Hes closed the door, and the noise outside weakened, as if it suddenly isolated the worlds inside and outside.
With the firelight seeping through the cracks in the wooden planks, Fang Hong surveyed the room: a narrow workshop not more than ten steps long from one end to the other, with a low ceiling. In the center of the room stood a dyeing vat, beside it a birch wood square table cluttered with pottery of various sizes and tools, and shelves on both sides similarly filled but mostly with jars and vases.
The air was permeated with a faint scent of earth.
Fang Hong noticed that the furnishings were coated with a thick layer of dust, as if no one had touched these things for a long time. The girl placed a basin on the ground and carefully lit a wind lantern on the table, shielding it with her hands.
