Extra 17 · Quanzhou Letter

1. Sending the Letter

The rain stopped before dawn. Liu Zhijiang finished the letter and read it aloud to Wang Guanshu.

"To the manager of Wen Ji Fragrance and Medicine Shop, Quanzhou. This is Liu's Agarwood and Sandalwood Shop in Bianliang, inquiring about an old matter of a box of agarwood from the winter month twenty years ago. The goods list has no payment, but the back of the account bears the 'Quan Ji' seal. If any old member of the Wen family knows of this, please reply with a note."

Wang Guanshu said it was too short.

"Short is what gets a reply," Liu Zhijiang said, sealing the envelope. "A long letter looks like debt collection."

The two parted at the post office door. She went to the restoration room, he returned to the shop. In the afternoon, Wen Ye's call came first, saying he had asked local colleagues in Quanzhou: the sign of Wen Ji Fragrance and Medicine Shop had not been hung since the Republic era, the old house was in an alley in the south of the city, and people still lived there—an old lady surnamed Wen, over eighty, hard of hearing.

"I've sent the letter," Liu Zhijiang said.

"Sending it is useless," Wen Ye said, flipping papers on the other end. "The old lady can't read; the grocery store at the alley entrance reads for her. You might as well wait for rain as wait for a reply."

2. Returned Sample

On the seventh day, the reply came. Not a letter, but a package.

Wrapped in three layers of kraft paper, inside was an old iron box lined with dried lotus leaves, on which lay a small packet of agarwood sample wrapped in red paper with the words "Returned" written in brush. There was also half a page of a damaged ledger, its edges charred black, as if rescued from fire.

Liu Zhijiang brought the sample close to his nose.

Agarwood, Hui'an type, quite old, resin not thick, with a slight earthy smell. Not the same batch as the speck in his book, but from a nearby origin.

"She returned it," Wang Guanshu said. "What does returning the sample mean?"

"It means the goods don't match," Liu Zhijiang spread the damaged ledger under the lamp. "She has the original sample; by comparing, she knows what we sent is not from that box."

The damaged ledger was only half a page, the handwriting shaky, from an elderly hand. It recorded:

On the 19th of the winter month, received one deposited box, agarwood four liang seven qian, unsigned. The depositor said, keep for now, will retrieve next spring. Spring did not come, the person did not return.

Below that, another line in fainter ink:

Later, one speck missing from the box. Did not dare ask, recorded it.

3. A 'Wang' Character

Wang Guanshu turned the half page over and held it to the lamp. There was no ink on the back, only a very faint pencil trace, as if someone had written on another paper and the pressure came through.

"Look."

Liu Zhijiang looked. The pencil trace was half of three characters, the clearest being a "Wang".

"The depositor's surname is Wang," he said.

Wang Guanshu said nothing. She took something from her随身册子—a copy of a note by Wang Shouzhuo, kept as a file in the restoration room. She placed the two side by side under the lamp.

The last horizontal stroke of the "Wang" character: heavy start, upward flick at the end. The "Wang" on the damaged ledger was the same.

"My father's handwriting," she said evenly. "He went to Quanzhou twenty years ago."

Liu Zhijiang closed the book, then opened it again. The speck was still in the porcelain bottle, quiet.

"Deposit, not purchase," he said. "Your father stored a box of agarwood at Wen Ji, agreed to retrieve it next spring. He didn't."

"The missing speck," Wang Guanshu said, "he took it with him."

4. Going South

Rain fell again at night. The two checked everything they could in the shop.

Twenty years ago in the winter month, Wang Shouzhuo went south to Quanzhou, deposited a box of agarwood at Wen Ji, left no full name, only a Wang character. Did not retrieve it the next year. One speck missing from the box, the old manager of Wen recorded it in the ledger, did not dare ask. That speck, twenty years later, came into Liu Zhijiang's hands.

"Where was it for the twenty years in between?" Wang Guanshu asked.

"In your father's hands," Liu Zhijiang said. "Before he died, it was not on him. He put it elsewhere, waiting for someone who could recognize it."

"Why deposit it in Quanzhou?"

"Because Quanzhou is a seaport," Liu Zhijiang slipped the damaged ledger into the book. "The Six Fragrances spread out, going by sea, Quanzhou is the first stop. He stored it there to leave himself a way out, and to leave a way for this speck to go."

Wang Guanshu looked at the rain outside the window.

"Liu Shengjingma went south, also taking this route."

"So we must get ahead of him," Liu Zhijiang said. "Not to snatch things, but to first understand why your father stored it and why he didn't retrieve it."

He picked up the phone and sent Wen Ye a text, just one sentence: Quanzhou Wen residence, we're going.

The reply came quickly, also a short sentence:

"I've booked the tickets. The day after tomorrow. The old lady is hard of hearing, bring paper and pen."

5. In the Rain

The night before departure, Liu Zhijiang stayed alone in the shop.

He poured the speck from the porcelain bottle into his palm. Under the lamp, it was neither bright nor dark, just as agarwood should be.

He thought of Wang Shouzhuo. A painting restorer, dealing with paper and silk all his life, finally stored a box of incense a thousand miles away, leaving no full name.

Keep the part, not the whole. Parting is separation, and also propriety.

He put the speck back into the bottle and sealed the stopper.

The rain outside grew denser. Wang Guanshu called from upstairs for him to turn off the light. He answered, put his hand on the switch, then paused.

Beside the porcelain bottle, the corner of the damaged ledger was lifted by the wind. The pencil-traced "Wang" faced up, like an unfinished surname, or an unfinished sentence.

He turned off the light.

In the darkness, rain fell on the tiles of Bianliang, and in the alleys of Quanzhou, the same sound.

—To be continued · Extra 18