Chapter 8: The Binder

Zhuang Bo had a key on a red string around his neck, and he held it out to Ye Ming with a shaking hand.

"I'm only the printer, Brother Ye," he said. "I print the pages and file them. I don't read them."

"Then you won't mind if I read them," said Ye Ming.

It was the middle of the night, and the Hall was dark.

The tea shop downstairs had pulled its shutters, and the stairwell smelled of cold leaves.

Ye Ming carried the brass lamp up the stairs, and its candle burned small and level.

Gu Chen walked beside him as a faint cold and a trail of wet on the steps, and said nothing.

In the back room of the office stood a steel cabinet that Ye Ming had passed a thousand times.

Zhuang Bo unlocked it with both hands.

Inside, on three shelves, stood nine ring binders in black, one for each family, and a tenth in red.

"Which is hers?" said Ye Ming.

"All of them are hers," said Zhuang Bo miserably. "All nine families. The black ones are the sittings. The red one is the money."

Ye Ming took down the first black binder and laid it open on the desk beside the lamp.

He sat, and a cold weight settled at his back, a chest against his shoulder blades and a chin above his ear.

Nobody had read over his shoulder in years.

He leaned into it a little, and Gu Chen's hand came to rest at the nape of his neck.

The pages inside were typed, one for each family, and each had a heading in bold.

CLOSURE SITTING, TEMPLATE A.

Under it ran a list of sentences, with a blank for the name.

The deceased is at peace. The deceased is not angry. The deceased asks that no one blame anyone. It was the storm.

Gu Chen's cold went still against Ye Ming's shoulder.

"Read me the next," he said.

Ye Ming turned the page.

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