Late at night, three days later, Pi Yanlin tucked the map securely inside his tunic. Before heading out, he tucked a paperweight into his waistband—he had filched it from the Xuan'an Bureau’s storeroom; it felt more comfortable to handle than his Xiuchun Saber.
The lights in Gu Qinghuan’s quarters had long since gone out. He stood under the eaves for a moment, watching the moonlight turn the window paper a deathly white, reminiscent of Old Jin’s tear-streaked face from that day.
Guiyun Temple sat in the desolate mountains south of the city. Usually devoid of pilgrims, even the insects had fallen silent tonight.
Chapter 20