Chapter 12: The Grain of Rice

The grain of rice sat on the table between them like a tiny, glowing accusation. Lui Mei-Ling stared at it, then at Siu-Bak, then at the iron bowl he had set down with the reverence of a monk handling a relic. The clinic was quiet, the last patient gone, the air smelling of herbal liniment and the faint, metallic tang of boiling water.