The Faded Quadrant
Could a man eat his own history and survive the indigestion? Ying Song dreamed of his father’s teeth, black and soft as river silt, waking in the summer heat of the 1980s with a tongue coated in the same rot. He was forty, a scholar reduced to mopping floors in a water town where the red-light district hummed with legalized vice and the air smelled of thawing earth and diesel. The dispute over...
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