It was the early summer of the ninth year of the Republic of China, and the plum rain in Jiangnan was like a wet dream from which one could not wake up.
Shen Yiru was sitting in the awning boat, holding a black-covered and gilded English version of the Bible in her arms. The corners of the book were worn white, making her look particularly cramped in the musty smell that filled the cabin. The sound of the boatman's oar broke through the blue-gray water, and the layers of white walls and black tiles on the shore showed a sickly mottled appearance in the rain.
