The Faded Bouquet
Chapter One The inkwell had not dried in nine days. Hua Zhou stared at the black pool, its surface trembling with a cold that had nothing to do with the summer heat pressing against the lattice windows of the archive room. He was thirty years old, a scribe of the Imperial Record, and his promotion depended on the completion of the winter solstice ledger by the first frost. The deadline was a...
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