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A July night should have been sweltering, with cicadas buzzing noisily. But tonight, thick, ink-soaked clouds hung heavily over Yangcheng, swallowing the light of the stars and moon. A gale swept in from the horizon, howling through the streets and alleys, kicking up dust and dead leaves and battering the tightly shut doors and windows with a mournful wail. The sudden storm was like a restless giant beast, brutally tearing apart the midsummer heat and bringing a sharp chill tinged with the earthy smell of soil.
