August 1, 2013 Volume 3 No 10

  The Litigatrix

  by Ken Liu

  The fifteenth day of the first month in the seventh year of the Huayin Era:

  The old man, Hae-wook Lee, had been bedridden for months. He lay on the sleeping mat, wrapped in a blanket. The drugs helped him sleep, and forget about the harsh words of his son.

  It was an unseasonably warm winter day, here in this corner of Northeast Asia. Though the fire in the kitchen hearth next door had been extinguished, thegudeul smoke passages below the floor would continue to radiate residual heat for several hours. The room was so warm that the maid, Kyoon, had left the windows open to give the old man some fresh air, dry and invigorating after the new snow of the day before.

  He dreamt that he was having a dinner of gogi gui. That pretty girl from years ago served him. He felt a pang of regret.

  The marinated meats made his mouth water, and he felt the heat from the grill on his face. He reached out to pour some water on the grill to lower the heat a bit, but the grill only grew hotter.

  The old man coughed and could not breathe. He opened his eyes. Smoke filled the room, and tongues of flame licked the ceiling and the walls. The straw mats, wooden furniture, and even the jangpan paper floor were all on fire. He cried out for help, but no one came.

  “Mistress, a man is here to see the old Master.” Jiyin, thirteen, her face still showing baby fat, knelt by the door to the kitchen.

  The woman she addressed was barely more than a girl herself, but she carried herself with an air far older than her nineteen years. Sui-Wei Far was dressed all in white, wore no makeup, and her dark tresses were pinned into a knot covered with a white kerchief. Grief had made her eyes red and tired.

  She nodded and stood up.

  “Jiyin, finish making the offering to the hearth spirits in here for me. Be sure to thank them for keeping the food from our kitchen healthy and safe these last few weeks, when we were all so distracted. And then bring out tea for the guest.”

  Sui-Wei went to the front hall and knelt so that the silk screen in the middle of the room hid her from the view of the male guest, in accordance with the precepts of her Confucian teachers.

  “Honored Guest, you wish to see my father?” She bowed.

  Through the silk screen, the hazy outline of the man bowed back. “I am Yeon-joo Lee, son of the silk merchant Hae-wook Lee. I have urgent business to discuss with Litigator Far.”

  The mention of her father’s name made the grief fresh again. She struggled to keep her voice as calm as the surface of a lotus pond. “My father passed away last week.”

  The hazy shoulders slumped. “My condolences. I just lost my father as well.” His voice sounded young, uncertain. “Is there a young master who will carry on Master Far’s trade?”

  “I am my father’s only child.”

  “That is too bad. An innocent girl’s life is at stake.”

  She thought about the times, when she was younger, when her father would take her on investigations, have her copy out petitions to the magistrates, explain to her the intricacies of the law, lay the evidence before her and ask her to explain how she thought the deed was done.

  “If only you weren’t a girl,” her father would say. “You are brighter than any apprentice I’ve instructed, and you would make a fine litigator.”

  “Stop talking nonsense,” her mother would say, back when she was still alive. “You need to think about finding her a husband. Men do not want their wives running about assisting criminals.”

  Jiyin came in with a tray of tea and snacks, knelt, and poured two cups, placing one on each side of the screen.

  What would her father have wanted?

  She reached out and pushed the silk screen aside, ignoring Jiyin’s gasp of surprise. Yeon-joo, as she had suspected, was barely in his twenties, and his eye were kind, if sad.

  “I am Litigatrix Sui-Wei Far. How can I be of assistance?”

  “The ignorant think that litigators turn black into white, guilt into innocence. That is not so,” her father had said. “A litigator must always seek out the truth, and defend only the truly innocent.”

  It was not always easy to find the truth in the chaos of Yiefeng, capital of Dawul.

