Down in the Sima Clan’s half-frozen duck pond, Grand Preceptor Sima Quan had to clamp both hands over his own mouth so the ten-ton Golden Uprightness Bell wouldn’t blast him a third time.
Master Lu Jian and his three hundred grinning artisans stayed on the watchtower to keep an eye on the silent neighbors downstairs. Meanwhile, Lin Mo accompanied Su Wan and Chu Lingxiao down Jade-Dragon Ridge to Central Brocade Street as evening lanterns flickered to life across the Inner Capital.
Inside the Celestial Cloud-Silk Boutique—a three-story silk emporium fragrant with sandalwood and warm spirit-cotton—Su Wan stood by the long mahogany counter inspecting fifty neatly folded winter cloaks woven from shimmering silver-white feathers.
Behind the counter stood Senior Seamstress Lin Xiu ([Goodness: 89/100]) and forty-nine young orphaned seamstresses ([Goodness: 87–91/100]). Every girl wore a plain gray work smock, and their knuckles were red and chapped from working unheated looms in the back alley for sixteen hours a day.
“President Su, all fifty Winter Cloud-Phoenix Cloaks are finished,” Senior Seamstress Lin Xiu said earnestly, running her calloused fingertips over the warm silver lining. “We stitched a double layer of wind-warding runes into every hem. Since you told us these cloaks are for poor children and night-shift workers, my sisters and I added extra snow-down at no charge.”
