barking. the distillery workers in the eastern compound, startled out oftheir sleep, began to shout. the gate banged open, and a dozen or so half-naked men camerushing out. the western gate also opened, and the wizened old man with the pitiful little queuestumbled out, screaming and wailing. two big yellow dogs flew past him towards the raging fireand raised a howl.

‘fire?.?.?. put it out.?.?.?.’ the old man was nearly in tears. the distillery hands rushed back intothe compound, snatched up buckets on poles, and ran to the well. the old man also ran backinside, picked up a black tile crock, and ran towards the well.

after shedding his straw rain cape, yu zhan’ao crept along the base of the wall and entered thewestern compound, flattening up against the shans’ screen wall to watch the men scurry back andforth. one of them dumped a bucketful of water on the fire, the stream of liquid looking like apiece of white silk in the glare of the flames, in whose heat it curled and twisted. they pouredbucketful after bucketful of water onto the fire, high arching waterfalls one minute and puffs ofcotton the next, forming a scene of exquisite beauty.

a prudent voice of reason called out, ‘let it burn, master. it’ll soon burn itself out.’

‘put it out.?.?.?. put it out.?.?.?.’ he was in tears now. ‘hurry up and put it out.?.?.?. that’s enoughmule fodder for a whole winter.?.?.?.’

with no time to waste on the scene outside, yu zhan’ao slipped into the house, where he wasmet by an overwhelming dampness. his hair stood on end. a mildewy voice emerged frominside the room to the west.

‘dad?.?.?. what’s burning?’

having entered the house after staring at the flames, yu zhan’ao was forced to wait until hiseyes had adjusted to the darkness. when the voice repeated the question, he headed towards it.

the room was lit up by the glare through the paper window, making it easy for him to see thelong, flat face on the pillow. he reached out and held down the head, which cried out in alarm,‘who?.?.?. who are you?’ two claws dug into the back of yu zhan’ao’s hand as he drew hissword and buried it in the pale skin of the long, thin neck. a breath of cool air escaped onto hiswrist, followed by hot, sticky blood that gloved his hand. he felt like throwing up. fearfully, hetook his hand away. the wrinkled, flat head was convulsing on the pillow, golden blood spurtingfrom the neck. he tried wiping his hand on the bedding, but the harder he wiped, the stickier itgot, and the stronger his feelings of nausea grew. grasping the slimy sword in his hand, he turnedand ran into the outer room; there he scooped a handful of straw out of the stove to clean off hishand and his sword, which glinted in the light and seemed to come alive.

every single day, he had engaged in secret swordplay with the weapon given to him by littlecheng the blacksmith, and each time he heard the pillow talk emerging from his mother’s roomhe sheathed and unsheathed it over and over. villagers began taunting him by calling him juniormonk, to which he reacted with a blood-curdling glare. the sword now lay beneath his pillow,keeping him awake at night with high-pitched shrieks. he knew the time had come.

the full moon was hidden behind dense leaden clouds that night, and as the villagers werefalling asleep, a light rain began to fall, the scattered drops slowly soaking the ground and fillingthe hollows with silvery water. the monk opened the door and walked in under a yellow oilclothumbrella. from the vantage point of his room, he watched the monk fold his umbrella and sawhis shiny bald pate as he unhurriedly scraped the mud from the soles of his shoes on thethreshold.

he heard his mother ask, ‘what are you doing here at this time of night?’

‘i had to say a seventh-day funeral mass for the mother of “man-biter” in west village.’

‘i mean why so late? i didn’t think you’d come.’

‘why not?’

‘it’s raining.’

‘if it had been raining daggers, i’d have come with a pot over my head.’

‘get in here, and be quick about it.’

‘does your belly still hurt?’ the monk asked softly as he entered her room.

‘not so bad, ahhh?.?.?.’

‘what’s wrong?’

‘the boy’s dad has been dead nearly ten years, and look what i’ve become. i don’t know ifi’m up or i’m down.’

