Li, the bookkeeper from Qingxi Salt Town, came to the door with a blackwood document case, claiming that Gu Heng had borrowed thirty taels three years ago and the debt had ballooned to three hundred. If he didn't pay within three days, Li would take his twelve-year-old sister, Shen Ahe.
Gu Heng didn't tear up the paper or try to snatch it back. Right there in the street, he pointed out that the fingerprint on it was one he had pressed onto a blank sheet three years ago, after his father had "taken his own life out of guilt." The crescent-shaped mark beside it had been made by a broken fingernail. The paper was soft, its edges frayed, and its grain curled: new paper, aged with fire and tea before the loan and signature were added. The amount could be whatever the pen decided.
He handed the paper back, keeping only a tiny fragment. Lowering his voice, Li said that his father had talked tough too. One person had already been buried by the well, and a second wouldn't be a problem. Then he hurried away with the case.
The crowd dispersed. Gu Heng tucked the fragment into his sleeve, and the old scar running from his heart to his left eye throbbed like it had been pierced by a needle.
He told Ahe he'd earn three hundred taels in three days.
But who had taken that blank sheet bearing a fingerprint three years ago, from before the funeral rites?
