The rain in Xingang City never asks whether you want it. It simply falls, layer upon layer, as if it means to soak the whole city in old dreams.
Qinghe thought his life would always be like this, until Ye Tianyuan picked the lock.
Inside the tank was a girl with silver hair and ice-blue eyes. Rings clasped her wrists and ankles, and dark red liquid flowed through thin tubes like a river on the verge of freezing.
Qinghe carried her out and gave her a name: Xuejian, snow after the rain.
Shuiling, Ye Qingcheng, Xia Lian, and Ye Tianyuan were like sparks rising from the deepest reaches of Xingang. The city’s rain drove them onward and hounded them, but they never once thought of parting.
They weren’t heroes. They just didn’t want to be merchandise on someone else’s table anymore.
The rain kept falling in Xingang City. In it were laboratories, hunters, the Old Harbor Commerce Guild, and things crawling up from the depths of the Black Sea. Every raindrop seemed to count how many days they had left.
He led this group north, toward thicker fog, colder rain, and darker roads.
This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any similarities are coincidental. Do not imitate.
