Chapter 20: Three Vouchers

The lane head came to the stall at noon the next day, with his seal in a silk bag.

He was a short, stooped man who had served Willow Lane for thirty years.

He stood in front of my copper pot with the whole line of customers behind him, and he did not order noodles.

"The salt merchant's steward came to my door last night," he said. "He left a purse on my table."

My stomach dropped.

"I returned it to him this morning," said the lane head.

"A man who sends a toy horse to mock a wedding is a poor man to be bought by."

Chengzhi came out of the gate with the register paper in his hand.

"The third name must be a man of standing," he said carefully.

"The clerk will accept a lane head's seal, if the lane stands behind it."

"Then the lane will stand," said the eldest auntie, and she pushed to the front and pressed her thumb into the ink pad.

The cobbler's wife did it next.

Then the cobbler, who held his thumb on the pad a long moment.

Then a woman I did not know, then a boy, then the two who had carried the pot.

One by one, they came forward, and the thumbprints spread across the bottom of the paper in a long row of black ovals.

My throat closed up.

I was still standing there with the ladle in my hand when a carriage rolled up the lane.

It had a blue curtain and the Hua crest on the side.

The line parted without anyone being asked.

The salt merchant got down.

He was a heavy man with a smooth face and rings on four fingers.

His steward held an umbrella over him though the sky was clear.

"A touching display," he said. "Lu Chengzhi. A word."

"Say it here," Chengzhi said.

The merchant's eyes passed over him and settled on me.

They went from my face down to my apron and my floury arms, and a faint smile pulled at his mouth.

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