Chapter 9 · Her Mother's Name

The poison box is warm in my hand.

I don't mean to touch it. I mean to leave it on the shelf, walk away, pretend I never saw Gu Hanchuan's name on a label next to a date that matches the month my mother died. But my fingers close around it anyway. The wood's smooth. Old. Someone polished this thing.

Gu's already halfway to the door. He stops.

"Lin Wei."

I don't answer. I'm staring at the box. There's a second label underneath the first one, smaller, the ink faded. I angle it toward the lamp.

*Jiang Shu.*

My mother's name.

"Put it down." His voice is sharp now. He's walking back.

I flip the lid open.

The smell hits me first. Sweet. Rotting fruit and burnt hair. My stomach lurches. Inside the box there's a bundle of dried flowers—white petals gone gray—and a vial. The liquid inside is black. Thick. It doesn't move when I tilt the vial.

"I said put it down."

Gu's right behind me now. I can feel the heat rolling off him, hotter than it should be. I shove the box at him.

"Your name. Her name. Same box.