The next morning, Yulan woke before the shop.
For a few seconds, he didn't remember why.
Then he saw the paper crane sitting on the small table beside his bed.
Luo Ming.
The name returned with everything else.
He dressed quietly and went downstairs.
His father was already in the kitchen.
"You didn't sleep."
It wasn't a question.
Yulan tied his apron.
"Neither did you."
Guoren glanced at him.
"Fair enough."
That was all.
Neither mentioned the photograph from yesterday.
Not yet.
Chen Hao arrived carrying two steamed buns and the expression of a man who had been personally offended by the morning.
"Your neighborhood has become hostile."
Yulan looked up from the dough.
"What happened?"
"A woman accused me of stealing her bicycle."
"Did you?"
"Of course not."
"Where's the bicycle?"
Chen Hao pointed behind him.
"She found it."
Yulan waited.
"Then why are you upset?"
"Because she didn't apologize."
Yulan laughed.
His father shook his head.
"Eat your breakfast."
Chen Hao immediately brightened.
"I knew you loved me."
"I said eat."
"Same thing."
By nine, the shop was busy.
Yulan barely had time to think.
It was strangely comforting.
The ordinary work of the shop left little room for ghosts.
Fold.
Press.
Steam.
Serve.
Collect payment.
Start again.
But when the rush finally slowed, Yulan remembered the notebook Li Wei had shown him.
Luo Ming.
Former bookkeeper.
Missing after the fire.
And an old man who owed Guoren tea.
"Father."
Guoren looked up.
"Do you remember someone named Luo Ming?"
The room changed.
Not dramatically.
There was no dropped bowl or sudden silence.
His father's hand simply stopped moving.
That was enough.
"You know him."
Guoren sighed.
"I know the name."
"Where can I find him?"
"I don't know."
Yulan waited.
His father finally looked at him.
"Try the old tea market near East Wharf."
"Why?"
"Because your mother used to say Luo Ming couldn't walk past that place without buying tea."
Yulan smiled faintly.
"That's all?"
"For now."
The old tea market had changed.
Half the stalls had disappeared.
A bank stood where a noodle shop had once been.
The narrow road beside the canal had been widened.
But one tea stall remained.
Its wooden sign was crooked.
An elderly woman sat beneath it, sorting dried tea leaves.
Yulan approached.
"Excuse me."
She looked up.
"What do you want?"
"I'm looking for someone."
"Everyone is."
"A man named Luo Ming."
Her hands stopped.
Yulan noticed.
"You knew him?"
The woman studied his face.
Then asked,
"Who are you?"
"Zhang Yulan."
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
"You have your mother's eyes."
Yulan went still.
"You knew my mother?"
The woman looked toward the road.
"Everyone who worked near the river knew her."
She lowered her voice.
"Your mother wasn't supposed to be at Warehouse Nine that night."
Yulan's heart tightened.
"She was there?"
"No."
The woman shook her head.
"She went there afterward."
"After the fire."
"She was looking for someone."
"Who?"
The woman hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Luo Ming."
Across town, Li Wei was having a similar conversation.
His source was a retired customs clerk who now repaired clocks in a tiny shop.
"I don't remember Luo Ming."
Li Wei placed a copy of the old ledger on the counter.
"You don't have to remember him."
The old man's eyes moved to the swallow stamp.
His face changed.
"You shouldn't have this."
"Why?"
The man closed the ledger.
"Because people have already died over less."
Li Wei remained calm.
"Did Luo Ming survive?"
The clockmaker looked at him for a long moment.
Then said,
"Ask who paid for his house."
By late afternoon, Li Wei and Yulan met again.
This time, neither had planned it.
They stood beneath the awning of a small noodle shop while rain threatened overhead.
Yulan spoke first.
"My mother was looking for Luo Ming."
Li Wei's expression sharpened.
"My source said someone paid for his house."
"Do you know who?"
"No."
They looked at each other.
Then Yulan smiled faintly.
"We're getting nowhere."
Li Wei almost smiled.
"We're getting somewhere."
"Where?"
"East Wharf."
Yulan stared at him.
"That's where I just came from."
"Then we're going in circles."
"Apparently."
For the first time in days, they both laughed.
The rain finally began.
They stepped beneath the narrow awning together.
Their shoulders touched.
Neither moved away.
Li Wei looked at the rain.
"Do you remember..."
He stopped.
Yulan looked at him.
"Remember what?"
"The first time we met."
Yulan smiled.
"You spilled tea on me."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"You stepped backward."
"Because you startled me."
"I said excuse me."
"After you spilled the tea."
Li Wei laughed softly.
It was such a small thing.
But Yulan found himself watching him.
The rain grew heavier.
Li Wei noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Yulan looked away.
"I just haven't heard you laugh like that in a while."
Li Wei's smile faded slightly.
"I haven't had much reason to."
Yulan's eyes returned to him.
Neither spoke.
For one quiet moment, the mystery disappeared.
There was only the rain.
The warmth beneath the awning.
And the familiar person standing beside him.
Then Li Wei reached over and gently straightened the collar of Yulan's coat.
"You'll get cold."
Yulan's voice was soft.
"So will you."
"I'm used to it."
"I know."
Li Wei's hand lingered for half a second.
Then he withdrew it.
Neither mentioned the moment afterward.
They didn't need to.
That evening, the old woman from the tea market locked her stall.
Before leaving, she opened a wooden box beneath the counter.
Inside was an old photograph.
Two young women stood beside the river.
One was Yulan's mother.
The other was someone Yulan had never seen.
On the back were four words.
Luo knows the truth.
The woman turned the photograph over again.
Then quietly whispered,
"Your mother never found him."
Outside, the rain continued falling.
And somewhere in the city...
someone who had been missing for seventeen years was still alive.