The rainy season in the south of the Yangtze River was wrapped in sour moisture, and Lin Qingwu knelt in the mess on the floor of Ji'an Hall. Heavy rain poured in from the collapsed eaves, dissolving the residue of traditional Chinese medicine in the stagnant water. The bronze medicine scale left by my grandfather was tilted, and the inscription "No one can see the repair, God knows the intention" on the scale was covered in mud. She peeled away the rubble, and her fingertips touched the cold rosewood - the hidden compartment at the bottom of the medicine cabinet was intact in this inexplicable "accidental collapse".
