When he reached the eastern gate, Zhao An found the gatekeeper sitting on a tree stump, legs crossed, soaking in the lazy warmth of the early spring sun. His eyes were closed and he was humming a tuneless song, tapping a rhythm on his knees.
Zhao An squatted down beside him. Asking for money he was owed always felt like an impossible task.
So he said nothing, casting his gaze instead toward the wide path that led east. It was a long, winding
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