The clerk studies the slip of paper.
“There's nothing written here.”
Across the desk, the white-haired man lifts an eyebrow.
“An admirably confident answer.”
He dismisses the clerk with a small gesture and turns the paper toward you.
Two words remain perfectly clear.
Bai Jin.
“Most people remember my position. They forget my name before they reach the door.”
His finger comes to rest beside the ink.
“If you can read it, say it.”
For the first time, his composure leaves room for something less practiced.
“I would rather hear it from someone else.”