Chapter 12: The Thirtieth

On the thirtieth of November, Zhe woke before the light and lay listening to the stove tick.

He had slept deeply, which surprised him.

He dressed in the faded sweater, folded the two spare shirts into the box, and put the tool roll on top.

The tuning fork went into his breast pocket, where it always went.

It took ten minutes to empty the annex.

Three years, and it fit in one cardboard box and a roll of canvas.

He washed the mug and left it upside down on the drainer.

At nine Lu Wen came down the lawn with an envelope and stood in the doorway in his good coat.

"Your termination letter, Mr. Ning. And the confirmation from the bank."

Zhe read the sheet.

Four million yuan, value date today, to the account of Ning Zhe.

Under it, in the memo line, someone had typed the words Completion of contract, and then a name.

Not the old name.

His own.

"Mr. Shao gave the instruction himself, at six this morning," Lu Wen said.

Zhe folded the page into his shirt pocket.

"Thank you for the three years," he said. "You were kind to me."

"I was not, sir. I was correct." Lu Wen bowed, a little stiffly. "I would like to have been more."

They shook hands.

Zhe lifted the box and went up the lawn for the last time.

The lake was pewter and flat under a low white sky, and a few late leaves were drifting on it.

Yu was waiting under the porch with his arms crossed over his chest.

He had dressed carefully, a grey wool coat and a white scarf, and his face looked scrubbed and sleepless.

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