Sect Year 2 · ninth month · night of day 14 · the twenty-fifth life: the valley under Silent Terrace, Ah Dong’s fifty-ninth year
Winter came into the valley early that year. The frost lay white on the terraces every morning and did not lift until the sun stood well above Silent Terrace. The children of the upper houses had been sent down to the lower terrace. There, the walls kept the wind off, so that the house at the top of the bean rows could be quiet.
Fen came up in the grey of the morning with a pot of broth wrapped in a cloth. She set it on the step and did not come in. Her face had hardened over the years into the look of someone who had long ago decided what she would say and when. She looked at the closed shutters for a long moment before she spoke.
“Shall I send word down the valley?”
“Not yet,” said Ah Dong. “When it’s time, I’ll ask you.”
Fen nodded. She had heard him say that before, at the forge, in the voice that meant the thing was already decided. She left the broth on the step and went back down the path without looking round, which was how she walked when she didn’t want to be asked to stay.