‘be up. i’ll chant a sutra for you.’

he didn’t close his eyes that night, as he listened to the shrieks of the sword beneath hispillow, to the patter of the rain outside, to the even breathing of the sleeping monk, and to hismother as she talked in her sleep. he sat up in alarm when he heard the strange laugh of an owl ina nearby tree. after dressing, he picked up the sword and stood with his ear cocked in thedoorway of the room where his mother and the monk slept. his heart was a white wasteland,desolate and empty. gently he opened the door and walked out into the yard, where he looked upinto the sky: the leaden clouds were lighter than before and a glimmer of early-dawn light wasvisible. a gentle rain was still falling, slow and unhurried, silently moistening the earth andsplattering weakly as it landed in puddles. he followed the winding road to tianqi monastery,which ran about three li and crossed a tiny brook on black stepping-stones.

during daylight hours the brook was so clear you could count the tiny fish and shrimp on thesandy bottom. but now it was grey and hazy under a thin mist, and the sound of splashingrainwater made him sorrowful and anxious. the stones were wet and slippery; the glimmeringwater was rising. he was mesmerised by the sight of ripples as the water struck the stonesbeneath his feet. the smooth sandy edge of the brook was lined by flower-laden pear trees. afterfording the brook, he turned into the pear grove, where the sandy ground was firm yet slightlyspringy. the white pear blossoms poking through the mist were dazzling, but their redolence wassnuffed out by the chilled air.

he located his father’s grave in the depths of the pear grove, covered with weeds that hid adozen or more treacherous holes burrowed into the ground by mice. although he tried hard torecall his father’s face, all he could conjure up was the faint image of a tall, skinny man withsallow skin and a light, wispy moustache.

after returning to the edge of the brook, he hid behind one of the trees and stared blankly atwhite ripples where the water struck the black stepping-stones. the sky, beginning to suffusewith light, had grown paler, the clouds parted to reveal the outline of the little road.

the monk walked quickly up the road under the yellow oilcloth umbrella that obscured hishead. there were tiny water stains on his green cassock. raising the hem with one hand andholding his umbrella high with the other, he crossed the brook, his rotund figure twisting as hestepped from stone to stone. now that his pale, puffy face was visible, yu zhan’ao gripped thesword and listened to its high-pitched shriek. his wrist ached and began to turn numb; his fingersstarted to twitch. after fording the brook, the monk let go of the hem of his cassock and stompedhis feet, splashing his sleeve with mud, which he flicked off with his fingernail.

this fair- skinned monk, who prided himself on always looking tidy and fresh, exuded apleasant soapy odour, which yu zhan’ao could smell as he watched him fold his umbrella andshake off the water before slipping it under his arm. the twelve round burns on his pale scalpsparkled. yu zhan’ao recalled seeing his mother caress that scalp with both hands, as though shewere stroking a buddhist treasure, while he laid his head in her lap like a contented infant. bynow the monk was so close he could hear his laboured breathing. he was barely able to grip thesword handle, which was as slippery as a loach. he was drenched with sweat, his eyes wereblurring, and he was getting light-headed. he was afraid he might faint.

as the monk passed by, he spat a gob of sticky phlegm, which landed on a twig and hung theresickeningly, giving rise to all sorts of nauseating thoughts in yu zhan’ao’s mind. he inchedcloser, his head throbbing painfully. his temples felt like mallets pounding on a taut drum insidehis head. the sword seemed to enter the monk’s rib cage on its own. the monk stumbled a fewsteps before grabbing the trunk of a pear tree to steady himself, and turned to look at hisassailant. there was pain in the monk’s pitiful eyes, and a keen sense of regret in his heart. hesaid nothing as he slid slowly down the tree trunk to the ground.

when yu zhan’ao pulled the sword out of the monk’s rib cage, a flow of lovely warm bloodwas released, soft and slippery, like the wing feathers of a bird.?.?.?. the buildup of water on thepear tree finally gave way and splashed down on the sandy ground, bringing dozens of petalswith it. a small whirlwind rose up deep in the pear grove, and he later recalled smelling thedelicate fragrance of pear blossoms.?.?.?.

he felt no remorse, though, over murdering shan bianlang, only disgust. the flames graduallydied down, but the sky was still brightly lit. a ghostly shadow rustled at the base of the wall; thevillage was engulfed by a swelling tide of barking. metal rims of water buckets clattered loudly;water sizzled and sputtered as it hit the roaring flames.

