The Faded Root
Chapter One The debt collectors of the hutong did not knock; they waited, standing in the doorway with their boots caked in the grey slush of the ice storm, listening for the specific creak of the floorboards that signaled a man was awake. The air in the study smelled of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of old ink, a scent that seemed to settle into the pores of the skin rather than the...
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