Chapter 6: The Album

Jiang Yuan was waiting for him outside Madam Su's sitting room, with a book held in both hands.

"Anzhi," he said. "May I say something before you go in? It will take a moment."

"Sure."

"The sheet on your first night was my mother's."

"I know," said Anzhi.

Yuan's shoulders sank. "I found out last night. I'd have stopped her. I'm very sorry."

"You didn't write it."

"No. But I'm the reason she did," said Yuan. He looked at the floor.

"If the second report is true, I stay. If the first one is, I'm nobody."

Yuan swallowed. "I was told at nine that I would run the Group. I have a degree in business. I have never once cooked an egg."

"You don't have to cook an egg to be somebody," said Anzhi.

"I don't know how to be a person without a house, Anzhi."

It was said so plainly, with such an expression of honest fright, that Anzhi felt his temper go out of him.

He felt in his jacket pocket and found half a steamed bun, wrapped in paper, from this morning.

He held it out.

Yuan looked at it.

"It's from the kitchen," said Anzhi. "The butler gives me one if I'm good. I only ate the top half."

Yuan took it. He ate a bite, very carefully.

"It's good," he said, astonished.

"It's a bun. They make them every morning."

"I never asked." Yuan swallowed. "I never asked what the staff ate. Why didn't I ask?"

"Because nobody told you to," said Anzhi. "Go and eat the rest somewhere nobody can see you."

Yuan went off down the corridor, holding the paper with both hands.

Madam Su's sitting room was warm and full of silk cushions, and smelled of white tea.

"Shoes," she said, from her chair, without looking up.

Anzhi took them off at the door. He had only one pair of socks that were not his friend's, and they were thin.

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