The rainy season in Jiangnan was always so damp and clinging. Shen Xiuniang stood beneath the covered walkway of the carved mansion, her fingertips brushing the dart pouch at her waist. Its surface was embroidered with intertwining lotus vines in gold thread, the stitching intricate and faintly gleaming even beneath the gloomy sky. The copper bell under the eaves clanged in the wind sweeping through the passage. As she watched ripples spread across the courtyard pond, she suddenly heard the sharp crash of breaking porcelain from the west courtyard.
“Xiuniang!” The steward, Old Zhou, called out in a trembling voice. “The master wants you in his study.”
