Xie Lin fell silent.
Outside the window, the sunlight shifted slowly, inch by inch, from the corner of the desk to the Go Stone Bowls, then past them and across the threshold.
The rear hall was utterly still, so still that the faint rustle of falling charcoal ash could be heard, along with the footsteps of servants trudging alone beneath the distant corridor.
"Wei Zi'an." Xie Lin finally spoke, his voice much deeper than before.
"Do you believe in this principle?"
"I do."
"What if your belief is wrong?"
"Then it is wrong."
Wei Nisheng lifted his teacup. The tea had cooled slightly. He drained it, then tapped the porcelain base lightly against the desk.
"Better than believing nothing and doing nothing."
Xie Lin gazed at him without speaking for a long time.
For Wei Zi's expression was like flowing water beneath a sheet of ice.
Its depth was unknown, its course impossible to fathom.
"Heh." Xie Lin smiled.
"Wei Zi'an, do you know that when you say this, you sound exactly like two men?"
"Which two?" Wei Nisheng's expression remained unchanged; only his brows rose slightly.
"One is Qu Zi." Xie Lin slowly recited,
"For what my heart holds dear, though I die nine deaths, I shall have no regrets."
Wei Nisheng nodded, his gaze clear and Jing-like as a deep pool.
"The other is Jia Sheng," Xie Lin continued, his voice resonant as a bell.
"For the country, forget one's family; for the public good, forget one's private interests."
"Jia Sheng died young," Wei Nisheng said evenly.
"Qu Zi drowned himself in the river." Xie Lin answered at once, every word cutting to the bone.
One sat, the other leaned; neither moved an inch.
They stared at each other in silence.
For a long time, neither spoke.