The Pale Circus
Chapter One The promotion was a formality, a stamp on a document that Wei Zhao had waited twenty years to receive, and the smell of the dye-house had long since seeped into the pores of his skin, a permanent stain of indigo and vinegar that no amount of scrubbing could remove. He stood in the temple courtyard, the off-hours silence broken only by the rhythmic, wooden voice of a lathe turning in...
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