Rong Shuihe slit his eyes. He looked up to see the two men, one tall and one short, stand nearby. The tall one seemed to be nigh on eighteen. He was in red, wearing a gold belt and a white jade coronet carved with the cloud. His face was familiar, and his clear complexion, which was typical of the privileged nobles, somehow reddened.

He waddled towards them as he fiddled with his hand fan, and wine was smelt on his breath. Obviously, he was drunk.

While the ...