Records of Agarwood VI: Distribution and Collection

Records of Agarwood VI: Distribution and Collection

1 · [Capital · Modern Era]

The rain of the decisive night began falling at dusk; by nine in the evening it had flooded the entire lane until it gleamed. Liu Zhiqiang stood in the back hall of the old agarwood and sandalwood shop. Before him was a square table that could seat eight, its lacquer worn away, and on it six tin boxes lined up in a row, like six silent chess pieces.

The lids were half open, and the aroma in each was different: the cold sweetness of Nha Trang, the raw green-grass breath of Green Nha Trang, the crushed softness of Purple Nha Trang, the burnt bitterness of Black Nha Trang, the raw earth flavor of Yellow Nha Trang, and the honeyed sweetness of White Nha Trang. The six scents jostled in the damp air, yet an invisible order separated them—an order Liu Zhiqiang had preserved with his life all these years.

— The count is complete. Wen Yi pushed the door open and entered, shaking raindrops from his raincoat onto the floor. — Liu Shengjingma's men are moving tonight. We cut off three routes, but the fourth—Yellow Nha Trang was brought in from Hong Kong just now, and customs couldn't stop it. Liu Zhiqiang did not speak; he pushed the sixth box slightly forward. The raw earth flavor of Yellow Nha Trang seeped out, and when it touched the other five aromas, all the scents on the table stopped at the same instant, as if something had seized their throats.

— Did you feel it? Wen Yi asked.

— Yes. Liu Zhiqiang raised his eyes. — Six aromas in one city—it has begun.

2 · [Capital · Modern Era] · Wang Wanshu's Choice

Wang Wanshu came out of the inner room carrying a camouflaged box, inside which was Purple Nha Trang. She wore an indigo cotton jacket washed until the color had faded, her hair pinned with a wooden clasp, and in the grooves of her fingernails remained the alum powder she used in painting restoration.

— What Liu Shengjingma wants is the "Great Unity." She placed the camouflaged box on the table without looking at Liu Zhiqiang, her eyes on Purple Nha Trang alone. — He thinks that if the six aromas are gathered, the world returns to Shennong's age "where there is no difference." His argument is convincing—all historical sources indicate that "gathering" is the goal; even Huang Tingjian, in the surviving page of the "Records of the Six Aromas," wrote: "Six aromas gathered, and the world became one." — But Huang Tingjian did not finish. Liu Zhiqiang said. — He wrote half a sentence, and tore the other half. — I know. Wang Wanshu finally raised her head. — My father died for that half sentence. He searched half his life, and in the end discovered that what the Liu family preserves is not "gathering"—but "separation." But he did not believe it. He insisted on finding that half sentence, and the result... She stopped. Her voice did not tremble, but her hand pressed on the camouflaged box, and her knuckles went white.

— I have studied dead things all my life, she said. — Old paintings, surviving scrolls, perfume records, tomb inscriptions—I always thought the living could not be relied upon, and that only dead things do not deceive me. But my father died, and the perfume hall nearly burned, and you—she looked at Liu Zhiqiang. — and you nearly died too. Wen Yi leaned against the door threshold and did not involve himself in the conversation.

— I will not hand over Purple Nha Trang. Wang Wanshu drew the camouflaged box toward her. — Liu Shengjingma wants to gather; I will not prevent him from gathering the rest—but this piece I keep. I am a woman who restores paintings; what I preserve does not escape. Liu Zhiqiang looked at her, and after a long moment, nodded once.

3 · [Capital · Modern Era] · Liu Shengjingma's Logic

At exactly ten, Liu Shengjingma came alone.

He brought no one, wearing a dark gray kimono under an old coat, rain dripping from his hem. When he entered the back hall, he bowed first, a movement precise to the point of rigidity.

— Mr. Liu, all six aromas are here. He straightened, and his gaze crossed the table, pausing a moment on the camouflaged box of Purple Nha Trang. — Only Miss Wang's piece is missing. — Missing is missing, said Liu Zhiqiang.

— Not missing. Liu Shengjingma took from his sleeve a small porcelain bottle and placed it on the table. — Agarwood powder—it came out at an auction in Shoso-in. I spent seven years searching for it. Without the mother aroma, the six aromas can still be gathered; but the gathering will be slower and coarser. Wen Yi took a step forward, and Liu Zhiqiang stopped him by raising his hand.

— Your sister died in Kosovo, said Liu Zhiqiang. — You hate "difference"—the borders of nations, of ethnicities, of religions, that separate people from one another. You think that if the aroma is gathered, people's hearts will unite. — Is that not so? Liu Shengjingma's voice lowered. — When my sister died, the people of the neighboring village did not even ask her name. "Difference" is what makes people into no one. Shennong separated the six aromas for fear that people would quarrel over them—but if people do not quarrel over aroma, they quarrel over other things. Land, wheat, water, gods. They separated for ten thousand years, and died for ten thousand years. — So this is why you want to gather? Liu Zhiqiang took the bottle, opened its stopper and smelled it—it was indeed Nha Trang: a cold sweetness carrying the deep breath of Shoso-in's old wooden storehouses. — Do you recognize what comes after gathering? — The Great Unity. — No one's name. Liu Zhiqiang put down the bottle. — If the six aromas are gathered, the seals of the aromas become void. And if the two halves of "preservation" and "registration" close, that little bit of "difference" preserved by the Liu and Wang families across generations will be gone. Your sister's name, my father's name, and the name of the Liu family as preservers of aroma—all dissolve into the single word "identical." Then by what will you remember her? Liu Shengjingma did not speak.

