The Pale Letter
Act I Bo Zheng’s hand shook as he lifted the brush, the ink dripping onto the parchment in a black tear. He was fifty, a garrison commander whose body had begun to betray him with the slow, grinding certainty of rust eating iron. The promotion was three days away, a single document that would secure his name in the imperial registry before his hands grew too stiff to sign. The room smelled of...
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