The night deepened, and the winter in Su Nan was cold.
Unlike the north, the cold in the south carried a dampness, like tiny needles piercing through the marrow, the chill probing straight for the heart.
The people in the Plague Hospital always huddled in their damp bedding, sleeping on the cold earth, numbly listening to the wind outside the door, night after night, waiting for the next day to pass, many never to wake again.
Soon, the execution grounds would be lit with grey smoke.
A pall of death hung over this place, destined to be shrouded by death, unworthy of further thought.
But today was different.
All the bedding had been changed, and the ground mats had been replaced with wooden beds. Though narrow and crammed together, it was much better than the damp ground.