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Summary
The sun is lopsided and tired where it hangs low in the sky. Wen Kexing should be back. Zhou Zishu is entertaining the idea of greeting him with a snowball down the back of his robes—I know you like to vanish, but our fool has been waiting to see us all year—when a sudden flicker of movement snags and unravels his attention.
He stops. Stares into the trees, waiting for his eye to catch the movement again.