“A terrible . . . er . . . creature,” said Fan. “I’m not sure that the word ‘creature’ suits the case, it’s unlikely that the Tiger has any essential substance as we understand it. But we have to call him something, do we not?”

“You have already encountered him,” said Arina. It wasn’t a question, but Fan nodded.

“Yes, yes, yes. An old, painful story. Eightysomething years ago . . .” He fell silent for a moment and something genuinely heartfelt showed through the affected jollity. “I had a friend. A very good friend, we were inseparable. These days we would be considered lovers, but then the idea never even occurred to anyone—including us. But on the spiritual level we were very close, closer than married couples or brothers.”

Fan put down his cup and looked at Arina.

“He was a Prophet and I was the only one to hear his first prophecy. Prophets often forget what they prophesy and only remember some time later. But Li remembered his prophecy. So we were able to discuss it . . . and decide what to do. Li was greatly concerned that I too had heard the prophecy and was therefore doomed to become the Tiger’s victim.”

“You didn’t think of telling the prophecy to humans?”

“No,” said Fan. “We didn’t. Not a single human has heard it . . . and neither has any Other apart from me. When my time comes, I shall take it with me into the Twilight and bury it there.”

“I see,” Arina said, nodding. After a brief pause, she added: “Those were hard times.”

“There are no easy times,” Fan remarked.

“The very existence of the Celestial Empire as a unitary state was in doubt.”

“The Celestial Empire is now divided,” said Fan.

“But perhaps the outcome could have been worse?” Arina asked insinuatingly.

Fan poured himself some more tea. Then he said: “We knew that if the prophecy remained with us, the Tiger would come. The legends are preserved in the chronicles—and we could surmise why some prophets had preferred to die without telling anyone what they had foreseen in the future. We did not want to die. And we started searching for a way out . . .”

“The simplest way out is to change the prophecy,” said Arina. “I had a similar case. It threatened . . . a very bad future for Russia. We told the prophecy to humans, and then I did something to prevent it from being realized.”

“Then it was not a prophecy, but a prediction,” Fan said, with a shrug. “A prophecy that has been proclaimed to humans cannot be annulled. It will be realized.”

“It was a prophecy and I changed it!” Arina said firmly.

Fan pondered for a moment. Then he looked at Arina in a different way.