"Three years ago, by the banks of the Gusu River, a boy carved this poem into the hull of a wooden boat," Su Tang said, her voice like a softly hummed melody. "His hands were covered in blood, yet he said the carvings were too shallow to hold his secrets."
Memories flooded back. It was indeed three years ago, his first mission as a Postman. He had been wounded by his target and collapsed by the river. When he woke up, there was a poem carved into the boat and half a piece of osmanthus cake left beside him.
"Was it her?" his throat tightened.
Chapter 57