Chapter 2: Three Years, Counted Down

The valley held its fog the way a miser holds copper: close, and unwilling to let go. So Cheong had memorized the feel of it against their skin over four days of walking—the damp weight of it, the way it turned every distant shape into a rumor. The Drowned Brushes Pavilion had always been a place of half-seen things, but this was different. This fog remembered them. It clung to their robes like a...