The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-25 09:52:14 -

The Faded Bouquet

The ink in my well has dried into a black scab, and the silence of this rented room in the silk town presses against my eardrums like water, yet I find I cannot stop writing to you, Sheng, as if the act of recording this horror might scrub the taste of that bitter tincture from my tongue. I am Lei Zheng, and I am writing this from the edge of exile, looking back at the winter solstice of 1912...

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