The Golden Greenhouse
Chapter One The vial in Văn Hang’s hand weighed less than the guilt he carried, a discrepancy that had begun to haunt the quiet of the Bureau’s sterile office. He was thirty-two, a bridge carpenter by trade and a son by desperation, staring at the golden sap that promised to cure his mother’s wasting lungs. The liquid smelled faintly of rot, a sign the Bureau’s "miracle" was merely a refined...
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