At three quarters past the Mao hour, the morning mist had not yet cleared over Qinghe Courtyard, and as Wanqing lifted the bamboo curtain, her fingertips still clung with frost. Jiang Wan was styling her hair before the bronze mirror, dressed in a pale turquoise ru skirt, with matching gauze outerwear. The white gauze wrapped around her wrist was faintly visible—the wound had scabbed over, yet it had become a thorn lodged deep in her heart.
"Miss," Wanqing murmured, stepping closer and lowering her voice, "Biyue went to the coffin shop in West City yesterday and bought three-inch iron nails."
Jiang Wan paused, her hand holding the pearl hairpin lingering for a moment: "Three-inch iron nails? What for?"
Chapter 21