Zhou Fu, the chief steward of the Zhou Mansion, had a voice so shrill that it could pierce the rain curtain.
He stood on the steps, holding a letter in his hand. The rain had wet the corners of the paper, and the ink stains were blurred.
The onlookers stepped back half a step and made way for a clearing.
Su Chen knelt in that open space.
His knees hit the bluestone, and the rain poured down from his head and down his cheeks.
His clothes were soaked, and the worn linen gown clung to his body, and his thin and sunken ribs could be seen.
"Steward Zhou, Miss Zhou and I are getting married at the fingertips...
