The First Installment

Gu Shiyan arrives with a schedule that asks me to wait three months for the first tael.

He sets the paper on the table between us. Song Rouyi sits beside him, hands folded over her pale sleeves. Pei Shuying has taken the chair nearest the account books. She watches the paper instead of my face.

I read the first line twice. “Three months.”

“The household needs time to arrange its accounts,” Gu says. “The debt will be repaid in regular installments.”

His schedule sets the amount at five hundred taels a month. At that rate, the Gu household would finish paying in five years. He has left no room for a missed payment, no clear date for the first one, and no consequence for any delay.

“Your family borrowed thirty thousand taels over three years,” I say. “You want five years to return it, starting after a further three-month pause.”

“I have come with a plan.”

“You have come with a request that I finance your patience.”

Song Rouyi shifts her folded hands. “The Gu family has been under strain. Perhaps a little consideration—”

“Your consideration costs nothing,” I say. “The debt costs thirty thousand taels. If you intend to contribute, name an amount.”

Her lips part, then close. Gu looks at her as though I have insulted her. I look at the schedule again. The paper is neat. Its terms are not.

Pei Shuying clears her throat. “Mingzheng, he has brought a written proposal. There is room to discuss it without making the meeting unpleasant.”

“It is unpleasant because his family owes us money.” I turn the page toward her. “Would you accept five hundred taels a month for five years if this were your account?”

She reads the lines. Her finger stops at the blank space where the first payment date should be. She says nothing.

Gu leans forward. “I cannot produce thirty thousand taels today.”

“I did not ask for thirty thousand today.” I tap the blank date. “I asked when the first payment arrives.”

He glances at the door. A servant brings in a small locked chest and places it beside his chair. Gu takes a key from his sleeve. The lid opens with a click.

Inside are silver ingots packed in cloth. He has brought money after all.

“Three thousand taels,” he says. “The household has made what arrangements it can.”

I keep my eyes on the silver. A moment ago he wanted me to accept a promise that began in three months. Now the money sits within reach. My anger does not disappear; it finds a number to hold.