Six Agarwood Records · Tale Six: Frost's Descent

Six Agarwood Records · Tale Six: Frost's Descent

1 · Frost's Descent

Rain fell on the day of Frost's Descent.

Liu Zhiqiang was in the shop arranging the incense ash left over from the scent-distribution ritual. Six incense burners, six bundles of ash, each wrapped in coarse paper, placed on the top shelf. He did not move them often; only on the first and fifteenth of the month would he take them down, open them, and smell them. The ash had long since lost its fragrance, yet he kept smelling it. What he was smelling was the faint breath of burned wood beneath the ash — the bones of agarwood.

The door was pushed open. A man entered, soaked through, cradling an old camphor chest whose corners were bound in copper that had turned green.

"Mr. Liu." The man set the chest on the counter and wiped his face. "From Quanzhou. The Lin family's ship docked last month. The old man on the deck said this chest had been in the bottom of the cargo for three generations; no one dared open it. And there are characters carved on the lid." Liu Zhiqiang looked down. In the center of the lid was a line in small, neat script; when the rain's dampness touched it, the characters darkened: "Record of the Wen family to the Liu family in Bianliang; to be opened on Frost's Descent."

His finger paused over the character "Wen."

2 · Inside the Chest

Wang Wanshu arrived after the rain had eased. She brought an old felt pad, moved the chest from the counter onto it, and said camphor wood warps in damp air — let it breathe first.

"The Wen record." She read the line once. "Wen An's hand?" "Wen An was a hired hand at the shop; his sister Wen Nuan ran the Wen apothecary in Bianliang," Liu Zhiqiang said. "But this chest came from Quanzhou. How did the Wen apothecary's goods travel by sea?" The chest was not locked, but held shut by a bamboo peg. He pulled the peg; inside were oiled paper, and within the oiled paper a rolled-up record, a few broken pieces of incense, and a small wooden box. On the cover of the record was written: "In-and-Out Record of the Wen Apothecary," in a continuous hand, the stroke ends hurried.

Wang Wanshu put on gloves and turned the pages one by one. In the middle she stopped.

"Look at this entry." The page recorded: "On the night of Frost's Descent, the orchid was divided. One strand was placed on the ship, to Quanzhou. The rest remained in Bian."

Beneath it was a small line, in lighter ink, as if added later: "Orchid incense is not to be gathered; if divided, it settles. Wen An."

Liu Zhiqiang took the record and angled it toward the lamp. The two characters "divided the orchid" were written with weight, the brush tip nearly piercing the paper. And "orchid" meant the Nha Trang orchid. In the scent-distribution ritual, one strand of each of the five scents had been divided; but the mother scent, Nha Trang, was untouched, attested only by its fingerprint. Yet what this record set down was a matter from the Northern Song.

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

3 · The Small Box

There was no incense in the small wooden box.

Its bottom was lined with a layer of dried orchid leaves, their edges still intact, scattering at a touch. In the center of the leaves was set half a wooden ring, its face carved with the character "Wen," and only half of it.

Wang Wanshu took the incense ring from her cloth bag. The two halves fit exactly, without crack or gap.

"The Wen record's wooden ring," she said. "Its other half is in Bianliang. And this half accompanied the ship." Liu Zhiqiang said nothing. He remembered the night of the scent-distribution ritual, when Liu Shengjingma handed over what Kiyokiko had hidden of the five scents' crumbs, and said one word: it does not matter in whose hand the incense is; what matters is who comes forward to divide it.

"On the night of Frost's Descent, the orchid was divided," he repeated the record's line. "Wen An divided it from the Liu family. The ship to Quanzhou, the incense to the south. Nha Trang in Shoushuien is the measure; and one strand of orchid incense was sent south, a message to those who come after: the measure is not one." Wang Wanshu returned the half ring to the box, then took the record and turned to its last page. On the last page was a thin sheet tucked in; on it a drawing of a single censer, and in the censer three sticks of incense, one long and two short. Beside it a small line: "The long is the mother, the two short guard the division. The three are not burned at one time."

"This is the drawing of distribution," she said. "Not of gathering."

4 · Ash and Ink

By the time the rain stopped, night had fallen thick. Liu Zhiqiang spread the record on the counter, and Wang Wanshu sat opposite, copying page after page. When she reached the entry "On the night of Frost's Descent, the orchid was divided," her brush tip paused.

"You say Wen An sent the orchid incense to Quanzhou — and then?" "The incense became ash," Liu Zhiqiang said. "But the record remains. And if the record remains, the division of the incense remains." He rose and took a bundle of ash from the top shelf — gathered on the night of the distribution ritual from the six censers. He opened the coarse paper; the ash was gray-white, exceedingly fine. He took a little between his fingers and placed it on the ink of the words "divided the orchid" on the record's page. The ash did not stick to the ink; a light breath blew it away.

"Incense does not distinguish ink," he said. "But whoever distinguishes ink still remembers the incense." Wang Wanshu folded the copied page and put it in her notebook. She looked at the half ring and said: "This half I take. The other half of the Wen record is in Bianliang; someone must place the two in one spot. Not joined into a whole ring — but placed in one spot." "In one spot, not joined," Liu Zhiqiang said.

"Yes. Keeping the share."

5 · The Hook

The man who brought the chest left early the next morning. Before leaving he said the Lin family in Quanzhou still kept a camphor chest like it, carved on its lid: "To be opened on Frost's Descent; not to be opened." And the family elder said that chest had never been opened, and no one dared open it.

Liu Zhiqiang saw him to the alley entrance. When he returned he saw a line written in water on the shop door — Wang Wanshu had traced it before leaving with a finger dipped in rainwater: "We divided the orchid at Frost's Descent, and drink tea in Grain Rain."

He smiled and took a rag to wipe away the characters. At the last stroke his hand stopped. In the door's crack was tucked a dried orchid leaf, unknown whether it had come out of the chest or been brought by the wind. He removed it and placed it in the empty wooden box, beside the carved hollow where the half ring had rested.

When the lid closed he heard a ship's horn in the distance. There is no sea in Bianliang, yet in the Frost's Descent rain every sound seemed to come from very far away on the water.

He remembered the censer on the record's last page. Three sticks of incense, one long and two short, not burned at one time.

Not burned at one time.

He returned the small wooden box to the shelf, in a row beside the six bundles of ash. Seven items: six bundles of ash, and one box. The ash scattered, the box sealed.

The rain began to fall again.

— To be continued · Tale Seven

> This is a serialized fictional work from "Six Agarwood Records"; the characters and plot are invented. The knowledge of agarwood and aromatics herein is drawn from public sources and does not constitute investment or medical advice.