The Distant Temple
The wind that stripped the shallow roofs of the shitamachi district did not care for the dignity of men, only for the weight of their possessions, and so it was with a kind of grim amusement that Sota Hayashi remembered the moment he had first seen his own face warped in the polished obsidian floor of the ancestral hall. He had been thirty-four then, a magistrate with a promotion to High...
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