floor. His bed partner, Little Peach, an actress who took leading lady dan roles, curled up in a corner, wearing only a red belly warmer, and shuddered from fear. In the chaos that followed, the attackers smashed a chamber pot with a misplaced kick, filling the air with the pungent smell of urine and raising welts all over Sun’s body.
“Worthy brothers,” he shouted, “let’s talk this out, what do you say?”
Two of the men picked him up off the floor, twisting his arms behind him, while a third lit a lamp in a wall recess. Sun Bing saw Li Wu’s smirking face in the golden light.
“Li Wu,” he said, “there is no bad blood between us, never has been, so why are you doing this to me?”
Li Wu stepped up, slapped Sun, and then spat in his face.
“You stinking actor,” he said contemptuously, “you’re right, there is no bad blood between you and me. But there is great enmity between you and Magistrate Qian. As his subordinate, I have no choice but to take you into custody, for which I ask your forbearance.”
“What enmity is there between Magistrate Qian and me?”
Li Wu smirked. “Dear brother, you really do have a short memory. Last night you said that the beard on his chin cannot compare with the hair around your prick, if I’m not mistaken.”
Sun Bing rolled his eyes. “That is malicious slander, Li Wu. When did I say something like that? I’d have to be crazy or stupid to utter something as idiotic as that, and I am neither.”
“You may not be crazy or stupid, but greasy pork muddled your mind.”
“Dry shit does not stick to one’s body!”
“Any man worthy of the name stands behind his words and deeds!” Li Wu insisted. “Now, do you want to get dressed, or shall we take you along naked? If you dress, make it snappy. We don’t have time to argue with a stinking actor, for Magistrate Qian is waiting at the yamen to get a look at the hair around your prick!”
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4
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The bailiffs dragged and pushed Sun Bing into a hall in the county yamen. He was in a bit of a daze, and his body ached and burned from the beatings he’d suffered over the last three days in a jail cell, where he had played host to legions of bedbugs and fleas. During those three days, he had been taken out of his cell and blindfolded six times by guards, who proceeded to beat him with leather whips and clubs until he was banging into walls like a blind donkey. During those three days, he was given one cup of foul water and a single bowl of spoiled rice. Now, at the end of those three days, he was famished and parched, he ached all over, and most of his blood had been sucked dry by the fleas and bedbugs, whose bodies glistened on the walls like buckwheat soaked in oil. He felt that he was on his last legs, that he would not be able to survive three more days. He regretted his impetuous comment, no matter how pleased he’d been with it at the time. He also wished he hadn’t taken the plate of pork all for himself. Now would be a good time to reach up and punish his trouble-making mouth with several vicious slaps. But no sooner had he raised his arm than he saw stars. Sore and stiff, that arm felt like a piece of cold steel. It fell back to his side, a heavy weight, and hung from his shoulder like a yoke.
On that overcast day, the yamen hall was illuminated by a dozen or more thick candles made of mutton tallow, the odor spreading through the hall from the flickering flames. It was a rancid smell that fogged his mind and made him nauseous; something hard seemed to bounce off the walls of his stomach and churn up a vile liquid that rose into his throat and spewed onto the floor. More than ashamed, he experienced remorse. After wiping the muck from his lips and beard, he was about to apologize for vomiting when, suddenly, a resonant, even, practiced “WOO—WAY” emerged from the dark recesses on both sides of the hall, a scary sound that made him jump. What was he supposed to do now? The answer to that question came in the form of bailiffs’ feet buried in the backs of his knees that forced him to kneel on the hard, unforgiving