Jinghe Fourteenth Year, the fifteenth day of the twelfth month. Heavy snow.
Along both banks of the Southern Capital's canal, bare branches wore a dusting of snow, while the current in the main channel rushed on as ever.
The winter had been mild that year. The river had not frozen, and grain transport continued as usual.
Official vessels and merchant ships came and went without pause, their sails crowding the water, their oars creaking.
Dragon River Wharf, the Capital.
Merchant ships thronged the wharf. Cargo handlers' chants, the rumble of carts and horses, and idle men's curses mingled in a deafening din.
On the river, a boat flying no flags was slowly drawing alongside the bank.
Its hull was not broad, but several servants stood at the stern, their clothing and footwear neat, their backs straight. They did not look like servants of a merchant household.
On deck stood a man with his hands behind his back, about forty-five or forty-six years old.
He wore a Stone Blue robe lined with thick fur beneath a gray squirrel-fur jacket, with a plain sash around his waist.
No jade pendant, no gold ornament. From head to toe, he was deliberately understated.
His features, particularly his brows and eyes, bore a striking resemblance to Feng Yan's.
Feng Guan, courtesy name Anren.
Feng Yan's only surviving son.
Feng Guan stood at the bow as fine snow brushed his face. He remained motionless, gazing only at the distant city walls, hazy and indistinct.
The Southern Capital-the Capital he had left several years before.
After his father Feng Yan retired from office, he had requested a transfer on the pretext of "convalescing," then taken his wife and children away from the Capital to Hangzhou.
Convalescence was the excuse. Avoiding disaster was the truth.
"Husband,