The Distant Clue
"I told you, the shutter is broken, not the wind," Feng Wu said, his voice flat, cutting through the low hum of the diesel generator that rattled in the corner of the garage. He did not look up from the carburetor he was scrubbing with a rag that had long since turned the color of old tea. The air in the shop was heavy with machine oil and the damp, metallic scent of the Sichuan basin, where...
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