Rain drummed heavily against the dark tile roof of The Gilded Lily, washing away the grime of Ministry Lane and turning the cobblestones outside into slick mirrors of gray light. Inside his private second floor office behind the main tea hall, Han Ping sat comfortably behind a polished oak desk covered in ink ledgers and wax stamped envelopes. He wore his heavy emerald silk robes, the three massive silver chains resting against his chest as he reviewed the daily intake accounts of his growing business.
The damp chill of the capital evening pressed against the glass window panes, but the interior of the office remained warm from the brick stove glowing softly in the corner. Han Ping dipped his quill into the ceramic ink pot, tallying the copper coins and silver bits collected from the vari
