About This Novel
The night before the Waking of Insects, a thick and thin voice calling "Xiao Qian" in the wild sounded for most of the night. The rain started falling in the latter part of the night. At first it knocked casually on the iron eaves on the door lintel, but gradually it became denser and formed a fierce formation of horse hooves. There was only one three-finger-thick candle burning in the entire warehouse. The candle flame was blown by the wind that squeezed in through the crack in the door, and cast layers of mottled shadows on the roof and floor. Two snoring sounds floated above the continuous sound of rain. Old Han woke up and listened for a while before falling asleep again. The process of trudging out of a deep dream was a bit long. For a while, his mind seemed to be floating, and he saw the sky lightening little by little. Although it was slower, it was obviously past the time to wake up on weekdays. His mind told him who was still sleeping, not to be deceived by the rain-washed sky, but his body still couldn't break free from the dream.
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