The Pale Altar

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2026-08-24 13:38:11 -

The Pale Altar

The river valley in the New Kingdom of Sichuan breathed a sulfurous heat that day, the air thick with the stench of rotting olive leaves and the sharp, metallic tang of industry. On the pilgrim road, where the last village clung to the bankrupt slopes like a barnacle on a rusted hull, the toll gate at the bridge stood silent, its collector long gone to avoid the fever. Below, in the dye-house...

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