The Wistful Ashes
Chapter One In the year of the long drought, the river did not freeze, and the ice never came to hold the world in place. Jing Wu stood in the parlor of the longtang, the air thick with the dust of settling soot, and held the silk shawl his wife had worn the day she vanished. The fabric was heavy, a dense weave of crimson and black that seemed to absorb the grey light filtering through the...
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