The Distant Garden
Act I Can a man buy back his name if the ink refuses to hold? Văn Nam asked the question into the damp air of the greenhouse module, where the drip of condensation sounded like a clock counting down a debt that had no end. He was thirty-four, an archivist by trade, though his hands were more accustomed to the rough grain of loess clay than the smooth surface of paper. The house, perched on the...
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