In the twenty-third year of Kangxi's reign, spring was deep.
The rain in Nanjing has been lingering for half a month, making the bluestones on the banks of the Qinhuai River shine, reflecting the skylight leaking through the white walls and black tiles on both sides of the river. Deep in Yangui Lane, the red-lacquered door of Shen's Mansion was ajar, and the copper bell hanging under the eaves was blown by the wind, tinkling, mixed with the sound of pounding clothes from the courtyard, and became the most appropriate background sound on this soft spring day.
