Sequestro forçado

Winter rain fell softly from the horizon, casting a gray veil over the world; the distant paths between the fields were deserted. Cui Ti wore a bamboo hat and a rain cape, carrying pig skin in his hand as he walked along the muddy path threading through the fields.

Jingzhou, nestled in the heart of the Yangtze-Han region, was slow to cool; even in late autumn, a faint warmth lingered. But now, nearly a month after the onset of winter, the crispness of autumn had been utterly dispersed by the relentless rain. The drizzle never ceased, blending earth and water on the paths into pools of muck that clung to one’s shoes and threatened to suck them in with every step.

He passed a cluster of low-roofed houses, arriving at a farmstead. Picking up the iron ring beneath the door knocker, he tapped the door. After three knocks, the door creaked open from within, revealing the face of a young boy, “Is that Master Cui?”

Recognizing his visitor, the boy hurried to let Cui Ti inside. Cui Ti removed his bamboo hat and rain cape, handing them to the boy.

“Bai Su, is your mistress at home?” Cui Ti asked.

Bai Su nodded eagerly, “She is, the rain today is heavy—she’s been at home all day. She just stepped out to watch the rain and returned again.”

With that, Bai Su led Cui Ti toward the main hall. The bamboo curtain at the entrance was fully lowered, while a plain screen pressed up against the doorway, keeping the wind at bay. Yan Nanjing sat deep within the hall, a brazier set before her.

The bamboo mat on her couch had been replaced with thick clo