  The tiny kingdom, founded by a Chinese general who had escaped the turmoil of the civil wars in China at the end of the last dynasty, occupied a few hundred square li on the border between China and Korea. Its inhabitants were a mix of Chinese, Koreans, Mongols, and Jurchens. Beijing left Dawul alone because Dawul carefully acknowledged Chinese suzerainty, and Hanseong left Dawul alone because the Korean kings deemed it too much trouble to conquer such a small mountainous state.

  So Dawul made itself into a trading hub, and Yiefeng was filled with adventurers of all stripes: Chinese merchants and Korean nobles, masterless ronins escaping the incessant wars between the daimyos in Japan, Christian and Buddhist missionaries, rogue Tibetan smugglers, and even voyagers from distant Europe with blond and red hair.

  Crimes were bad for business, and worse for the collection of taxes. The kings of Dawul ran an efficient system of yamen courts. The magistrates investigated crimes and prosecuted criminals, determined guilt and meted out punishment.

  “The magistrates mean well,” her father had said. “But they often make mistakes in their haste and zeal. Though they despise the litigators, our work is crucial. We cast doubt on their theories, force them to examine and consider all the evidence. And when a man is wrongly accused, litigators are the only ones who can save his life.”

  Yeon-joo and Sui-Wei walked through the smoldering ruins of the Lee house. She spoke to him in Korean, and he to her in Chinese, each trying to make the other feel comfortable. Through the piles of rubble capped by broken ceramic shingles, the general layout could still be discerned.

  Though a prosperous merchant, Hae-wook’s house was tiny and modest, combining both Korean and Chinese features. It followed a square plan around a central courtyard that provided light and ventilation. On the north and abutting the street was the front hall, where the old man received guests and conducted business. Other residents along the street, a little-trafficked thoroughfare connecting two much larger avenues, saw no strangers pass through on the day of the fire. They did report seeing the maid, Kyoon, leave the house during the first hour after noon, and Yeon-joo himself left about a quarter of an hour later.

  Beyond the front hall, the central courtyard was filled with potted bonsai (all consumed by the fire) and several large scholars’ rocks. To the west of the courtyard were the kitchen and the maid’s room, and to the east, Yeon-joo’s room and the study, where the old man had kept his books and did his correspondence. It would have been impossible for intruders to enter the house from either direction due to the thick, windowless, brick firewalls that separated the house from the neighbors.

  South of the courtyard was Hae-wook’s bedroom, where he had been confined due to his illness. The bedroom had outside windows facing south, and when healthy, the old man had enjoyed the view, where, beyond a grassy yard and a sharp bank, a small stream flowed past. A close examination revealed no sign of anyone having climbed up the bank recently.

  By the time the fire brigade had been summoned, the entire house was already in flames. No one could say definitively where the fire had started.

  Magistrate Wu and two of his inspectors were on site, along with a couple of other men, likely friends of the dead merchant. One of the men was a thin Portuguese with light brown curly hair. Another was older, bald, and dressed in the furs of a Jurchen merchant.

  “Yeon-joo,” Magistrate Wu said, “I am now even more convinced that this was a case of arson, and that your maid Kyoon was the perpetrator. Except for you and Kyoon, no one else could have entered the house and then left without being seen by any witnesses. You, of course, are above suspicion.”

  “Could it not have been an accident?” The Portuguese ventured. “The underfloor heating system must be prone to the risk of fire.” His Chinese was accented with both the flavor of his native tongue and the speech of the southern coast of China.

  The Magistrate shook his head. “I’ve examined the masonry floor and the underfloor heating passages and found no cracks. The fire must have started in the kitchen. Although Yeon-joo said that he saw no flames in the hearth after lunch, it’s likely that the maid banked the fire so low as to escape his notice. The key is that the girl acted very suspiciously. Inspectors found her at her parents’ house, agitated and in distress. When they told her that her master’s house had burnt down, she fainted. A search of the premises revealed a small pouch of jewelry that the family claimed to be ‘gifts’ from her employer – likely story! It’s a pretty plain case of a greedy servant committing theft followed by murder to cover up her tracks.”

  “Kyoon is not a murderer,” Yeon-joo said. “The jewels were gifts from my father to the family for her long service.”

