Jinghe Year Fifteen, Sixth Day of the First Month, night.
By the time Xie Lin left the Imperial Silk Bureau, the sky was black as ink.
He took no sedan chair, walking alone instead.
The night breeze blew from the canal and brushed his face, cool but not cold.
Suzhou's nights were unlike those of the Capital.
Suzhou's nights teemed with life.
Flowing water, strings and flutes, singing girls' laughter-all wove together into a net.
Wrapped within it, one could blissfully forget where one was.
Xie Lin's residence stood beside the water in the south of the city.
It was modest in scale, with three successive courtyards, swept clean and free of even a speck of dust.
The front courtyard was small, planted with only a few stalks of slender bamboo.
Those few green stalks were a gentleman's delight.
They reflected his nature: upright and unbending.
Xie Lin did not pause. He crossed the front courtyard, rounded the screen wall, and headed straight for the rear courtyard.
He had only reached the inner gate when light footsteps came from within, like a little sparrow fluttering out on beating wings.
"Xie Lang!"
Xu Shi poked her head out from behind the moon gate, a food box in her hand.
She was twenty, two years younger than Xie Lin.
Her looks could hardly topple cities and kingdoms, but a lively spirit shone in her eyes and brows.
Hers was not the gentle, tranquil beauty of a Jiangnan lady, but the red of a wild azalea newly blooming in spring among the hills.
"You haven't gone to bed yet, my wife?"
"Bed? What bed!"
Xu Shi hurried up to him, taking two strides where three should have been, thrust the food box into his hands, and tilted up her face.
"You