In Shanghai in the 13th year of the Republic of China, the early autumn rain always brought with it a lingering dampness. The fine rain woven diagonally, turning the international buildings on the Bund into a hazy ink painting. The sound of the whistle on the Huangpu River, mixed with the clanging bell of the tram, created layers of ripples in the rain curtain.
Shen Ruoyan held a black plastic umbrella with an ebony handle and stood in front of the glass display window of Yong'an Department Store. The latest Paris perfumes were displayed in the window. The crystal bottles reflected fine light under the warm yellow light, making the small mole at the end of her eye more clear. Today she wore a moon-white cheongsam, with a thin silver thread rolled around the neckline. The exposed calf under the skirt was wrapped in flesh-colored stockings. She stepped on a pair of shallow patent leather high-heeled shoes. Every step felt like stepping on a piano key made of rain silk.