  “Yet the family could produce no letter indicating it was a gift. Surely they would have treasured such a letter from Master Lee.”

  Yeon-joo had no answer for this. But he went on, stubbornly. “Kyoon was nervous because any sixteen-year old girl would by frightened by the sight of the police showing up at her house. You must catch the real killer. I’ve retained Miss Far to prove her innocence.”

  Magistrate Wu eyed Sui-Wei, who shifted awkwardly under his intense gaze. “I did not know that you were taking up your father’s habit of arguing with the law. This is hardly a suitable pursuit for a lady of good breeding.”

  Sui-Wei stiffened. “Is it not in accordance with the teachings of Confucius, Your Honor, for a child to aspire to be viewed with the same estimation as her father? Whence the dishonor?”

  The Magistrate’s face grew red, and he coughed to cover his embarrassment.

  “Based on what I’ve heard of Master Far, the young lady has apparently inherited her father’s quick wit,” the Portuguese said. He winked at Sui-Wei, who smiled back politely.

  Still, it’s best to not make the Magistrate angry with her. “Your Honor, my father spoke often of your fairness and willingness to be persuaded. I would rather have your respect than the respect of the gossiping public.”

  The judge softened his gaze. “Though he constantly vexed me with his questions and arguments, I appreciated the zeal your father brought to the pursuit of the truth. I’ll see you in court in two weeks, when I’ll try her.”

  Sui-Wei bowed in farewell as Magistrate Wu departed.

  Yeon-joo introduced her to the Portuguese, who had adopted the Chinese name Ben-Ni Lo and was in Dawul to purchase furs and silks for export to Europe, and the Jurchen merchant, whose name was Aguda, both a friend and competitor of the Lees. They offered Yeon-joo their condolences. Aguda and Ben-Ni did not know each other but bowed respectfully.

  “I came as soon as I heard, as I was out of town on business until this morning,” Aguda said. “It will be hard to run the business on your own. Please do not hesitate to call on me for help. It has long been my dream to partner with the Lee name.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see Old Master Lee one more time,” Ben-Ni said. “He had very strong ideas about how things ought to be done and I respected that. But perhaps you’ll consider some changes that can only be advantageous to his legacy.”

  Keeping one ear on the conversation, Sui-Wei examined the scholars’ rocks. Carved from natural sedimentary formations at the bottoms of lakes, these rocks were as tall as a man and full of holes from eons of erosion. Contemplating their thin, wrinkled shapes and thousands of open perforations was said to cultivate the mind for more elegant thoughts. Although they were now covered in soot and water from the fire brigade, Sui-Wei, careless of her dress, knelt down to examine the lower holes. She saw bits of paper that had been trapped in them and thus saved from the fire. Reaching in with her hand, she retrieved what seemed to be fragments of accounting records and personal letters, as well as a decorative rooster cut from red paper.

  “Might Miss Far permit me to call on her at some point in the near future?”

  Sui-Wei straightened and saw that the speaker was Ben-Ni. She blushed at the rudeness of the bold request. The way he stared at her openly with his hazel eyes was unnerving – but she also felt flattered by his attention. “I shall be at your service.”

  “And I shall repay you by showing you some of the wonders of Europe, unknown in Asia.”

  Aguda gave Ben-Ni a surprised and calculating look. “You aren’t thinking of getting in trouble with the law, are you?”

  “Not at all. But it’s always a good idea for a merchant from far away to know men – and women – who can defend him in local courts.”

  “You might want to purchase some jade ornaments from me. They improve luck, especially the sort that keeps legal troubles away.”

  Sui-Wei continued to the south side of the house, next to the bank. The fire had melted the snow and ice covering the yard, revealing the dead grass below. In several spots, the grass lay flat, as if something heavy had been placed there.

