In the late 1980s, at the Gujin Pavilion of Panjiayuan in Kyoto, I woke up on a mahogany recliner and heard the system saying that Wu Xie had entered Beijing. The original owner, Guishou Duzi from the Department of Archeology of Peking University, had just died last night. His mind was full of memory fragments and he hadn't sorted it out when he heard someone at the door shouting if the boss was there. I sat up holding on to the armrest and looked outside. Standing in front of the counter was a young man in a gray jacket, looking down at a torn silk book - his fingers stopped for a moment when he reached the third fold.
