The copper bells on the turrets of the Forbidden City were blown by the wind, and when the faint sound floated into the West Nuan Pavilion of the Wenhua Hall, Le Zheng was lying on the cold desk, with his forehead leaning against an open volume of "Nine Sided Picture Theory". The scent of ink mixed with the scent of locust flowers drifting from the window entered his nose. He shuddered suddenly. When he opened his eyes, there was still a half-swallowed exclamation stuck in his throat.