4 · [Capital · Modern Era] · The Blood Ledger

Liu Zhiqiang took the blood ledger from his sleeve.

The ledger's cover was cowhide, and its pages held the memoirs of the Liu family's aroma preservers across generations, characters written in blood—not metaphorically, but real blood. Each aroma preserver, before breathing his last, would pierce his finger to draw blood, and write on the ledger the single most important sentence.

He turned to the last page, where his father's hand was: "Whoever gathers the aroma dies, whoever separates it lives. Shennong's testament is not in 'gathering,' but in 'separation.' The separation of the six aromas was no oversight, but deliberate—so that they would never have to meet again." — My father searched half his life, and found this in the underground perfume hall in Kaifeng. Liu Zhiqiang pushed the ledger before Liu Shengjingma. — Believe it or not—Shennong deliberately separated the six aromas. And if they are gathered, the price of the Great Unity is that no difference and no memory remains in the world. Liu Shengjingma bowed his head and looked at the line for a long time.

— Your father... how did he die? — The perfume hall collapsed while he was searching for that line. Liu Zhiqiang's voice was perfectly level. — He protected the ledger, and did not protect himself. Suddenly, the sound of the rain rose.

5 · [Capital · Modern Era] · Zhou Huaisha's Anchor

Zhou Huaisha arrived at eleven, carrying a black umbrella with one broken rib; he closed it and leaned it slanted against the door.

— In the Zhou bamboo slips there is one sentence I searched for three years. He offered no greeting, but took from his bag a paper rubbing. — A piece of the "Zhou Manuscript on Silk," on Shennong's separation of the aromas—"Separate it and honor it; each preserves its name." And when Zhou Yuan wrote the "Lisao": "I have within me a surplus of inner beauty, and I added refinement to it"—the "surplus" is not chaos, but multiplicity with difference. The people of Zhou honored the orchid, and Nha Trang is the mother aroma. But the people of Zhou did not plant the orchids together in one place; they planted them in separate chambers, because "gathering unifies names, and separation brings out each one's aroma." He placed the rubbing on the table, facing Liu Shengjingma directly.

— Mr. Liu, your "Great Unity" is gathering, and the Zhou's "Great Unity" is separation—and separation is not destruction, but letting each piece of aroma and each person keep its name. This is the shared heritage of Shennong and Master Zhou. Liu Shengjingma stared at the faded Zhou seal script on the rubbing, and his finger stopped on the four characters: "each preserves its name."

— My sister's name, he said suddenly. — Liu Shengjingxiang. No one answered him.

6 · [Capital · Modern Era] · Separation

At exactly twelve, Liu Zhiqiang began to separate the aromas.

He closed the six tin boxes again, and wrapped them one by one in different parcels. The bottle of Nha Trang was wrapped alone, and placed in Wen Yi's bag—Wen Yi would travel tomorrow to Xi'an, then transfer from there to Nara, to return the mother aroma powder to Shoso-in.

— Green Nha Trang to Yunnan, Purple Nha Trang stays in the capital, Black Nha Trang to Guangzhou, Yellow Nha Trang returns to Hong Kong, White Nha Trang to Taipei. He said it as he wrapped, as if reading a very ordinary inventory list. — Each on its way, and each finds its aroma preserver. Liu Shengjingma stood at the door and did not move.

— You won't stop me? Liu Zhiqiang asked.

— Your father's line, said Liu Shengjingma. — I believed it. Then he turned and entered the rain, wiping the tail of his coat against the threshold, and did not look back.

Wang Wanshu carried the box of Purple Nha Trang to her chest, and stood at the door of the back hall watching Liu Zhiqiang wrap the aroma. The rain came in slanting, and she stepped aside, not letting it sprinkle on the box.

— Will you still restore paintings after today? Liu Zhiqiang asked.

— I will. She said. — And I will preserve this aroma too. You separate what is yours, and I preserve what is mine—in the end, we are all in the capital. Wen Yi shouldered his bag and patted Liu Zhiqiang on the shoulder: — Nine hundred years, and the Liu family has finally completed the word "separation." — Not yet completed. Liu Zhiqiang tied the last parcel. — It is only complete when it has been separated so thoroughly that no one remembers the six aromas can be gathered.

7 · [Northern Song · Bianliang] · The Night of Jingkang

In the winter of the seventh year of the Xuanhe era, the soldiers of the Jin dynasty crept south. On the night before Bianliang fell, Liu Cheng distributed the six aromas into six bags, and handed them to the owner of the Weng perfume and medicine shop, Wen Nuan.

— Where the aroma remains, the family remains, said Liu Cheng. — As long as the family lives, the aroma must remain separated. If it is gathered, nothing remains. Wen Nuan stuffed the six bags into six different carts, leaving the city in six directions. She stood at the city gate, watching the last cart disappear into the snow, then turned to Liu's son