Poets and Murder

'I am very sorry, madam,' the sergeant said. With an im­passive face he began to unwind the thin chain he carried round his waist.

'You were always good at improvising on the spot.' A deep voice spoke. It was the Academician. He had got up and now stood there behind his chair, an impressive figure, tall and broad in his flowing brocade robe. The light of the lampions hanging from the eaves fell on his haughty, set face, the pupils very large against the white of his rolling eyes. He carefully straightened his robe, then said casually, 'However, I don't want to owe anything to a common whore.'

Without apparent haste he stepped over the low balustrade.

The poetess began to scream, high, piercing screams. Judge Dee jumped up and sprang to the balustrade, with the ser­geant and Sexton Loo close behind him. From the darkness deep down below came only the faint sound of the stream gushing through the gorge.

When Judge Dee turned away, Yoo-lan's screams had stopped. She stood there at the balustrade, stunned, beside the Court Poet. Magistrate Lo was issuing quick orders to the housemaster. The greybeard nodded and rushed down the steps. The poetess went back to the table. Sitting down heavily she said in a toneless voice:

'He was the only man I ever loved. Let's have a last drink together. Soon I'll have to say good-bye. Look, the moon has come out!'

When they were seated at the table again, the sergeant stepped back and stood himself against the farthest pillar. His two men joined him there. While Judge Dee silently refilled Yoo-lan's cup, Magistrate Lo said:

'According to my housemaster, there's a footpath farther on, leading down into the ravine. A few of my men are going down there now, to look for the body. But it'll probably be found a mile or so downstream, for the current is very fast.'

The poetess put her elbows on the table. She said with a wan smile:

'Years ago already he had elaborate drawings made for a magnificent mausoleum, to be erected in his native place, after his death. And now his body ...' She buried her face in her hands. Lo and the sexton looked in silence at her shaking shoulders. The Court Poet had averted his face; he was staring at the moonlit mountain range, his eyes wide. Then she let her hands drop.

'Yes, he was the only man I really loved. I liked the poet Wen Tung-yang, he was generous, and good company. And a few others. But Shao Fan-wen was here, right inside me, under my skin. I fell in love with him when I was nineteen. He made me secretly leave the house I was working in, refused to buy me out. When he was through with me, he left me without a penny. I had to make a living as a cheap whore, for, having fled from the house in the capital, my name was on the black list, so that I couldn't enter any high-class establishment any­where. I fell ill, nearly starved. He knew, but he couldn't have cared less. Later, after Wen Tung-yang had put me on my feet again, I tried to get him back, several times. He shoved me out of his way, as one pushes away an over-affectionate dog. Did he make me suffer! And I never ceased to love him.'

She emptied her cup in one draught. Giving Magistrate Lo a pitiful look, she resumed:

'When you invited me to stay with you, Lo, I said no at first, because I thought I would never want to see him again ... hear that pompous voice again, see that ...' She shrugged. 'But when you really love a man, you love even his vices. And so I came. It was torture to be with him, but I was happy... . Only when he ordered me to compose an ode to our "happy reunion" did I lose control of myself. My humble apologies, Lo. Well, I was the only person alive to whom he could freely boast of his evil deeds. And he was responsible for many; he said he was the greatest man that ever lived, and therefore entitled to experience every sensa­tion a man's body and mind are capable of. Yes, he seduced General Mo's concubine, and when the general had discovered it, Shao denounced him. Shao had been thinking of joining the conspiracy, but realized in time it was doomed to failure. He knew all the general's accomplices, but they didn't know him! The Censor praised Shao for his good advice — Shao told me that with relish! The general kept silent about him during the trial, because he had no written proof of Shao's interest in the conspiracy, and because he was too proud to bring up the adultery — and, anyway, the concubine had hanged her­self, so that the general didn't have any proof in this case either. Shao loved to tell me about that old affair... . This spring he came to see me in the White Heron Monastery, for he liked nothing better than to gloat over the people he had reduced to misery. That's why he always made a point of visiting his illegitimate daughter in the fox shrine here, every time he passed through Chin-hwa. Told her she was leading a splendid life, with her loyal lover and her foxes.