"Take me back to the Taishan Prefecture," A Yin said, her handkerchief hitting the tabletop with a " pa ". Across from her, Li Shiyi, tidying up the books, had just briefly flipped through a couple ancient texts, and raised her gaze to look at her. A Yin's mouth pulled to the side, revealing a seldom-seen weakness. A Luo had returned to the Taishan Prefecture to deal with affairs; it had already been over a month, and, since Li Shiyi and Song Shijiu had both returned to Shanghai, she had disappeared without any correspondence, not even a greeting having been sent back. Today, she'd gone to see an opera, the story's contents of a top scorer in the exams looking for scholarly honour, having forgotten his wife who had gone through the hardships of poverty; she'd had that flower cap, [1] the beautiful, delicate wife; how could she have remembered the Wang Baochuan, who'd gone through freezing and fires for eighteen years? [2] The grievance in A Yin...

The entirety of Boyang was being broiled under the scorching sun; on Qin Anhe's journey there, she'd seen withered crops, listless and drooping, even the riverbed showing, cracked into pieces. On the road, dust flying about, the commoners were emaciated and gaunt, even their eyes sunken in. The more she saw, the more she grew flustered. Yet in Boyang's prefectural office, it was an entirely other sight; the back court's pale flagstones seemed to have been washed every day with water, shining bright. The pine and cypress planted along the sides grew verdant and lush as well, exceptionally vital. The Prefectural Magistrate of Boyang, Lan Dexiang, reclined the soft cushion that had been placed on the taishi chair, the cup of tea before him giving off a fragrance. He picked up the cup, sipping a small mouthful, and said faintly, "This tea isn't found often." The master behind him appeared flattered. "Of course, this tea was brought back specially from Hon...