The Six Records of Agarwood — Side Story VI: Frost's Descent

The Six Records of Agarwood — side story, part six

I. Frost's Descent

It rained on the day of Frost's Descent.

Liu Zhiqiang was in the shop sorting the stove-ash left after the incense-scattering rite. Six stoves, six packets of ash, each wrapped in plain paper, set on the top shelf. He rarely touched them, only took them down on the first and fifteenth of each month to open and smell. The ash had long lost its scent, yet he still smelled it — what lay underneath was a thin breath of charred wood, the bone of the agarwood.

The door was pushed open. The visitor was soaked through, holding an old camphor-wood chest to his breast, its corners bound in copper that had gone green.

"Master Liu," the visitor set the chest on the counter and wiped his face. "From Quanzhou. The Lin family's ship, docked last month. The old man on board said this chest was pressed at the bottom of the hold for three generations; no one dared open it. There's an inscription on the lid."

Liu Zhiqiang looked down. In the center of the lid, a line of small regular-script — steeped in rain-moisture, the characters had gone black:

From Wen's, to the Liu house of Bianliang — open on Frost's Descent.

His finger paused on the character "Wen."

II. Inside the Chest

By the time Wang Guanshu arrived, the rain had eased. She brought a square of old felt and moved the chest from the counter onto it, saying camphor-wood warps in damp and should first be allowed to settle.

"Wen's," she read it once. "Wen An's line?"

"Wen An was a clerk; his sister Wen Nuan ran Wen's Spice & Medicine Shop in Bianliang," Liu Zhiqiang said. "But this chest came from Quanzhou. How would Wen's goods take the sea route?"

The chest was not locked, only pinned with a bamboo skewer. Drawing it, inside were oiled papers wrapping a ledger, a few bits of broken incense, and a small wooden box. The ledger's cover read "Wen's Spice In-and-Out Register," in running-script with an urgent edge to the brush.

Wang Guanshu put on gloves and turned page by page. At the middle she stopped.

"Look at this entry."

The ledger page recorded:

On Frost's Descent night, divide the orchid. One wisp entrusted to the ship, bound for Quanzhou. The rest stays in Bianliang.

Beneath, a line of smaller characters, lighter ink, as if added later:

The orchid must not be gathered; divided, it is at peace. Recorded by Wen An.

Liu Zhiqiang took the ledger and held it to the lamp. The two characters "divide the orchid" were written heavily, the brush-tip nearly tearing the paper. "Orchid" was the orchid of Lan She Dai. At the scattering rite, each of the five incenses contributed a wisp; the mother incense Lan She Dai was untouched, attested only by the fingerprint. Yet this ledger recorded a Northern Song affair.

"Wen An divided a wisp of orchid-incense in Quanzhou," he said.

III. The Wooden Box

The small wooden box held no incense.

At its bottom lay a layer of dried orchid leaves, their veins still there, crumbling at a touch. Embedded among the leaves was half a wooden seal, its face carved with the character "record," only one half of it.

Wang Guanshu drew the scent-seal from her satchel. The two halves met — seamless.

"The Wen house's wooden seal," she said. "The other half is in Bianliang. This half went with the ship."

Liu Zhiqiang said nothing. He remembered the night of the scattering rite, when Yagyu Shizuma surrendered the five incense fragments Kukiku had hidden, and said one thing: it matters not in whose hands the incense rests, but who is willing to divide it.

"On Frost's Descent night, divide the orchid," he repeated the ledger line. "Wen An divided it for the Liu family. The ship to Quanzhou, the incense south. Lan She Dai in the Shosoin is a ruler; a wisp of orchid-incense divided south is to tell those who come after: there is more than one ruler."

Wang Guanshu set the half seal back in the box and turned the ledger to its last page. A thin sheet was tucked in the end; on it was drawn only a burner, with three sticks of incense in it — one long, two short. Beside it a line of small characters:

The long one is the mother; the short ones are divided keeping. The three are not lit at the same time.

"This is a chart of dividing incense," she said. "Not of gathering it."

IV. Ash and Ink

The rain had stopped and the sky was fully dark. Liu Zhiqiang spread the ledger on the table; Wang Guanshu sat opposite, copying page by page. At the entry "on Frost's Descent night, divide the orchid," her brush-tip paused.

"You said Wen An divided the orchid-incense to Quanzhou. And after?"

"After, the incense became ash," Liu Zhiqiang said. "But the ledger remains. While the ledger remains, the dividing of incense remains."

He rose and took a packet of stove-ash from the top shelf — collected from the six stoves on the night of the scattering rite. Opening the plain paper, the ash was gray-white, extremely fine. He pinched a little and set it on the ink of the two characters "divide the orchid" on the ledger page. The ash did not cling to the ink; a light breath scattered it.

"The incense cannot discern the ink," he said. "But those who discern the ink still remember the incense."

Wang Guanshu folded the copied sheet and tucked it into her notebook. She glanced at the half seal and said, "I'll take this half with me. The other half of Wen's is in Bianliang; someone must place them together. Not joined into one whole seal — just placed together."

"Placed together, not merged," Liu Zhiqiang said.

"Right. Keep the divisions."

V. The Hook

The man who delivered the chest left at first light the next day. Before leaving he said the Lin family of Quanzhou still keeps an identical camphor-wood chest, its lid inscribed "open on Frost's Descent, do not open." The Lin elder said that chest has never been opened, nor dared to be.

Liu Zhiqiang saw him to the lane-mouth, and on returning found a line of water-written characters on the door board — drawn by Wang Guanshu with her finger dipped in rainwater before she left:

Divide the orchid at Frost's Descent; drink tea at Grain Rain.

He smiled slightly and wiped the characters away with a rag. At the last stroke his hand stopped. Between the boards of the door was caught a dry orchid leaf — whether it had come from the chest or been blown in by the wind, he could not say. He took the leaf down and placed it in the empty wooden box, laid beside the half-seal's hollow.

As the box-lid closed, he heard a ship's horn in the distance. Bianliang has no sea, yet in the rain of Frost's Descent, every sound seems to come from far-off water.

He thought of the burner on the last page of the ledger. Three sticks of incense, one long and two short, not lit at the same time.

Not lit at the same time.

He set the wooden box back on the shelf, alongside the six packets of ash. Seven things: six packets of ash, one box. The ash is scattered; the box is sealed.

The rain began again.

— unfinished · continues in Side Story 7