The wind's howl and the cranes' cries set nerves on edge; every tree and blade of grass seemed an enemy soldier.
The little fish that stirred the waves swam freely through clear water.
Every day, Wei Nisheng arrived at the duty office at Mao Hour and left at You Hour, neither early nor late.
Wang Kan had learned his lesson over the past few days, too, and no longer took offense at the colleagues who went out of their way to avoid him.
Each day, he buried himself in piles of old papers, taking the original memorials of Zhang Mao, Li Han, and Zhao Ding
and collating and copying them clean, word by word, in preparation for their inclusion in the volume Granary Textual Collations.
That day, Wei Nisheng returned home after work. He had just stepped out of the carriage and pushed open the courtyard gate
when Qu Niang came forward to remove his cloak.
As she shook the fine snow from it, she tilted her chin toward the main room.
"Young master, there's a visitor I don't recognize. He's been waiting for almost half an hour."
Wei Nisheng followed her gaze.
A man in his fifties sat in the main room, fair-faced, with a sparse beard and an amiable smile.
He sat without impatience or agitation, slowly savoring a cup of tea.
Seeing Wei Nisheng enter, the man hurriedly set down his teacup
and rose to offer a cupped-hand bow, observing every courtesy.
"Wei Compiler, forgive this humble official for calling unannounced."
Wei Nisheng did not recognize him, so he glanced at the calling card resting on the table.
It was made of gold-flecked paper, with only a name printed on the front:
[Shen Duan]
It was not a handwritten visiting card, but a printed calling card.