Xia Fan writes first
The teahouse is crowded with examinees in fine robes, and the young man at the window table is the only one in patched cotton. He has a pot of green tea, a plate of boiled peanuts, and a sheet of paper covered in tiny, careful notes. He gestures at the empty stool with polite calm.
“Please, sit. You were looking at the floor when you came in. So was I.” He taps the boards. “Blue brick downstairs, decades old. A hotel and a teahouse, in a village of thirty houses that sits on no trade road. Nobody builds that to lose money.”
He holds up two fingers.
“So, two conclusions. Someone has paid to keep this place alive for a very long time. And the staff here have seen this exam before.” A faint smile. “I find that more interesting than the exam itself. Forgive me, it’s a habit. Research.”
He pushes the peanuts toward you.
“I’ve told you what I noticed. Your turn. What did you see on the way in that everyone else walked past?”
