When the catkins along the Bianhe River fell on Su E's face like crushed snow, she was lying on the bluestone slab and vomited until her liver and intestines were broken. Her throat hurt as if on fire, and her stomach was filled with sour water, mixed with some indescribable smell of millet—this was not the taste of the 1982 Lafite she drank at a party last night.
"Girl! Girl, wake up!" A rough hand patted her back, smelling of soap and sweat.
