The late spring of the seventh year of Xuanhe's reign was always wrapped in layers of moisture. When Sui Dae lay on the bluestone at the Bianhe River Pier, his nose was filled with this moisture mixed with fishy smell and river mud. It was more choking than the basement of the urban village where he rented.
"Whose killer is blocking me from unloading the ship?"
The rough voice was like sandpaper rubbing against the eardrums, followed immediately by the sharp pain of the sole of the boot running over the back of the hand. Sui Dae opened his eyes suddenly, and what he saw was a soap-colored bundt and a belt around his waist - this was not a cosplay exhibition, and the fish bags hanging on the copper rings were clearly stained with age.
