Chapter Three: Half a Key to Tidelistening House

Yanci swallowed. “That what my mother and your father died protecting will prove nothing. That even if I return, I will still be another lie manufactured by the Shen family.” At the end of the hall, an old clock struck one. Jibai set down the congee he had protected throughout their escape. It was cold. A heat-sensitive pattern reappeared at the bottom of the bowl: the symbol for space seventeen. “When congee cools, the door opens,” he read. Both looked at the seventeenth seascape painting. Behind it sat an old safe box. The token released its outer lock, revealing a crescent-shaped keyhole. Jibai searched the box's lining and felt something hard. He cut a seam. Half a brass key dropped into his palm beside a note in his father's handwriting: