In the late spring of Jinghe's third year, a cold rain had been falling for three days. The bluestone road outside the west gate of Fucheng was soaked and shiny, and the moss that emerged from the gaps had absorbed enough water vapor, making it slippery when stepped on, as if it had been coated with a layer of old grease. Wu An stood under the porch of "Anfu Inn" with a load on his shoulders. The rope of the bamboo basket made two red marks on his shoulders. In the basket on the left were old clothes that his mother Liu had mended overnight and a stack of tightly bundled books. On the right sat his younger sister Wu Yue, who was curled up in a ball. The little girl held tightly in her arms a gapped rough porcelain bowl. In the bowl were unfinished wheat cakes on the road. The rain wet the ends of her hair and made her little nose red from the cold.
