As he rode the forty miles to Suzhou, nothing changed about the landscape 
except that creeks became rivers and ponds became lakes. The Fist encampments 
became somewhat larger and closer together. When the thick air infrequently 
roused itself to a breeze, he could smell the clammy metallic reek of stagnant 
water and knew he was close to the great lake of Tai Wu, or Taifu as the 
Shanghainese pronounced it. A grayscale dome rose from the paddies some miles 
away, casting a film of shadow before a cluster of tall buildings, and 
Hackworth knew it must be Suzhou, now a stronghold of the
Celestial Kingdom, veiled in its airborne shield like a courtesan behind a 
translucent sheen of Suzhou silk.