Late spring in Yangzhou City always carried a hint of perfume. Just after the hour of the Goat, red silk lanterns had already been hung outside the Lichun Courtyard. Three or five brothel servants squatted beneath the porch, gnawing on braised duck feet, their hands speckled with grease.
Wei Xiaobao crouched beside the well in the back courtyard, sharpening his rusty dagger on a bluestone. The blade scraped against the stone with a rasping sound, startling the old gray cat in the corner into raising its tail.
