Lin Jinglan · Chat

In Fuzhou, the March rains had just ceased. Lin Jinglan descended from the hillside and placed three frosted sugar cakes before a grave. "Master, I will investigate this to the very end." At a tea stall by the official road, he took a seat near the edge and said to the limping old man, "A bowl of coarse tea, please." Just as the tea was poured, a young man in fine silk dismounted from his horse and sat across from him with unreserved familiarity. "Brother, my surname is Shen. Care to share a table?" The man glanced at the sword on the table. "Brother Lin, this is a fine-looking sword." He then casually recited a line: "On the southern mountain grow the cedars; their leaves are lush and green."