On the skinning platform at the east gate of Qimen City, Lu Qi was bound with his hands behind his back, his face pressed against a bloodstained stone trough. Executioner Jiao Liu's first cut opened Lu Qi's skin from his left shoulder to his waist. Three hundred onlookers had gathered below. Lu Qi had used a fake gate pass to take the blame for the gate tax owed by the Wanxiang trading caravan. Wanxiang Province saved more than two hundred taels in taxes and even won a reputation for cracking down on counterfeit passes. Shi Gan, leader of the Bearer Society, squeezed through the crowd with his men, but one shake of Lu Qi's head kept him from acting. If they snatched Lu Qi away, three hundred households would be implicated tomorrow. Cha Mo stepped onto the platform and sniffed the thin skin at Lu Qi's shoulder, saying he was the son of Lu Niang. They'd sell his skin for thirty taels, and feed the meat to the dogs. Jiao Liu's old scar reminded Lu Qi of ten years ago, when his father, Lu Dan, had been pinned to this very platform and ordered him to hold down his father's hand. Lu Qi had been ten then, with both hands still smaller than his father's. The sound of the blade falling had been exactly the same. But this time, Lu Qi had already worn through the rope, loosening it by half an inch. As soon as Jiao Liu pressed down on his shoulder, Lu Qi grabbed his hand and squeezed from the wrist to the elbow, all the way to the old scar. He saw the slanted seam on the right side of Jiao Liu's neck, its stitches patched over three times. This skinning hand was fake. The skin beneath him had been borrowed. The hands of four tax-bearers from Shi Gan's group had already clenched at their waists, and Cha Mo's face was slowly turning toward him. On the gate pass numbered 31,007, the second carved mark was the technique his father, Lu Dan, had taught him when he was ten: press down over the old mark. The blade hadn't fallen for the second time, but Jiao Liu's face had already gone white.
