Ask the Spirit

In the autumn of the 13th year of the Republic of China, the alleys on the edge of the French Concession in Shanghai were soaked in continuous moisture. As dusk fell, Shen Yanqiu stood at the crossroads carrying a half-used cowhide suitcase. The slanting raindrops wetted the crisp cuffs of his suit, and the chill seeped through the fabric. The neon lights in the concession in the distance blurred in the rain, casting broken light spots on the bluestone pavement, flickering and fading, like fragments of memory scattered on the water. It had been three days since he returned home, and he had yet to adjust to the dry climate in London. The rain here always carried a lingering musty smell that stuck to his skin, lingering like a shadow. Sir, do you want a car? This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.