Li Zhuiyuan pointed at the two big burlap sacks of books by the door:
“Help me carry them into the room.”
Chen Xiyuan asked, “Which room do you want?”
The wooden house had two floors, each with a hall and two rooms.
Li Zhuiyuan: “We’ll sleep downstairs, you sleep upstairs.”
Chen Xiyuan nodded and shouldered a sack into one of the first-floor rooms.
The parlor was simple but not without a certain grace.
A stove built of stones sat in one corner; coal inside crackled on the fire.
A little stream path paved with river stones ran from the north wall out the south door, giving the place a cultured, winding-water drinking-cup sort of feel.
Runsheng drew water and set the kettle on the stove to boil.
Li Zhuiyuan stepped over, pulled out a small stool, and sat down.
When the others saw that, they knew a meeting was about to start.
Tan Wenbin stubbed out his cigarette, rose, took the boiling kettle from the stove, poured four cups, then glanced at Little Yuan and poured another.
Lin Shuyou sat up straight, adjusting his breath.
Whenever a meeting started, Ah You was always eager and focused.
Runsheng widened his eyes and stared at the little stream, letting his mind switch off entirely.
No one spoke; only the occasional crisp pop of coal from the stove filled the parlor.