Jinghe Year Sixteen, the first day of the second month.
As Bai Juyi's verse went: "At sunrise, river blossoms blazed redder than fire; with spring, the river waters turned as green as indigo."
In Jiangnan's second month, spring's chill had yet to fade, but its spirit had already arrived.
Along both sides of the official road outside the city, fresh green showed beneath last year's withered grass.
The stream had thawed. Broken ice struck stones with a tinkling clatter as it flowed straight into the Qinhuai River.
The willow twigs were not yet green, but buds had swollen at their tips, like thoughts gathered through a winter, waiting for their moment to bloom.
The sky was clear; the wind was still cold.
Five li beyond the Capital's main gate stood an old pavilion.
The pavilion had no name, but postal couriers and traveling merchants all called it the Five-Li Pavilion.
Inside stood one old stone table and two stone stools, the tabletop carved with traces left by passing travelers...
Some had inscribed poems, others recorded their journeys, and some had even cursed people.
An old plum tree stood beside the pavilion, its flowering nearly over. Its fallen petals spread white across the blue-gray stones, like lingering snow drifting down.
Two people sat in the pavilion.
Xie Lin wore a blue robe washed pale, the dust of travel still upon him. Before him sat a coarse porcelain bowl of tea, already cold.
Across from him sat his wife, Xu Shi.
"Xie Lang." Xu Shi poured him half a bowl of hot tea. "We're here."
"Yes." Xie Lin looked beyond the pavilion. "We're here."
At the end of the official road stood the Capital's gate.
The gate tower soared high, its battlements imposing, yet he could not enter.
Though the court