Xuan'an Bureau horses splashed through the slush on the bluestone road. Pi Yanlin sat in the saddle, legs swaying, his half-closed eyes sweeping over the tight line of Gu Qinghuan’s jaw.
Her knuckles were white where she gripped her bamboo tube, and the Xuan'an Bureau’s vermillion seal on it had been worn to a blur. This girl was grinding her back teeth again; it was the same fierce look she had worn ten years ago in that ruined temple when she stood up for an old beggar, as if she could snap a steel blade with her teeth.
"Master Pi, we’ve arrived," the young constable pulled on the reins, the copper bell on the horse’s neck chiming.
Chapter 82