The Pale Mist
Act I Guomin Zhou knew the weight of a rusted key before he ever turned it in the lock, a fact that had kept him employed as a driving-school car owner for twelve years, long after his knees had begun to grind against the damp stone of the Jiangnan water town. The air in the immigration office smelled of wet wool and stale tea, a cloying scent that clung to the back of his throat as he sat...
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