The Golden Visit
"Put the seal down, Chen. You are shaking." Director Zhao’s voice was dry, like sandpaper on a wooden counter. I did not put the seal down. My hand was slick with the black fluid that soaked through my sleeve, a viscosity that felt less like ink and more like cooled oil. The room smelled of hot metal and the coppery tang of blood. We were in the Imperial Typographic Bureau, or what was left of...
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