Jinghe Year Fifteen, the sixth day of the second month. Rain.
Suzhou's chilly spring rain fell fine and close as sorrow.
Rain fell upon bluestone without splashing the slightest ripple.
Water moistened all in silence, spreading a faint chill.
Heaven and earth seemed caged beneath old, unwashed gauze.
Outside the Official Post Station.
Xie Lin held an oil-paper umbrella, his blue gown half soaked.
The umbrella was old, its bamboo ribs yellowed.
A landscape covered half its canopy, the ink blurred by rain until the distant mountains were indistinct.
The stationmaster of the Official Post Station peered out several times, words hovering on his lips, but never dared approach.
Inside a second-floor window, Wei Nisheng stood looking out as slanting threads of rain dampened his cuffs.
He had meant to sigh out a few words suited to the scene, but unfortunately, behind him...
Goose, goose, goose-the sounds of eating went on without pause.
"Zihou, weren't you so indignant last night that you had a midnight snack?"
"How come this morning..."
Wei Nisheng drew his gaze back and looked behind him.
There was Big White Goose Zhang, a spoon in one hand and a bun in the other.
"Zi'an, aren't you eating?"
Looking at Zhang Zai and the breakfast spread on the table, Wei Nisheng sighed helplessly.
"He Yanming really does spare no expense on you."
"What expense?" Zhang Zai stuffed the bun into his mouth.
"It's just a bowl of thick soup and a few buns!"
"And that isn't sparing no expense?" Wei Nisheng smiled.
"Zihou, what's in front of you is spring bamboo shoot and pen-shell soup.
The first yellow-earth bamboo shoots of early spring, paired with pen-shell adductor muscles shipped a thousand miles by sea.
Dozens of dried shellfish muscles go into one pot of soup,