  “The fire destroyed Old Master Lee’s collection of ice sculpture too,” Aguda said. “He, a far more poetic man than I, said that they reminded him of the transient nature of all life. I just like making them as a hobby. I had given him an ice statue of a dancing girl drummer for his birthday last month, but the statue is now gone, like the recipient, long before the natural course of life.”

  Kyoon, the accused maid, huddled in terror in her holding cell, and it took many minutes before Sui-Wei was able to coax the young girl’s story out of her.

  On the morning of the day of the fire, the girl had followed her routine. She gave the old master breakfast, cleaned the house, and then served an early lunch. Afterwards, while the old man took his afternoon nap, she left to run errands and to visit her parents. She had made sure that the fire in the hearth was put out.

  Yeon-joo confirmed her account. He had studied in his room all morning, and saw Kyoon from time to time. He spoke to the old man briefly after lunch, and then left the house to check on the warehouse in another part of the city. Before he left, he checked to be sure that his father was safely asleep, and that nothing was out of place in the kitchen.

  “What did you buy at the butcher’s?” Sui-Wei asked the maid.

  “Rib tips.”

  “For the Chinese radish and pork soup?”

  “Yes, the master likes it for the cold winter nights.”

  Sui-Wei silently berated herself. It was just like a woman to be interested in such irrelevant trivia about groceries and cooking. Her father would never have asked such stupid questions.

  But her father had also told her, “Don’t overlook details. You never know which thread will untangle the whole mess.”

  She told the doubting voice in her head to be quiet.

  “After the butcher shop, your last stop, you went to your parents?”

  “Yes, straight away.”

  “Which path did you take?”

  “By the city gates. It’s longer, but I like to walk through the market there.”

  “Oh, I like the hanfu dresses there too. The Su family’s styles are striking this year.”

  “Yes, Miss Far. Though I couldn’t see their display that day. The hour was late, and they were deep in shade under the awning.”

  And on and on it went. Sui-Wei found out nothing of any use.

  The only point on which she did not feel entirely confident of Kyoon’s answers concerned the small pouch of jewels found in her house. She claimed that they were gifts from the old master, and Yeon-joo confirmed it.

  “But it’s very unusual for employers to give a maid such generous gifts without a formal letter of explanation. Was there a special reason?”

  Kyoon looked at Yeon-joo with terrified eyes and the young man took over. “My father had always been generous with servants. He felt a special bond with Kyoon and her family because her mother used to work for him before her marriage, and Kyoon herself has worked for us ever since she was a little girl.”

  Sui-Wei remained unconvinced. Something about the way Kyoon looked at Yeon-joo troubled her.

  Just because Magistrate Wu said there were no witnesses didn’t mean that it was true.

  Sui-Wei and Jiyin arrived at the ruins of the Lee house just after dusk, the hour of dinner. Yeon-joo was staying temporarily as a guest with Aguda, so the place was deserted.

  “Mistress, I don’t like ghosts,” Jiyin said, shivering in the darkness.

  “Don’t worry. We’re just here to visit the household hearth spirits.”

  Jiyin was relieved. Men did not pay much attention to the lowly hearth spirits. But Sui-Wei and Jiyin always took care to keep up the offerings to their own house hearth spirits for safety from fire and for the rice to not be burnt. From a basket, Jiyin took out dumplings and candied fruits and set them out on small plates in what remained of the hearth. Sui-Wei lit the candles beside them and began to pray.

  “Honored Spirits of the Hearth of the Lee Family, it is time for dinner to be made. I have rekindled the flames in this cold hearth.”

  Poor spirits, she thought. The hearth spirits were having a hard time these days, with so many households converting to Christianity and driving them out. Homeless spirits could sometimes squeeze in at hearths in other houses. But no spirits would want to share the hearth with refugees from a burnt-down house because they were bad luck. In this cold winter, it would not be many days before they faded away with no sustaining fire.

  Gradually, as the flames from the candles flickered in the wind, two translucent forms, an old man and an old woman, appeared in their faint glow.

  Thank you. Thank you.

  “Honored Spirits, can you tell me what you remember of the fire?”

 

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