The records room smelled of dust, glue, and cold tea. Tao unlocked the inner cabinet and set the ledger on a reading table, but he kept his hand on its cover.
“Bai says the order came from the disposal stack,” he said. “That does not make it authentic.”
“It doesn’t make it false either,” Wei replied. “We want to compare the impressions, not accuse anyone from a copy.”
Bai laid the pages beside the record book. He had kept the torn corners aligned and the packet tied. The first order’s paper edge matched a missing notch along the disposal sheet. Tao checked it himself, then pulled the lamp closer.
“One page carries a seal pressed twice,” Bai said. “The first impression is clear. The second smudge covers the issuing office.”
Tao turned the paper toward the light. “That lower crescent nick belongs to Zhao’s laboratory stamp.”
Yan kept his hands behind his back. He had wanted to confront Zhao since reading the order. Now Zhao’s name sat on the paper between them, and a clerk was deciding what could be proved about it.
Wei said, “Can we compare it with the archive copy in front of everyone?”
