Extra 15 · The Frost Guest

1. Rain in Naramachi

The day the Chi Mu was sent into the Shosoin, rain fell on Nara again.

Not the sudden downpour of the night before. This was fine, slanting, almost soundless on the tiles of Todai-ji, only darkening the stone steps. Liu Zhijiang stood outside the courtyard and watched Yanagiu Shizuma hand the bronze box to the temple's people. The paperwork was slow—so slow that Wang Guanshu closed her umbrella and opened it again.

"Returning it to its place," Yanagiu Shizuma said. "Not a donation—a return."

The temple man nodded and set the bronze box on the table without opening it at once. Liu Zhijiang noticed the man's gloves were old, worn white at the fingertips.

Out of the Shosoin, the four walked a stretch through Naramachi. The rain thinned, and shops took down their doorboards one by one. Yanagiu Shizuma stopped before a shop selling old incense tools. It was narrow, a faded cloth curtain hanging over the lintel, a character embroidered in one corner—not fully legible.

"My grandfather used to buy things here," he said.

2. The Incense Seal

Inside, the smell of old wood and dried incense mingled. Behind the counter was an old woman; seeing Yanagiu Shizuma enter, she barely lifted her eyelids.

Yanagiu Shizuma said a few words in Japanese. The old woman brought out a shallow wooden tray from under the counter, scattered with a dozen or so incense seals—small bronze implements for pressing incense ash, of various shapes, some engraved with flowers, some with characters.

"She says these were acquired some years ago," Yanagiu Shizuma relayed. "A batch came from Quanzhou."

Liu Zhijiang bent to look. Most of the seals were ordinary, but one was smaller, its bronze dark, a single character engraved on the surface. He turned it over.

"Frost," Wang Guanshu recognized first. "It's a Chinese character."

On the back was another line of smaller cuts—not characters, but several short strokes of varying length. Qu Huaisha leaned close and looked for a long time, then took a magnifying glass from his cloth bag.

"These aren't marks," he said. "They're a route. Short strokes are stops, long strokes are water. See this long one, broken across the middle—that's the sea."

The old woman said something. Yanagiu Shizuma listened, his brow slowly drawing together.

"She says the person who sold this batch was surnamed Chen, from Quanzhou, and said these seals were left by his father. His father lived on this street for a few years when young, then went back."

"Went back," Liu Zhijiang repeated.

"To Quanzhou," Yanagiu Shizuma said. "But the things stayed here."

3. The Frost Guest

Back at the lodging, Qu Huaisha set the seal under the lamp.

"Frost Guest," he said. "An old Song-dynasty term for those who traveled with incense on winter nights. Not an official title—a trade term. Traveling with incense in winter, afraid the aroma would scatter, and afraid the people would scatter, so they went in company. One person walked a stretch, then changed at a stop."

"Changed," Wen Ye said. "Then 'the Frost Guest is not one person' isn't vague."

"It never was." Qu Huaisha turned the seal over. "Look at these strokes. Quanzhou, Mingzhou, Nara—this long one in the middle is the sea route. The last short stroke has nothing after it—whether unfinished, or dared not finish, I don't know."

Yanagiu Shizuma had said nothing all this while. Now he reached out, took the seal, and pressed his thumb on the character 'Frost.'

"My grandfather's notes mention a man surnamed Chen," he said. "Only one line. 'Mr. Chen came from the south, bringing three incense matters, not saying whence.'"

"Three matters," Wang Guanshu asked. "Which three?"

"Not written." Yanagiu Shizuma set the seal down. "My grandfather recorded things—what should be written was all written, what shouldn't be, not a word more. This line already counts as much."

Liu Zhijiang thought of the small line in the bronze box's lining. The Frost Guest is not one person. Do not gather.

"There's more than one box," he said. "Whoever engraved this line knew where the boxes were, and knew he wasn't the only one who knew."

"So he engraved the directions on the seal," Qu Huaisha said. "Not inside the box. A box will be found; a seal won't—at least he thought not."

4. Splitting Up

The rain stopped that night. The four looked over the route again under the lamp.

"The Quanzhou line—I'll go," Yanagiu Shizuma said. "If the Chen descendants are still there, they should be findable."

"You don't know the south," Wen Ye said.

"I don't," Yanagiu Shizuma admitted. "But the seal came from Quanzhou, and my grandfather's notes have only this one line about the south. Someone has to go."

Wen Ye glanced at Liu Zhijiang. Liu Zhijiang did not answer at once.

"The shop can't stay closed forever," he said. "Guanshu and I will go back to Bianliang first. Wen Ye, accompany Yanagiu to Quanzhou—there's safety in company on the road."

Wen Ye nodded.

Wang Guanshu picked up the seal, wrapped it in soft paper, and handed it to Yanagiu Shizuma.

"Take this with you," she said. "When you reach Quanzhou, don't rush to find people. Look at the shops first—old shops recognize incense seals better than people recognize people."

Yanagiu Shizuma took it and put it in an inner pocket.

"About the boxes," he said, "I won't hide anything from you. Whatever I find, I'll tell you."

"Whatever you find, don't touch it first," Liu Zhijiang said. "Look clearly, then speak."

Yanagiu Shizuma looked at him and nodded.

5. A Grain of Dust

While packing, Wang Guanshu took out the seal once more for a look. The soft paper unfolded, and a thin layer of green had clung to the bronze. She rubbed it with her fingertip, and at the hollow of the 'Frost' stroke felt a slight unevenness.

Not an engraving. Something embedded.

She took a fine needle and gently picked. A tiny grain of agarwood dust fell into her palm—dark, almost black, a third the size of a grain of rice.

"Zhijiang."

Liu Zhijiang came over, and she held the grain under his nose.

He smelled it for a long time. He had smelled the shop's incense for over twenty years—orchid, green, purple, black, yellow, white kyara—he remembered the base of every one. This grain was none of them. But it had a base—the base of the old material the Liu family shop had used in early years, sweet with a touch of astringency, like old wood after rain.

"Bianliang material," he said.

"You're sure?"

"Not sure." He carefully put the grain into a small porcelain bottle. "But it's like it. Very like."

Wang Guanshu looked at the bottle. "In the Chen family's incense seal, a grain of Bianliang incense dust is embedded."

"Mm."

"Then it's not just a matter of Quanzhou and Nara."

Liu Zhijiang capped the bottle and put it at the bottom of his traveling case. Outside, the Nara sky had gone fully dark; a bell sounded in the distance, muffled, as if from under water.

"Back to Bianliang," he said. "Back to the shop first. Which batch of material this grain came from—the shop's old accounts may have it."

He paused.

"If not—"

"If not," Wang Guanshu took it up, "then someone has already touched the shop's things before us."

—To be continued · Extra 16 follows