The Strange Scent

**[County Court Record]** The continued testimony of Scholar Wang (third record). Examining officer: the assistant prefect's office. Clerk: Zhao. This testimony is filed with the two preceding records. Your Honor asks what she smelled like—I had not minded it at first; now that Your Honor asks, I remember. That afternoon I came out of the main courtyard, passing the study. The door was locked; no rustling within. I stood in the gallery and heard a sound from the rear garden, as if she were drawing water. I went over and stood at the garden gate, and saw her with her back to the gate, at the well, bending to draw water. She drew it very steadily—down, release, the bucket sinks, up again, not a drop spilled.

I did not call to her. When she had drawn the water she straightened, carried the basin, and turned toward the study. Passing before me, she paused, looked at me, and smiled: "The master is back."

When she smiled, I smelled something. Not rouge, not face powder. She never wore such things—in all the days since I took her in, I never saw her put on powder; she combed her hair with her hand, never the scented comb. That smell, I knew it: the smell of paper and ink. The smell I had known as a boy in the print shops—ink, paper, and paste all mingled, faint, clinging to a person. At the time I did not think much of it. She locked herself in the study all day; a smell of ink on her, after all, was nothing strange. But as I walked into the gallery, I stopped of a sudden. There was no ink in the study. Your Honor, my study had once held brush, ink, paper, inkstone—but that was before. These days the study held none of them at all. To keep away from her, I had moved all the writing things to the side room of the main courtyard; the study held only an empty table and empty cabinets. When I went into the study, it was only to sleep on the couch; even the books were moved out.

I stood in the gallery, thinking this over, and the more I thought, the more it would not do. That smell of paper and ink on her—where did it come from? There was no ink in the study, no paper, no inkstone. I had been into her room too—no books, no written paper, not a single sheet for writing. She drew water, washed clothes, combed her hair; all day she locked herself in the study, and behind the door a rustling went on. I had supposed she was copying sutras, but there were not even sutras in the study. That smell of paper and ink clung to her as if it seeped from her skin.

Later I remembered the day I moved the writing things. It was the third day after I took her in; for a discomfort in my mind that I could not name, I gathered the brush, ink, paper, inkstone out of the study, packed them in an old wooden box, and carried them to the side room. As I packed, I had wondered: with the study empty, when she locked herself in by day, what did she do in there? I had thought then: tidy the room, or take a nap. Now I remembered: there was not even a sheet of paper left in the study; she locked herself in all day, and behind the door a rustling went on—in that empty room, what was she rustling?

On the day I carried the box, she stood in the gallery watching me carry it, and said nothing. I asked her whether she wanted a few sheets of paper left to write on. She shook her head, and said: "I do not write." She did not write. But I smelled the paper-and-ink on her. **[Inspection Record]** Clerk's note: Scholar Wang's study was inspected twice. First inspection (Vol. I · 5): no writing implements on the table; cabinets empty; a scrap of paper, without a single character. Second inspection (Vol. I · 8): a piece of blue cloth on the corner of the table, without a painting; cabinets empty. Neither inspection found paper or ink in the study. This testimony of "the smell of paper and ink" agrees with the inspection record on both sides: no ink in the study, yet ink-smell on the person—whence the ink? Recorded for inquiry.

**[Neighborhood Testimony]** Wang Shi of West Street, who sells powder and scent for a living, testifies:

Your Honor asks what the woman smelled of; this old woman does not know. I have kept my stall on West Street for thirty years; rouge, powder, scent-cakes, scent-beads, there is none I do not know. That woman—the one in Master Wang's study—I have seen her a few times; she passes along West Street, not fast, and never looks at the stalls. The first time I saw her, I smelled the smell on her.

It was not the smell of powder.

Powder has a base—sandalwood, musk, jasmine; you can tell whence it comes. The smell on her had no base. At first I took it for the smell of a paper shop—there are many paper shops on West Street; ink, paper, paste, soak into a man who works among them day after day. But she was not of the paper shops; she was shut up in Master Wang's study all day, came not into the street, visited no one; the smell of the paper shops could not reach her. Once I came near on purpose to smell. That once, I found a difference—in that paper-and-ink smell there was something else. I cannot say what; like the air of an old cabinet opened, or the camphor smell of garments put away in autumn. Very faint; so faint I dared not be sure.

I thought then: the smell on this person is not the smell of a living thing.

Your Honor, I do not say this to curse her. I have sold scent for thirty years; the smell on a body, sweet or foul, I know at one breath. The smell of a living body comes outward—heat, sweat, the smell of meals. The smell on her drew inward, like a garment pressed many years in a chest; taken out, it is still that same smell, not one breath of warmth in it.

I sell, among other things, a thing called "returning-soul incense"—not that it truly returns souls; it is used in the temples, and is said to draw the spirit when burned. That incense is old, pressed long at the bottom of a chest; when you take it out, it gives that very smell: old, close, drawing inward. The first time I smelled the woman's smell, my heart knocked once—that was not powder; that was the smell of a thing pressed many years. What I have said is the truth. **[Clerk's Comment]** Scholar Wang testifies "paper and ink"; Wang Shi testifies "not powder, a smell drawing inward." The two testimonies check against each other: no ink in the study yet ink-smell on the person; no paper-shop air on West Street yet paper-smell on the skirts—the word "scent" may not be the true source. Again: Scholar Wang says "she locks herself in all day"; Wang Shi says "she passes along West Street"—Wang says she does not leave the study; Wang Shi says she walks the streets. The two accounts differ; recorded for inquiry. As to Scholar Wang's former testimony (Vol. I · 1), that the woman said she had "fled ill-treated from her husband's house, seeking shelter"—Wang Shi has kept her stall on West Street for thirty years and has never heard of a concubine fleeing the Wang house—this casts doubt on the former testimony.

I thought about it many times afterward.

After that one time, I smelled it constantly. She passed me, she sat at the window, she stood in the gallery waiting to speak with me—always I smelled it. Faint, clinging to the person, never dispersing. One night I slept in the main courtyard and dreamed of her. In the dream she stood by my bed, bending over me, looking at me as at a painting. I smelled the smell on her—paper and ink, very strong, as if the whole body were steeped in ink. I woke in a sweat. Outside the window it was black; the main courtyard was very still. I lay there, thinking of that smell, all night. Your Honor, I see it clearly now—what I fear is not the smell itself. What I fear is that it comes from her body, seeps from her skin, as if a person had been made of paper and steeped in ink from birth. There is no ink in the study, yet ink-smell on her. She did not smell the ink; she was—I dare not finish. Your Honor, I have a thing I have kept long unsaid. What I fear is that she is not a person at all. **[Clerk's Comment, appended]** The continued testimony of Scholar Wang here ends. When the examining officer asked "why do you say so," Wang was long silent, then answered: "A living person's body does not carry that smell." Asked again "is there proof," Wang was silent, and answered after a long while: "I have no proof. I have only this smell, caught by my nose." The examining officer notes: in Wang's three records of testimony, from "doubt, self-answered" (Vol. I · 2) to "fearing the painting" (Vol. I · 8) to this "she is not a person at all"—his fear deepens, his words grow firmer, and yet there is never proof. Of all the testimony in this case, one thing alone is lacking: no one has ever seen that woman's face full on. Recorded for inquiry.