Even though the evidence and public records had already been laid out at Jingzhao Prefecture, no one took notice, dismissing them as nothing but waste paper.
West Pond remained as splendidly lit as ever, and tonight was also blessed with cool and pleasant weather. It seemed like winter rain might fall, but the stars still hung high in the sky.
On the south bank, people flowed like threads of silk, numerous literati and scholars mingled and feasted on the platform. The reflection of Feijing Tower shimmered in the water, creating a picturesque scene across Ping Lake.
On the three-sided Green Blossom Terrace surrounded by water, the poetry gathering was about to begin, yet one person had not yet arrived. Ting Hua and Fu Zhiyun were disinterested in the scenery, huddled together looking out over the street below.
