November, Jinling. The year's colors had all faded.
The Qinhuai ran thin; frost whitened Stone City.
Leaves fell from the Chinese tallow trees, the parasol trees' branches stood bare, and icicles hung like chopsticks from the eaves, their cold gleam piercing in the morning light.
The markets still clamored, but that clamor stayed within the bustling streets.
Behind vermilion gates, everyone harbored private thoughts.
In "Lodging with the Master of Furong Mountain in Snow," Liu Changqing wrote: "At dusk, the blue mountains lie distant; in bitter cold, the white-roofed dwelling stands poor."
Jinling's chill lay not merely in wind and frost, but above all in human hearts.
The bustle of the streets offered warmth; the silence of great houses was colder still.
In the Kou Residence's study, candle shadows trembled in the chill.
Kou Yuan circled his desk, sitting only to rise, rising only to sit again, as though thorns pricked his back.
Seven days had passed...
Seven whole days, and Shen Duan had not spoken a single word to him.
During deliberations in the Grand Secretariat, Shen Duan never looked at him; when drafting responses to memorials, each wielded his own brush.
When they met at court, it was as though Shen Duan faced empty air.
Even the visiting cards he sent into the Shen Residence vanished like stones cast into a deep well.
The men he dispatched returned from the gate, bringing only the words, "The Grand Secretary is out."
Kou Yuan paced a few steps through the study, stopped, and said, "Wenyuan, come in."
The door opened, and Xu Bingwen entered.
Since Qi Zhao's downfall, he had filled the post of Right Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue, becoming Kou Yuan's trusted right-hand man.
"Grand Secretary." Xu Bingwen bowed. "Are you troubled over Chancellor Shen?"