The morning fog hung over the flagstone path like a sodden wad of cotton, heavy with moisture. Zheng Yaomei carefully lowered the last flagstone into place with a long-handled bamboo grabber. A little damp moss clung to its edges, giving off the earthy, slightly pungent sweetness unique to the aftermath of rain. She straightened up, her apron brushing the bamboo basket beside her. Inside, old books she had just collected were stacked neatly, their yellowed pages carrying a peculiar scent of mildew mingled with ink.
