Xiulan's finger stopped on that line. Exhausted in three days. She looked down at her bare fingertips. Her grandmother had been right. She was already leaking. That hollow emptiness—that was her soul seeping from her fingertips.
She turned the page.
"If a nail is borrowed, there are three remedies. First: nourish the nail with blood. Prick the fingertip daily and apply three drops of blood to the nail bed for forty-nine days, and a new nail will grow. But if the soul has already leaked, growing a new nail is useless. Second: trade nail for nail. If the borrowed nail is willingly replaced by another's, the borrowed may live. But the one who trades will surely leak soul. When all ten nails are gone, their life is done. Third—"
The third remedy had been devoured by insects, leaving only a few characters.
"—take the handler's nail, and it can be broken."
Xiulan's gaze fixed on those words. Take the handler's nail. She looked up, past the shadow of the locust tree on the window, toward the eastern edge of the village.
Old Wu.
He was the Nail Borrower's handler. For fifty years, he had collected ninety-eight nails for her, strung them into beads, and kept them close day and night. If she took his nail, could the debt be broken?
She closed the chest and slid it back under the bed. Chen Wangtian watched her, saying nothing. He knew what she was looking at. He knew what she was thinking.
"I'll go," he said.
"No." Xiulan stood, tucking her bare fingers into her sleeves. "This debt is between me and the Nail Borrower. I will collect it myself."
She pushed open the door and walked into the moonlight.
Old Wu's house was still lit. Xiulan entered to find him sitting on the floor, the broken strand of prayer beads scattered before him. He had gathered the ninety-eight nail-beads and arranged them in a neat row, ordered by shade—from the darkest, oldest ones to the lightest, newest. The newest was Nian'an's, still gleaming with a faint pearlescent sheen, not yet fully blackened.
On his left pinky, the black line had reached the middle of his waxy yellow nail. He did not look up. He simply stared at the darkening nail, his thumb stroking its surface absently, as if caressing something soon to be lost.
"You came," he said. His voice was calm, as if he had known she would.
Xiulan sat across from him. Moonlight fell upon the row of ninety-eight nails, each gleaming with its own shade of darkness. "Fifty years ago, you gave your nails to your sister. She was the Nail Borrower, but she was also your sister. You gave her those ten nails willingly. When she took them, she bound you as her handler. From that day on, you collected nails for her, and she let you keep your life. Your life was bought with ninety-eight children's nails."
Old Wu's thumb stopped moving. The black line on his yellow nail crept forward another fraction.
"I thought if I collected ninety-nine, she would release me." His voice had gone very soft, like a child who had done something wrong. "She said so. She said, 'Ninety-nine nails, and you will be free.' I kept waiting. Fifty years. Each time I collected one, I thought—soon. Soon. When I reached ninety-eight, I thought only one remained. Then Nian'an appeared."
"She lied to you," Xiulan said. "She will never release you. She will only make you keep collecting. After ninety-nine comes a hundred. After a hundred, more. She likes to borrow. And you like to collect. You've grown addicted."
Old Wu was silent for a long time. Moonlight traced the trenches of his wrinkles. "You're right. I've grown addicted. Every time I took a nail from a child's hand and strung it onto the beads, I felt one step closer to freedom. That feeling—it's more addictive than anything. I can't stop."
He looked up at Xiulan. Tears slid down the furrows of his face, dripping onto the row of nail-beads.
"But you are different," he said. "You gave her your nails willingly. You are not a handler. You are a substitute. You gave her ten nails in exchange for ten days of Nian'an's life. When she returns in ten days, if you refuse her, she will not let you go. But if you give more, you will become the second me."
Xiulan looked down at her bare fingertips. Moonlight fell on the exposed nail beds. She saw a faint glow emanating from them—not the pearlescent gleam of nails, but something paler, nearly transparent, like the tail of a firefly. The sign of a leaking soul.
"I will not become you," she said. "Because I will never collect anyone's nails for her."
She reached out and grasped Old Wu's left hand. He did not pull away. Xiulan pressed her thumb against the darkening nail on his left pinky.
"Fifty years ago, you gave your nails to your sister. Now give this one to me."
Old Wu looked at her. The moonlight shattered in his murky eyes, breaking into silver shards. Then he smiled. There was no fear in that smile, no sorrow—only the lightness of a man finally setting down a burden he had carried for fifty years.
"Alright."
He gripped the waxy yellow nail and pulled. The nail detached with a soft, faint sound—like a string stretched for fifty years finally snapping.
Old Wu placed the nail in Xiulan's palm. It was warm, still carrying his body heat. Xiulan closed her fingers around it and felt a sudden warmth in her bare fingertips.
She looked down. On the nail bed of her left pinky, a new nail was growing. A pale, pale waxy yellow—the exact color of Old Wu's nail. At the same time, the black nail in her palm began to fade—from black to dark gray, to pale gray, and finally to a transparent, paper-thin sliver, like a cicada's wing.
Old Wu leaned back against the wall and slowly closed his eyes. His left pinky was bare, but his face held a smile. "Thank you," he said, his voice growing fainter. "Tell her… her brother has returned the nail… the debt is paid…"
His voice faded into silence.
Xiulan knelt and gathered the ninety-eight nail-beads, placing them beside his hand. Ninety-eight beads, none missing. The missing one was now on her pinky.
The Nail Borrower's handler was dead. But the Nail Borrower remained. In ten days, she would return. And she would find her handler gone and his nail taken. What would she do?
Xiulan rose and walked out into the moonlight. She looked down at her shadow—on the left hand, where the pinky should be, the shadow's edge glowed faintly. The waxy yellow nail gleamed like a small piece of amber, holding fifty years of secrets.
She did not know what would happen in ten days. But she knew one thing: she would never let anyone collect nails for the Nail Borrower again.
Not ever again.