Midsummer in Ningdu is always exceptionally long.
The entire Imperial City feels as though it has been shoved into a steamer. On Vermilion Bird Avenue, the bluestone pavement is baked piping hot by the scorching sun, and the rising heat waves distort the contours of the crimson palace walls in the distance. Even the chirping of the cicadas hidden among the pagoda tree leaves sounds listless and faint.
The ice cellar in the estate was opened a fortnight ago. Every morning at seven o'clock, the steward would direct the servants to carry three-foot-square blocks of ice into the residence.
Chapter 133