Sect Year 4 · third month · day 6, then day 7 · Qingliu, the county office and the river pier
Lin had meant to leave the milestones alone. He had stopped at the first one past the wall that morning with the number still in his mouth, and it had felt like setting down a load. The habit was not so easily set down.
The numbers were cut into the stones at the same slant, each stone with its moss scraped away by someone’s careful hand. They were the only things on that road that did not change in the rain. One. Two. Three. He counted them under his breath, and the cart went on at the mule’s pace, and the rain came and went in long grey sheets.
Gao Wen could have ridden. He had the strength for it, and there was a spare mare tied to the tailboard that would have carried him without complaint. He had said so twice since the sect gate, and now he sat with his leg along the boards and did not look at the mare at all.
“The leg is better in a cart,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And so is the rest of me.” He pulled his hat lower against the drizzle. “Count, Lin Cang. You’re good at it.”
