The south storehouse was not built for men, but for grain.
That was what Yaozu liked most about it.
Grain didn't complain when you bind it. Grain didn't bleed when you cut too deep. Grain didn't lie to your face while its eyes roll with panic.
The air was colder here than in the east chamber, damp stone sweating behind the stacked bundles of straw and firewood. Lanterns swung low, throwing gold against frost that bloomed on the ground in white streaks. The smell of old millet clung to the rafters, sweet rot gnawed thin by rats.
The prisoners were set against the wall like sacks that had burst and been tied again in haste.
Four of them, bound at wrist and ankle, mouths gagged until Yaozu had ordered them stripped of cloth. He liked hearing the way men breathed when they thought they might not have much time left to do it.
Gaoyu, Yan Luo's man, had done the tying.
