Chapter 10: The Master's Letter

Pingan read the letter aloud, sitting on the bed with a blanket around his shoulders.

His hands were not steady, so Zhuoran held one corner of the paper for him.

"Pingan," the letter began.

"If you are reading this, he asked you to bring him home, and you did."

"That means I was right about the ferry, and I am sorry I was not alive to say it."

"I never told you everything about Feng Zhuoran, because I could not prove it."

"When I caught him in the old ferry house twenty-two years ago, he was not hunting anyone."

"He was sitting on the floor with his sword across his knees, weeping."

"A ghost who murdered three hundred people does not weep at the floor."

"I spent eleven years looking for proof. I found a stone memorial with three hundred names."

"I found a survivor's tale that the village does not believe."

"And I found this. The dead of that night had no sword wounds. They were found frozen, with frost on their lips."

Pingan stopped.

He looked up.

"Frost," he said. "Like the old man next door."

"Go on," said Zhuoran. His voice was very quiet.

"I could never make the Bureau listen, and I could never prove it was not his hand."

"So I took him away, and I kept him safe, and I waited."

"Do not let the Bureau take him before he remembers. What he needs is near the water."

"If I am wrong about him, you will have to be the one to stop him. I know you will do it."

"If I am right, be kind. He has been alone for a very long time."

"Eat something. Your master."

Pingan put the letter down.

He found he was crying and wiped his face with his sleeve.

Zhuoran sat with his hands flat on his knees.

"He knew," he said at last.

"He suspected."

"For twenty-two years he suspected I was innocent, and he never told me. He let me think..."

"He couldn't prove it. If he'd told you, and he was wrong..."

"I know." Zhuoran drew a long breath. "I know why. It's just..."

He pressed his knuckles to his mouth.

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