The dusk light filtered through the paper lattice windows of Elder Wu DeZheng’s private office. He cast long amber shadows across mountains of rolled scrolls and ink-stained ledgers.
Elder Wu sat behind his massive cedar desk, sipping lukewarm chrysanthemum tea from a cracked celadon cup. The steam rose past his bulbous nose and tired, sagging jowls. He looked like an ancient river toad that had barely survived being dredged from the mud.
A soft, measured knock rattled the doorframe.
Lin Ke stepped into the office, his footsteps making no sound upon the straw matting. He wore the standard blue-collared inner student robes now, clean and pressed. Even so, his left arm remained pinned in a discreet sling beneath the broad sleeve.
Elder Wu paused with his teacup halfway to his mouth. His small, piggy eyes traveled up and down Lin Ke’s frame with his usual mixture of deep tiredness and lingering office panic.
“If you’re here to file another Form Eighty-Eight C,” Wu wheezed, setting the cup down with a clatter, “I’m telling you right now, I don’t have the heart for it. My liver has aged ten years since Tuesday. I spent all morning cleaning red stone off my slippers.”
