Previously on: Early winter, seventh day. The lingering glow of the setting sun bled across the spirit rice fields, staining the earth in dusky hues.
Beneath the dying light, the shadows of withered branches were scattered across cold bluestone paths. A biting draft swept fallen leaves through the alleyways, rustling softly as if whispering untold tales.
Only the bronze bells at the eaves swayed lazily in the twilight, casting a desolate chime that steeped the dusk of the ancient city in the silence of aged wine.
Chapter 583