The stern, long-bearded elder in brocade robes walked out of the sickroom.
He turned a blind eye to the greetings of the womenfolk within the residence, lowered his head, and hurried onward in gloomy silence. When he left, he took gold with him and departed by carriage. The wheels rattled over the bluestone street, jolting and clattering, while his face remained clouded with worry and his sighs never ceased.
The old servant driving the carriage asked,
"Master, where are we going?"
"Ankang Ward, West Market. On the riverside street three hundred paces south of Fuqing Tower, find a woman selling umbrellas..."
"Yes, sir."
The old horse pulled the carriage through the morning market. Days and nights of rain had washed away the foul stench from the city. The market was crowded, and carts and horses moved slowly. Though he had not slept half the night, he felt no drowsiness, nor any hunger in his belly. His only son was gravely ill; at any moment, white-haired parents might be forced to bury their black-haired child. The grief in his heart weighed so heavily that he could scarcely breathe. Otherwise, why would he personally venture out over nothing more than a dream?
Besides seeking that elusive, expensive paper umbrella, he could take the chance to get some fresh air.
Though the heavy rain had stopped, a fine drizzle still lingered. The cushions inside the carriage were damp and uncomfortable to sit on. The elder shifted now and then, looking all the more miserable. He lifted the curtain and breathed out a mouthful of stale air, suddenly feeling the rain's faint chill.
"It is Osmanthus Moon already... sigh."
The carriage creaked and swayed onward, passing through the bustling morning-market stalls as it headed straight for the West Market.
Though the rain clouds had