six days earlier: the downpour had soaked the sedan bearers until they looked like drenchedchickens, and the only dry spot on the young bride was her back. he stood with the other bearersand musicians in mud puddles, watching two slovenly old men lead the bride into the house. nota single person in the large village came out to watch the excitement, and the bridegroom wasnowhere in sight. a rusty odour seeped through the open door, and the sedan bearers knewwithout being told that the bridegroom, who wouldn’t show his face, was indeed a leper. seeingthat there were no witnesses to the excitement, the musicians settled for a bland little tune.

a wizened old man came outside with a little basket of copper coins and croaked, ‘here’s yourreward! come and get it!’ as he scattered a handful of coins on the ground. the bearers andmusicians watched the coins splash in the puddles, but none made a move to pick them up. theold man bent over and picked up the coins, one at a time. that was when the idea of burying aknife in the old man’s scrawny neck formed in granddad’s mind.

now flames were lighting up that same compound and the couplets pasted up alongside the gate.

since he wasn’t completely illiterate, he read them, and when he had finished, flames ofindignation drove every trace of coolness out of his heart. he used some folk wisdom to absolvehimself: charity for the sake of karma doesn’t mean you’ll die in bed; murder and arson are a surepath to the good life. besides, he’d given the young woman his word, and had already murderedthe man’s son; by sparing the father, he’d only be subjecting him to the grief of seeing his son’scorpse. there was no turning back. now that he’d knocked over the gourd and spilled all the oil,he’d create a new life for the young woman. ‘old man shan,’ he mumbled under his breath, ‘thisday next year will be your first anniversary!’

the fire was dying out, returning the compound to darkness and the stars to the sky, although afew cinders remained in the pile of leaves. when water was dumped on the hot spots, whitesteam and glowing cinders rose dozens of feet into the air. the men stood, buckets in hand,casting large shadows on the ground.

‘don’t be sad, master. financial losses, lucky bosses,’ said the voice of reason.

‘heaven has no eyes.?.?.?. heaven has no eyes?.?.?.’ shan tingxiu mumbled.

‘let the men go inside and get some rest, master. they have to be up for work early in themorning.’

‘heaven has no eyes?.?.?. heaven has no eyes.?.?.?.’

the men staggered into the eastern compound. yu zhan’ao hid behind the screen wall as theclatter of buckets on carrying poles moved past him, followed by silence. shan tingxiu stood inthe gateway mumbling, but finally began to lose interest and carried his tile crock back into thecompound, the two family dogs leading the way. clearly exhausted, when they spotted yuzhan’ao they merely barked once or twice and headed for their pen, where they plopped downand didn’t make another sound.

yu zhan’ao could hear the big mule in the eastern compound grind its teeth and paw theground. the three stars had moved to the western sky, so it was after midnight. he bracedhimself, gripped his sword, and waited until shan tingxiu was a mere three or four paces fromthe door, then rushed him with such force that he buried the sword in his chest, past the hilt. theold man flew backward, his arms spread out, as if he were taking off into the air, before falling onhis back. his tile crock crashed to the ground and blossomed like a flower. the dogs barkedlistlessly a few more times and took no more notice. yu zhan’ao withdrew his sword, rubbedboth sides of the blade on the old man’s clothes, and turned to leave. but he stopped himself.

after dragging shan bianlang’s body out into the yard, he removed some rope from a carryingpole at the base of the wall, tied the two frail corpses together at the waist, then hoisted them upand carried them out to the street. they hung limply over his shoulder, their dragging feet makingpale designs in the dirt, the blood seeping from their wounds leaving red patterns on the ground.

yu zhan’ao carried the bodies over to the western inlet, whose glassy surface reflected half thestars in the sky. a few sleepy white water lilies floated gracefully like sprites in a fairy tale.

thirteen years later, when mute shot yu zhan’ao’s uncle, big tooth yu, there was hardly anywater at this spot in the river, but these lilies were still there. yu zhan’ao dumped the bodies intothe water with a loud splash. they sank quickly to the bottom, and when the ripples died, the skyonce again owned the surface.

yu zhan’ao rinsed his hands, his face, and his sword in the river, but no matter how long hewashed, he couldn’t remove the smells of blood and mildew. he then headed down the road,forgetting all about retrieving his rain cape from the shan compound. when he’d travelled abouthalf a li, he turned into the stand of sorghum, and immediately stumbled and fell. suddenlyrealising how tired he was, he rolled over on his back, oblivious to the dampness, and gazed atthe stars until he fell asleep.