The faint aroma of alcohol drifted through the quiet courtyard as Qiao Zhi landed lightly on the paving stones. She paused, drawing in the scent with a faint crease in her brow. Her gaze swept across the yard and stopped on a lone bottle of wine, its seal still intact, sitting forgotten under the morning light.
She recognized it instantly — one of the treasured vintages from her mother-in-law's private collection. Such bottles were rare and carefully guarded. For it to be left here, unopened and wasted, was almost a small tragedy.
Suppressing a sigh, Qiao Zhi crossed the courtyard and made her way to the house. The wooden door stood closed, but no sound came from within. She rapped lightly — once, twice — and waited. No response. After a moment's hesitation, she tried the handle.
The latch gave easily. The door creaked open a sliver, letting out another faint waft of alcohol. The scent here was subtler, but enough to tell her that someone inside had been drinking the night before.
