Chinese priests, like their Japanese counterparts, often pursued other careers before entering the monastery, yet Sano was surprised to learn that Abbot Liu Yun had done so. He had the ethereal serenity that Sano associated with priests who’d taken their vows early and had limited contact with secular life. His voice carried a faint echo of shadowed worship halls. His tilted eyes, which did not quite focus on the same point, seemed to behold a landscape visible only to him. But Abbot Liu Yun was cognizant of city affairs, as his next words proved.

“I understand that you are investigating the murder of the barbarian. Is there some way in which I might assist you in this endeavor?”

Sano moved up the pier, separating himself and Liu Yun from the crowd. It was risky to speak to any foreigner alone, but Sano took the chance to further his investigation and indulge his curiosity. “I’m questioning everyone who had a connection with Jan Spaen and the Dutch. Your name has come up as someone with a grievance against them.”

Placidly the abbot contemplated the festivities. The priests were setting fire to a paper barn full of paper animals, chanting as it flamed and smoked. The junk’s crew had extended a long platform from the prow over the water. Upon this, an acrobat performed somersaults and handsprings.

“Ah, yes,” Liu Yun said, nodding slowly. “Nagasaki, the great international port, is really just a small, gossipy town. My personal affairs, like those of everyone else, are grist for the local rumor mill.”

“And exactly what is this grievance that has inspired the rumors?” Sano asked.

The priests lit the paper money and cast burning fragments into the sea. Liu Yun watched with benign detachment. “Jan Spaen was the man immediately but not solely responsible for the death of my only brother.”

A series of booms rocked the earth as rockets shot up from the ship and burst in great showers of red, gold, and green stars. The crowd gasped and exclaimed. The colored light illuminated Liu Yun’s serene face.

“How and when did your brother die?” Sano asked, surprised that Liu Yun could speak of the death with such equanimity. His own father had died a year and a half ago, but a part of him would never recover from the loss.

“The story of my brother is really the story of recent Chinese history,” Abbot Liu Yun said. “I am seventy-five years old; he would have been seventy-three now. Thus we came of age during the decline of the great Ming dynasty. If you are familiar with Chinese history, you know that it follows a predictable cycle. A dynasty, founded by a strong leader, rises to power. The leader receives the Mandate of Heaven and becomes emperor. Eventually the dynasty loses its reigning vigor. The problems begin.”