The Year of Rice and Salt

Kang Tongbi received the visitor in the rooms off the front courtyard devoted to entertaining guests, and sat watching him closely as he explained who he was, in a clear if strangely accented Chinese. His name was Ibrahim ibn Hasam. He was a small, slight man, about Kang's height and build, white haired. He wore reading glasses all the time, and his eyes swam behind the lenses like pond fish. He was a true hui, originally from Iran, though he had lived in China for most of the Qianlong Emperor's reign, and like most long term foreigners in China, had made a lifelong commitment to stay there.

'China is my home,' he said, which sounded odd with his accent. He nodded observantly at her expression. 'Not a pure Han, obviously, but I like it here. Actually I am soon moving back to Langzhou, to live among people of my faith. I think I have learned enough studying with Liu Zhi to be of service to those wishing for a better understanding between Muslim Chinese and Han Chinese. That is my hope, anyway.'

Kang nodded politely at this unlikely quest. 'And you have come here to…?'

He bowed. 'I have been assisting the governor of the province in these reported cases of…'

'Soul stealing?' Kang said sharply.

'Well. Yes. Queue cuttings, in any case. Whether they are a matter of sorcery, or merely of rebellion against the dynasty, is not so very easy to determine. I am a scholar for the most part, a religious scholar, but I have also been a student of the medical arts, and so I was summoned to see if I could bring any light to bear on the matter. I have also studied cases of possession of the soul. And other things like that.'

Kang regarded him coldly. He hesitated before continuing. 'Your eldest son informs me that you have suffered some incidents of this kind.'

'I know nothing about them,' she said sharply. 'My youngest son's queue was cut, that I am aware of. It has been investigated with no particular result. As for the rest, I am ignorant. I sleep, and have woken up a few times cold, and not in my bed. Elsewhere in the household, in fact. My servants tell me that I have been saying things they don't understand. Speaking something that is not Chinese.'

His eyes swam. 'Do you speak any other languages, madam?'

'Of course not.'

'Excuse me. Your son said you were extremely well educated.'

'My father was pleased to educate me in the classics along with his sons.'

'You have the reputation of being a fine poet.'

Kang did not reply, but coloured slightly.

'I hope I shall have the privilege of reading some of your poems. They could help me in my work here.'

'Which is?'

'Well – to cure you of these visitations, if such is possible. And to aid the Emperor in his inquiry into the queue clippings.'

Kang frowned and looked away.

Ibrahim sipped his tea and waited. He seemed to have the ability to wait more or less indefinitely.

Kang gestured to Pao to refill his tea cup. 'Proceed, then.'

Ibrahim bowed from his seat. 'Thank you. Perhaps we can start by discussing this monk who died, Bao Ssu.'

Kang stiffened in her wall seat.

'I know it is difficult,' Ibrahim murmured. 'You care still for his son.'

'Yes.'

'And I am told that when he arrived you were convinced that you knew him from somewhere else.'

'Yes, that's right. But he said he came from Soochow, and had never been here before. And I have never been to Soochow. But I felt that I knew him.'

'And did you feel the same way about his boy?'

'No. But I feel the same about you.'

She clapped her hand over her mouth.

'You do?' Ibrahim watched her.

Kang shook her head. 'I don't know why I said that! It just came out.'

'Such things sometimes do.' He waved it off. 'But this Bao, who did not recognize you. Shortly after he arrived, there were incidents reported. Queue chopping, people's names written on pieces of paper and placed under wharf pilings about to be driven in that sort of thing. Soulstealing activities.'

Kang shook her head. 'He had nothing to do with that. He spent every day by the river, fishing with his son. He was a simple monk, that's all. They tortured him to no purpose.'

'He confessed to queue clipping.'

'On the ankle press he did! He would have said anything, and so would anyone else! It's a stupid way to investigate such crimes. It makes them spring up everywhere, like a ring of poison mushrooms.'

'True,' the man said. He took a sip of tea. 'I have often said so myself. And in fact it's becoming clear that that is what has happened here, in the present situation.'

Kang looked at him grimly. 'Tell me.'