Poets and Murder

Chang Lan-po quickly shook his head.

'Let's not waste our precious time together on empty com­pliments, Lo. Ever since I asked to be relieved of my duties at Court, I have devoted most of my time to editing my poems of the past thirty years, and expressive force is exactly what my poetry lacks!’ Lo wanted to protest, but the poet raised his hand. 'I shall tell you the reason. I've always led a placid, sheltered life. My wife is, as you may know, also a poet, and we have no children. We live in an attractive country house just outside the capital, I tending my goldfish and my tray-landscapes, my wife looking after our flower garden. Occa­sionally friends from the city drop in for a simple dinner, and we talk and write till far into the night. I always thought I was happy, until recently, when I suddenly came to realize that my poetry only mirrors an imaginary world, built up in my mind. Since my poems lack the direct link with real life, they have always been bloodless, devoid of life. And now, after my visit to my ancestral shrine, I keep asking myself whether a few volumes of lifeless poems are sufficient justifica­tion for my fifty years' existence.'

'What you call your imaginary world, sir,' Lo said earn­estly, 'is in fact more real than so-called real life. Our every­day, outer world is transitory; you grasp the permanent essen­tials of inner life.'

'Thanks for your kind words, Lo. Yet I feel that if once I could experience a shattering emotion, even a tragedy, some­thing that entirely upset my placid existence, I would ...'

'You're completely wrong, Chang!’ the booming voice of the Academician interrupted. 'Come here, Sexton, I want your opinion too! Listen, Chang, I am getting on for sixty, am nearly ten years your senior. For forty years I have been a man of action, served in nearly every important branch of government, raised a large family, had all the shattering emo­tions a man can experience in public and private life! And let me tell you that only after my retirement last year, now that I am leisurely visiting all by myself the places I used to like, only now am I beginning to see through outer appear­ances, and to realize that the more permanent values lie out­side our worldly life. You, on the contrary, could afford to skip that preliminary phase of action, Chang. You, my friend, have seen the Way of Heaven, without even looking out of your window!’

'So you quote Taoist texts!' the sexton remarked. "The founder of Taoism was a garrulous old fool. He stated that silence is better than speech, then dictated a book of five thousand words!'

'I don't agree at all,' the Court Poet protested. 'The Buddha... .'

'The Buddha was a mangy beggar, and Confucius a meddl­ing pedant,' the sexton snapped.

Judge Dee, shocked by the last statement, looked to the Academician for a fiery protest. But Shao just smiled and asked:

'If you despise all our three religions, Sexton, then where do you belong?'

'To nothingness,' the obese monk replied promptly.

'Oho! That's not true. You belong to calligraphy!’ the Academician shouted. 'Tell you what we'll do, Lo! After dinner we'll have that enormous silk screen in your banquet hall down on the floor, and old Loo shall write one of his couplets on it. With a broom, or whatever he uses!’

'Excellent!' Lo exclaimed. 'The screen'll be treasured for generations to come!'

Now Judge Dee remembered having seen sometimes on the outer walls of temples and other monuments magnificent in­scriptions in letters of more than six feet high, and signed 'Old Man Loo'. He looked at the ugly fat man with new respect.

'How do you manage to write those colossal inscriptions, sir?' he asked.

'I stand on a scaffolding wielding a brush five feet long. And when I inscribe screens, I do so while walking over a ladder laid across them. Better tell your servants to prepare a bucket of ink, Lo!’

'Who needs a bucket of ink?' the melodious voice of the poetess spoke up. Now that her face had been carefully made up, she was indeed a radiant beauty. And her olive-green gown was so cut as to disguise her somewhat portly figure. The judge watched the effortless ease with which she joined the general conversation, achieving just the right tone with the Academician and Chang: the familiarity of a colleague in letters, but with an undertone of deference. Only a long career as a courtesan could give a woman that ease in associating on equal terms with men not belonging to the family.

The old housemaster pushed the sliding-doors open, and Lo invited his guests to enter the banquet hall. Four thick, red-lacquered pillars supported the gaudily painted rafters, each pillar bearing an auspicious inscription in large golden charac­ters. The one on the right read 'All the people enjoy together years of universal peace', the other giving the corresponding line, 'Fortunate in being ruled by a saintly and wise Sovereign'. The arched door-openings on either side had frames of intri­cately carved woodwork. The arch on the left gave access to a side-hall where the servants were warming the wine. In the side-hall opposite sat the orchestra of six musicians, two flautists, two violinists, one girl playing the mouth organ, and another sitting behind the large zither. While the orchestra struck up the gay melody 'Welcoming the High Guests', the small magistrate led the Academician and Chang ceremoni­ously to the seats of honour at the table directly in front of the enormous, three-panelled screen of white silk set against the back wall. Both protested that they were undeserving of that honour, but let themselves be persuaded by Lo. He in­vited Judge Dee to sit at the table on the left, so that he was Chang's neighbour, and then conducted the sexton to the upper place at the table on the right. After he had asked the poetess to be seated at Judge Dee's right hand, he himself sat down in the lowest place, next to Sexton Loo. Each table was covered by a piece of costly red brocade, with gold-embroidered borders; the plates and bowls were of choice coloured porcelain, the wine cups of pure gold, and chopsticks of silver. The platters were heaped with seasoned meat and fish, slices of pressed ham, preserved ducks' eggs, and countless other cold delicacies. And although the hall was lit by the high floor lamps along the walls, there stood on each of the three tables two tall red candles in holders of wrought silver. After the maids had served the wine, Magistrate Lo raised his cup and drank to the health and good fortune of all pre­sent. Then they took up their chopsticks.