Static

The path up White Stone Mountain grew narrower as they climbed. The trees here were old — Hui Nan's flashlight beam caught the gray wrinkled bark of trunks that had been growing for decades, branches overhead weaving together until almost no sky was visible. Fallen leaves from recent rains had made the path slippery. They went carefully, not talking.

Halfway up, Hui Nan heard the dog.

It was a low growl at first — the sound that comes before a bark, the testing sound a large dog makes when it has not yet decided to attack. She swept her flashlight to the left and the beam caught two eyes in the dark, green-bright, at about knee height. The growl deepened.

Then it came — a big animal, pale fur in the flashlight beam, moving fast. Hui Nan shoved Zhu Hua aside and threw herself backward. The jaws snapped at the air where she had been standing.

The dog hit the ground and spun on its feet, turning back. In the darkness and the scrambled flashlight beams, Hui Nan couldn't see it clearly; she could only hear the scratch of claws on gravel and the next deep growl building toward another charge.

A whistle — one short, sharp sound — and the dog went still.

Hui Nan looked past it. A man was standing in the shadow between the trees about fifteen paces up the path. Tall, wearing dark clothing, one hand raised. The dog trotted back to him and sat.

"Who are you?" Hui Nan said.

The man stepped forward into the arc of her flashlight beam. She stared. She had seen him before — on the bus, at the school perimeter, in the alley near her apartment. This was the face she had recognized in that moment of turning: the shadow that had been following her.

"Fei Qiang?" Zhu Hua said from behind Hui Nan, surprised.

"You're not police anymore," Hui Nan said. "You resigned."

"Yes," he said.

"Why are you on this mountain?"

He looked at both of them. "Because I knew you'd come here eventually. And because there's something on this mountain you need to understand before you go any further." He glanced at the dog beside him, which sat calmly watching the two women. "Come. I'll show you."

Hui Nan didn't move. "How do we know you're not the one—"

"You don't," he said simply. "But if I wanted to hurt you I could have let the dog finish its run." He turned and began walking up the path.

After a moment, Hui Nan followed. Zhu Hua came behind her.

Fei Qiang led them off the main path and along a narrower track through the trees. The ground leveled out slightly. Through the branches the city lights were visible again, very far below. He stopped at a flat clearing and pointed.

What he showed them made Hui Nan understand why Tang Sui had come to this mountain, and what had been happening here for fifteen years. He talked for a long time. The dog lay at his feet. Zhu Hua, standing to Hui Nan's right, was very still.

When he finished, none of them spoke. The trees moved in the wind. Down the mountain, the city hummed in ignorance.

Hui Nan said: "How long have you known?"

"Long enough," Fei Qiang said. "Too long." He looked down toward the city. "And now you know too. The question is what you want to do with it."