The Spy in Kwai Garden

About This Novel

In December, there was freezing rain in the capital. The fine rain was carried by the north wind, splashing countless ice crystals on the bluestone slabs. The hem of Shen Guhong's Feiyu suit was already soaked, and the dark-patterned brocade had absorbed moisture and hung heavily below his knees. His hand holding the knife was as steady as a rock, with three fingers clasping the ivory tangs of the Xiuchun Knife, and his thumb caressing the carved lines of "Qingluan Qiwu".

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