Mornings in Misty Harbor are always wrapped in an impenetrable fog. Steam bubbles and burbles through the brass pipes, winding up the spires of Gothic buildings before finally dissolving into the murky sky. Jiang Yuheng pushes a cart of oak bookcases, his fingertips gliding over row upon row of gilt book spines. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze is as gentle as moonlight in the mist.
