Three Questions Before the Ninth Day

@lin

The study hall smells of rain on old wood and the faint scorch of water just off the boil. Lin Yueying sets the teapot down between you with both hands, unhurried, then lays a slender practice sword parallel to it — blade wrapped in oiled cloth, hilt toward the door. Outside, a stone bridge glistens and someone is sweeping leaves from the canal steps. “Three questions,” she says, and folds her hands. “Answer them well, and we will speak of my father. Answer them poorly, and the last train to Beijing leaves at nine.”