The maid's smile had been kind, and yet, what water could nourish stone? What seeds could find purchase in barren sand? As she closed the door, Huijin hid his face in his hair, and for a brief while did he do no more than savor his warm and mild tea. But once her footsteps had faded and he heard the door below close, he stood up and gazed at the calligraphic scrolls and woven tapestries with a new eye.

  He did not forage in Master Qian's possessions. The farmstead had many a servant and farmhand, and Qian Xuegang had proven himself a devious man; far too clever to hide his secrets in his own chambers. So Huijin kept his hands to himself and thought.

  He studied the scrolls, sought in them some patterns, even eyed them from a distance to see if he could discern some novel truth in them.

  By the window, set upon a dark cabinet, stood a gzed vase. This one he picked up and turned over, his hands hidden in his sleeves to leave no stains upon the smooth surface. Qian Xuegang was a suspicions man; who knew what a suspicious man might do once his guest left?

  And when a scroll fell out of the vase, Huijin caught it in his left hand, a stunned look on his face.

  The scroll was unsealed. As he held it to the light of his tea candle, he recognized the graceful hand of the old Ming-zongzhu, Yin Zhaoyang's uncle, who had ruled the cn before it fell to his oldest nephew. His had been the hand which had once taken a great swathe of nd from Cn Mao, and the scroll decred that the man who could show both the scroll and the leather case which belonged to it could cim ownership of a vast stretch of nd. Qian Xuegang's farmstead and pastures were part of the nd, but it stretched much farther.

  "Oh," breathed Huijin.

  He returned the scroll to the vase and put the vase down. Where was the leather case then? He looked around, but the day had grown so old that he dared not scavenge longer, and chose to rather sit down to await the master's return. Were he to leave now, Qian Xuegang's suspicions would be roused. And if the man fled, there would be yet another blunder to shame him.

  No, thought Huijin. Rather face the man alone at night, under his very own roof, than face disgrace.

  But what was he to tell him? In what way could he assure Qian Xuegang?

  What had Lu Yuxin said earlier? His tales have just enough truth in them that any inconsistencies could be thought mere mistakes. Well, two could py that game. Bck stones or white stones; in the past, he had watched the esteemed former Ming-zongzhu py weiqi from afar, and when he one day pyed against his friend and won, the man could make neither head nor tails of his loss to an opponent who had just seen and tried a handful of matches.

  This would cost him, Huijin knew. But so be it.

  In less than an incense stick's time, he heard the Qian Xuegang's voice on the porch below. He scolded the farmhand's daughter Song Xiaoying. What he said, the ashen one could not discern, yet there seemed in his timbre the faintest tremor of fear.

  Not long after, the master entered the chamber, his composure a moonlit pond on a windstill night.

  "Huijin of Ming," he greeted. "What owes me the pleasure?"

  The servant of Ming sat near the teapot, his posture decorous and his manner quiet. No ill will met the ndowner as he entered; when the ashen one kept his head down, he had no presence at all. A man could have thought himself alone with the shadows of his own abode.

  Then Huijin raised his chin, his voice meek. "Qian-gongzi," he began, "I came to speak to you. I hope I do not intrude?"

  He poured the master hot tea as he spoke. Had he not known what to listen for, he would not have heard the man's slight breath of relief.

  "Not at all," answered Qian Xuegang, his eyes on the teapot. "I hope you did not wait too long. Is the tea yet fresh? Let me brew a new pot; I do not want a man of Cn Ming saddled with a poor man's brew."

  Huijin offered him his bowl with both hands and the bow of a man used to serve. No smile graced his solemn mouth.

  "No need," he assured. "I will not be long. But I wanted to see you. What you told us — your past with Shang Hansheng, it left an impression on me."

  He let his gaze fall. When he spoke anew, there was no deceit in the pained weave of his voice or the furrow of his brow.

  "I do not expect you to know this, but the te Ming-zongzhu — Yin Yue's older brother — we were close, him and I."

  He did not say more. In that had gege been adamant; the depths of their retionship was no one's concern but their own. Yet as he had spoken those words, his skin pricked with disgust.

