A small bronze bell hung beside Tao's door. When the wind stirred, its clapper touched the rim. Ting, tang: two bright notes fell into the courtyard. Ahe slowed to listen.

He liked its round body and golden edge. If it hung by his own window, he thought, every morning could sound like this. He pictured it there until wanting began to feel almost like having.

The door was close enough to knock on. He could have asked. Instead, Ahe glanced around and kept the question to himself. His hand reached toward the bell.