At 5:30 in the morning, Jiang City was still steeped in a light-blue morning mist. The eastern skyline was already suffused with the faintest tinge of orange-pink, as if someone had dipped their fingertip in the dawn's glow and gently brushed it across the horizon.
The old district's bluestone paths were still damp from the night before. At the mouth of the alley, a soy milk vendor had already set up a blue-and-white striped canvas awning. The iron wok was heated until scorching hot, and the milky-white soy milk simmered inside, tiny bubbles frothing on its surface. The rising steam, carrying the rich aroma of soybeans, drifted through the morning mist toward the street corner.