  Qian Xuegang's smile faded as he took his tea. He beckoned the servant to sit with a fan of his wide sleeve.

  "Do tell, Huijin. You were close with the te Ming-zongzhu, indeed?"

  "Boyhood friends," came the soft answer. "Yin Zhaoyang taught me swordmanship. But I'll be brief here, I did not come to reminiscence. It is te. Your loss was heavier than mine. And while I can in no way return to you your friend—,"

  He bit his cheek. Then, with a deft hand, he untied a jade charm from his sash. A handsome, carved charm was this, furnished with threads of gold and azure, wound around a handsome emblem of white jade. Much too fine was it for a mere servant to wear, and it promised a handsome price at a pawnbroker's door.

  "You held him in such high regard," Huijin smiled, pained. "The porcein crane might not compensate you for your livestock. But this might."

  Astonishment fell upon Qian Xuegang. He stared at the charm, wide-eyed, then wet his mouth with more tea. At st, he set the bowl away and took the prize with veneration. A precious charm, his eyes told him. Worth far more than his own.

  Bck envy stirred in his pale eyes.

  "This is a beautiful piece," he admitted as he held it up to the light, "How did you — how did you come about it?"

  The ashen one's voice was a breath in the dark. "He gave it to me."

  The virtuous man's smile was as thin and gentle as a knife cut against an ivory throat. He gave it to you, repeated Qian Xuegang to himself. What service did you do to be awarded such a prize? How could it compare to what I have done for him in those old days?

  "This is too much," he bowed. "I cannot accept this."

  Huijin folded his hands below his waist and tethered to himself to their warmth and the reprieve the curtains of his hair could offer.

  "Take it as this low servant's gratitude for your loyalty and affection to the te Ming-zongzhu. And while I repair the crane—," he halted, his thin hand rested on the door, as if a thought had just struck him before he could leave.

  The ndowner offered no further protests, his hand closed around the jade pendant.

  "The maidservant here mentioned that rough men harassed the vilge some six moons ago."

  "Vile men, yes," answered Qian Xuegang. His gaze stayed on the jade charm.

  "I do not know if word of this has reached Ming-zongzhu yet," Huijin considered. "The boy is — he is capable, but as I fear you have seen and understood, he is very young still, and his many obligations cmor for his attention."

  Harmless, said the servant's tone. The boy is harmless. It does not matter if you know this. The whole realm knows this. "What did these rough men want?"

  Qian Xuegang looked up and approached him with a demeanor of magnanimity. He threw out his hands as if he was the Emperor's own herald.

  "Tribute, Huijin of Ming," he scoffed. "These men passed through Caodi on their way to their ir in the mountains and came here to demand supplies to feed them."

  Huijin studied the ndowner's face; searched it for hidden reluctance, but found there sentiments of a diverse kind. Like Yin Yue's gardens held pnts both base and noble, so did the pale eyes of Qian Xuegang betray thoughts of virtue and vice alike. A touch of hope was there. Fear was there also, grown in the same soil as guilt.

  "I fear I've burdened Ming-zongzhu enough as it is," Qian Xuegang decided after some thought, but Huijin was quick to shake his head.

  "The brigands might threaten other vilges. Above all, the nds of Cn Ming must be kept safe and prosperous," he reminded. "What can you tell me of them? Where do you suspect they keep their ir?"

  "I remember the name of their chief," groused the ndowner. "A strong man was he, tall and broad of shoulders. Lang Dahuai he called himself. As for the ir, it must lie to the south-east of the mountain passes here."

  Huijin bowed. As he turned for the door, the white-haired master raised his voice anew.

  "And forgive our earlier quarrel, Huijin of Ming. I have been most — most unsettled by the spirit beast's attacks on my sheep and the fate of my friend and brother. I was not myself when I lost my temper with you. So let us both forget it and forgive those slights."

  At this, Huijin assented with another gentle bow, his gaze downcast. He excused his departure with the same tact as suffused his demeanor and sought his way downstairs.

  The night had cost him a treasured prize. But he had achieved what he meant to do.