The closed paper umbrella leaned against the wall, smudged with unrestrained watermarks, as if it and the rain had engaged in a tussle for many days, and at this moment, body weary and strength exhausted, it dripped blood. The steam on the surface of the table was the best salvation, enough to take mercy on the night travellers, their stomachs rumbling with hunger. The people in the room sat at a single table, gazing inquisitively at the child before them. The clothes she'd been wearing had been swapped for Song Shijiu's coat, the long sleeves folded up in layer after layer, and her face had been wiped with a towel, unexpectedly expressing a degree of delicacy. Her dripping wet braids had yet to be loosened, only having been wrapped up in cotton cloth to absorb the water. She was incredibly thin, her wrists abrupt as craggy stones, and at this moment, her shoulders were drawn up, and she gazed silently at the broth wontons before her whose fragrant scent entered her nose. In th...