The late spring in Yangzhou City always carries the fragrance of powder. Just after midnight, silk lanterns were hung up in front of Li Chun's courtyard, and three or five turtle slaves were squatting under the porch, chewing on braised duck feet, with oil star seeds all over their hands.
Wei Xiaobao squatted by the well in the backyard, sharpening his rusty dagger on the bluestone. The blade made a "chichi" sound on the stone surface, startling the old gray cat in the corner to raise its tail.
