The rooster crowed at dawn; in the winter morning, the gurgle was hoarse, as if wailing; each call was more mournful than the last; A Yin had packed up quite a bit ago, and was sitting at the furnace, playing mahjong with Tu Laoyao. Song Shijiu, before, had always been diligent, but today, she dallied, and no one saw a trace of her presence; Li Shiyi, at the table, braced her temple and had tea, the corners of her eyes sweeping in the direction of the securely closed door, then sweeping again, and then, without making a sound, drew her gaze back, her fing finger idly pressing against the space between her brows. A Yin, seeing this expression of hers, held back laughter and cut a gaze at her, then at the faintly discernible bruising, and tossed her tiles at Li Shiyi’s side, saying with a smile that wasn’t quite a smile, “Who could have imagined.” “En?” Li Shiyi tossed the syllable at her. A Yin let out a sorrowful sigh, and said, “Who could have imagined, you’d indeed fall for it.” With...