The Bloodstained Record of Sorrow

The moonlight was cool as water, soaking every inch of Luoyang's blue-gray stone streets.

When Shen Guhong's boot crushed the third dead leaf, he finally heard the faintest clatter of a night watchman's wooden clapper. Luoyang had long since fallen asleep in the dead of night. Only the ghost market at the far end of the western bazaar was still awake, like a giant beast lying in wait in the shadows, breathing in and out secrets from near and far.