The Cāng Lán compound sat near the top of the island's crescent, separated from the rest of the settlement by a high wall of pale stone capped with dark tiles. The entrance was a wide gate, its wooden doors painted a deep red that had faded with time into something closer to rust. Above the gate, carved into a stone tablet and inlaid with what looked like mother-of-pearl, were characters I couldn't read but assumed spelled out the household name.
Two guards flanked the entrance. They wore layered robes in shades of dark blue over light armour that incorporated the same scaled pattern I'd seen on the attendant's forearms. They watched us approach without expression and parted when Lín Shuǐyáo raised her hand.
Inside the compound, the careful construction I'd noticed throughout Chén Lián was elevated to something else entirely.
