When Qiu Yang rose the next morning, Zhao Jian'an was already in the courtyard. Crouched beside the well, he splashed water over his face, then stood and shook it from his hands.
“Come out with me today.”
Qiu Yang stopped in the doorway. “Where?”
“To meet the clerk who manages the storehouse.”
She stared. “He'll meet us?”
“Not us.” Zhao Jian'an dried his hands. “I'll meet him. You will wait obediently outside.”
Qiu Yang asked nothing more. She changed into clean clothes and followed him out.
He led her halfway across the city to a street she had never visited.
Full Moon Street.
A small teahouse stood beside the road. Someone sat by an upstairs window, head bent over something on the table, too far away for Qiu Yang to tell whether it was a man or woman.
Zhao Jian'an looked up. “I'm going upstairs. Find a seat below. Order whatever you want; I'll pay when I come down.”
Qiu Yang nodded. She sat near the first-floor entrance and ordered the cheapest pot of tea.
It arrived scalding. She blew on it, took one sip, and grimaced at its bitterness. Dispirited, she set down the bowl and watched the entrance.
Nothing happened. Bored with staring, she began counting the lines in the tabletop's wood grain.
By the time she finished, Zhao Jian'an had already come down. He hid behind her and suddenly shouted, “Qiu Yang!”
“Ah!” She whirled, fist nearly flying. Only when she saw him did she stop herself.
“Uncle Zhao, sometimes I truly think you are...” She lowered her head and rubbed her wrist. When she looked up again, he had vanished.
Qiu Yang stared.
He had slipped outside while her head was down and now stood beneath a wall across the street. “Qiu Yang. Over here.”
She hurried after him. He turned into an alley. Only after they had crossed two streets did he slow and let her catch up.
“How did it go?”
“He agreed, but he can't act now. We have to wait until his night duty at the storehouse.” Zhao Jian'an behaved as though nothing unusual had happened.
“How long?”
“Five days.”
Qiu Yang committed it to memory and followed him back to Sweetwater Alley.
Those five days passed more slowly than usual. She worked and cooked by day and practiced her staff at dusk, but a string remained stretched taut inside her, so close to snapping that nothing felt steady.
On the third day, she went to buy salt. At the alley entrance on her return, she saw a man crouched beneath the opposite wall. He carried nothing. He simply watched the alley.
Qiu Yang forced herself to remain calm and passed him, glancing from the corner of her eye.
Gray clothes. Short. A thin face.
She thought she had seen him before. Only after entering the alley did she realize he matched the peddler's description.
She did not stop. At home, she placed the salt in the kitchen and began chopping vegetables.
When Zhao Jian'an returned that evening, she put the vegetables into the pan, covered it, wiped her hands on her apron, and said without preamble, “Uncle Zhao, someone is at the alley mouth.”
He had been heading for the study. He stopped abruptly. “What kind of person?”
“Gray clothes, short and thin. He was crouched beneath the opposite wall when I saw him. I don't know what he was doing.”
“Did he see you come in?”
“I don't know.”
Zhao Jian'an said nothing more and entered the study. Qiu Yang lifted the lid, stirred the vegetables, and lowered the flame.
At dinner, he said, “Don't go out tomorrow. Make me a list of anything you need, and I'll bring it home.”
She nodded.
On the fourth day, Zhao Jian'an returned from the government office carrying an oiled-paper parcel. He set it on the table.
“Wear this tomorrow morning.”
Inside was an old gray man's garment, small enough for a half-grown boy.
“Disguise yourself as a boy. You'll attract less attention,” he said. “Come with me to the Ministry's rear gate, but don't go inside. Wait by the entrance. Once I bring the item out, we'll leave quickly through the back alley.”
Qiu Yang folded the garment. “Uncle Zhao, am I truly worth all this?”
“Silly child. What are you saying? I'm not doing it only for you.” He laughed.
“Will Li discover it?”
“That page lies among piles of discarded files. He may not remember which volume. We can gamble.”
Before dawn on the fifth day, Qiu Yang rose and put on the old gray clothes. She tied her hair into a messy knot, rubbed soot from the stove onto her face, neck, and the backs of her hands.
When Zhao Jian'an emerged from his study, the sight startled him. After recovering, he said, “Let's go.”
The sky was still dark when they left. Only early vendors and street sweepers were about. Qiu Yang followed with her head lowered, steps smaller than usual and shoulders hunched. She resembled a country boy being taken into the city by an elder for the first time.
The Ministry of Justice's rear gate stood in a narrow alley. No guard watched it; only an iron lock hung from the rings.
Zhao Jian'an waited. About the time it took to drink a cup of tea later, the door opened from inside and a middle-aged man in gray poked out his head.
“Zhao Jian'an. Come in, quickly.”
Zhao Jian'an slipped inside. Qiu Yang crouched at the foot of the wall and looked down at the ground. The door shut behind her with the click of its lock.
She drew circles in the dirt, one after another. About a quarter hour later, the door opened.
Zhao Jian'an emerged empty-handed. He pulled the door gently closed, then walked toward the alley mouth without looking back.
Qiu Yang rose and followed. They crossed two streets, entered Sweetwater Alley, and returned to the residence.
Only in the courtyard did Zhao Jian'an draw a folded sheet from his sleeve. Its edges were yellow, the writing faded. He opened it on the stone table, and Qiu Yang bent over it.
The text followed the formal style of an official document. She could not understand all of it, but at the bottom she saw a name and a seal. The handwriting was unlike Zhao Jian'an's, the strokes heavier and harder.
He pointed to the seal. “This is the mark Li stamped back then.”
Qiu Yang studied it for a long time. Zhao Jian'an folded the page and locked it in the study. When he emerged, his expression was easier, though not by much.
“We have it,” he said, sitting on the stone bench. “But the real trouble begins now.”
“What trouble?”
“Sooner or later, Li will discover the page is missing. He won't take long to search the old archives—one or two months if he's fast, half a year if he's slow.” Zhao Jian'an looked at her. “Until then, you must hide yourself. Don't let anyone discover who you are.”
Qiu Yang stood in the courtyard as morning light entered beyond the eaves. She remained in shadow while Zhao Jian'an sat where the sunlight reached.
“Uncle Zhao, would you be safer if I left this house?”
He looked up. “Where would you go?”
“Pingyuan Town.”
Zhao Jian'an did not answer at once. He watched her. The courtyard wind stopped, and the scholar-tree leaves became still.
“Do you still have your travel permit?”
“Yes.”
“And the key?”
“I still have that too.”