Marking the six spirits is part of laying out a chart. Six lines from the bottom up, the starting one set by the day's heavenly stem, then the six in order. Different stem, different start.
He read for twenty years and kept the charts, boxed by year, stacked against the north wall of the study.
One day, sorting them, he pulled out the ones he had cast for himself. There were not many — forty-seven in twenty years.
He laid all forty-seven out on the floor in date order. They covered most of it.
The spirits sit differently on every chart. That is correct; the day stem differs.
Except the White Tiger.
Forty-seven charts. The White Tiger on the fifth line every time.
He went back through the forty-seven dates and worked out each day's stem from the tables, twice over. Forty-seven days, and the stems are not the same. By the rule the Tiger should move.
He gathered the forty-seven up, squared the edges, and held the stack by one corner up to the desk lamp.
At the fifth line the stack is dark — forty-seven layers of ink resting on one another in the same place. Everywhere else the light comes through mottled.