Relieved
About This Novel
The plum rain was grinding thick ink on the glazed tiles, and I was squatting in my grandfather's Huizhou brush shop to repair the incomplete genealogy. The pine smoke ink stick suddenly cracked, revealing half a bronze spoon, with lines like a thin gold body that had been eaten by insects. Indigo juice oozed from the cracks and spread out on the rice paper to form a map of the concession in the 23rd year of the Republic of China. The woman in the moon-white cheongsam stepped on the rain curtain at this moment. She wears a gilded silk dragonfly in her hair, and its wings are dotted with tiny gears. \
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