The Distant Ghost
Luo Shumin would later tell himself he had been walking for three days, though the light suggested only two. The sun hung low and yellow, a bruise in the sky that did not heal, and the water of the canal ran high, swallowing the bank where he had tied his boat. He carried the urn in a cloth sack against his chest, the weight of it a solid, cold anchor against his ribs. The moss was already...
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