Détruisez le mal

Chapitre 6

The museum hall was incredibly crowded, with hundreds of people in the lobby, and closed-circuit television was broadcasting the unpleasant ceremony live. It was a Monday morning, usually the museum is closed at this time, but some residents of Tea Garden Road saw the funeral as a good opportunity to sneak in and see the latest exhibit—"Treasures of the Silk Road Brought Back by Aurel Stein's Expeditions." I believe this exhibition is evidence of the British Empire's plundering during its most greedy period.

After the ticket evaders were refused entry to the exhibition hall by the security guards, they came to my funeral venue and were pathologically drawn to the various obituaries next to the guestbook—

"Born in Shanghai... Came to the United States with her family in 1949 as a little girl... An alumnus of Mills University and a visiting lecturer in art history... Owner of 'The Immortals'... Director of many organizations..."

"A devout and generous donor: this federation or that society that organizes for Asian elderly and Chinese orphans, for the poor, sick, disabled, abused, illiterate, hungry and mentally ill."

"She loves art and has donated a considerable amount of money to support her fellow artists, the San Francisco Symphony Youth Orchestra, and the Asian Art Museum."

Looking at the list of my life's achievements, I should be very proud. But I feel no emotion whatsoever.

I felt like a wealthy wanderer, paving my way through the world with fine gold sand, only to realize too late that the path had vanished the moment I finished walking.

As for who left my estate, the obituary said, "There were no survivors," as if describing a plane crash.

Sadly, it is true. All my family members have passed away—my father died of a heart attack; one brother died of alcohol-induced cirrhosis; another brother was killed in a car accident; and my mother died before I could remember.

I'm not really my stepmother—Sweet Mom is still alive, but it's best not to mention her.

Choosing to hold an exhumation funeral was my mistake.

I recently received an incredible shipping container that I found in the countryside of Hubei province, China—a 200-year-old lacquered coffin made of paulownia wood. It originally belonged to a eunuch who performed in the palace. In ancient China, eunuchs, except for the highest-ranking ones, were buried hastily after death, without any ceremony, because their damaged bodies were not suitable for display before ancestral tablets.

In the past, whether rich or poor, people would prepare a coffin for their afterlife before they died. The fact that this eunuch could make such a large coffin suggests that he was probably a "pet" of an emperor or prince; handsome boys often became male prostitutes. But this powerful eunuch drowned while fishing in the Yangtze River, and his body was forever buried in the belly of a fish.

The eunuch's parents lived in Longgang Town. They received a coffin from Beijing and had no choice but to store it in a shed, awaiting the day their son's body would be found. Because of the eunuch's bad reputation, the family quickly fell into poverty, losing all their honor and property. Many years passed, and the new owners refused to approach the shed where the coffin was kept, believing it harbored a vampire or zombie. So it was abandoned, buried by the yellow dust blown by the north wind, the silt brought by floods over the years, and the dust of time.

Later, the shed was unearthed again when a newly wealthy Chinese farmer was building a small golf course next to his Swiss-style two-story villa. Surprisingly, the coffin only had slight surface rot; the wood, though shrunken, hadn't cracked. This is the quality of paulownia wood—light yet more durable than many hardwoods. The coffin's surface and legs had been coated with no fewer than fifty layers of lacquer. After removing the grime, one could see carvings of deities and animals on the coffin, as well as other symbols representing magic; similar items were found inside the coffin lid.

What I love most is the Tibetan mastiff painted inside the coffin lid, facing the corpse with lifelike detail. Because it hasn't been exposed to sunlight, the design inside the coffin retains its exquisite colors against the black lacquer background. At the bottom of the coffin are neatly arranged bundles of paper, recording the life story of the deceased and his untold poems. His poems mainly describe natural scenery and his love for a captivating woman, from her youthful innocence until her untimely death.

Watching one's own funeral (2)

There were two other things in the coffin: a small urn engraved with the name of the eunuch's pet Tibetan mastiff; and a small ivory-rimmed box containing three limestone pea-shaped objects, said to be the eunuch's penis and testicles.

I immediately realized that this coffin was not only of historical value, but also a treasure. Some of my clients, like those Hollywood guys, might appreciate this kind of quirky decoration, especially the limestone, pea-like things.

However, the coffin was disproportionately long, with the top extending beyond the bottom like a ship's deck, and it was also very heavy.

I asked the farmer to name his price, and he quoted a figure that was ten times my target price.

"This is absurd."

I said I was leaving.

"Hello, hello, hello!"

He quickly called me again.