The Wistful Throne
Xiu Zhu was a lighthouse keeper, government-paid, and he owed the magistrate forty taels of silver for a bride-price that was three months in arrears. He stood in the back room where the accounts were kept, the air thick with the dust of old paper and the sharp, metallic tang of the tobacco cutter resting on the desk. The cutter’s guillotine blade was down, silent, waiting for the next roll of...
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