Sect Year 2 · first month · the twenty-third life: the Reincarnation Hall, Qiao’s ninth year
“Witness the fall.”
“Echo of a Past Life.”
The basket on his back was too big for him, and Qiao was nine years old. The strap had worn a red line across the top of each shoulder, and the papers inside knocked against his spine at every step. He didn’t mind. He had climbed the stair every morning since the first frost, and every morning he had counted it, and every morning the count had come out the same. Ninety-six steps from the lower gate to the long grey door of the Reincarnation Hall. A boy who could carry the Hall-Master’s books up all ninety-six without stopping was a boy who was trusted.
The stone was cold through his straw sandals. Mist lay in the valley below and climbed over the edge of the stair in slow white ropes, and under the mist he could hear the river, a low sound that never stopped. At the fortieth step his breath ran short. He stopped, shifted the strap, and felt the weight drop onto his hips. Something in his back already knew where the balance lay. He let the basket find it and did not wonder how he knew. He was too pleased with the count to wonder about anything else.
