Dawn broke over the Cangwu River in a blaze of pale amber light.
The first rays of the morning sun pierced the heavy mountain mist, lighting up the sixty-foot dark rock castle walls of Gu Ning Country City.
For the first time in five hundred years, the river didn’t smell of rotting silt, stale weed, or pickled corpse fat.
The water was crystal clear, cold and sweet as melted snow from the high peaks, churning over clean gray gravel.
On the city castle walls, the thousands of night-watch sentries and shivering refugees stood in stunned, motionless silence.
Then, a single cry rose from the lower docks.
An old river fisherman dipped a chipped earthen bowl into the rushing current, held it up to the morning light. Then he drank deeply.
The water didn’t sprout semi-clear marrow snails.
