In the late spring of the third year of Xianheng, the rain in Chang'an City always carried a dampness that could not be dispersed. The willow silk beside the Qujiang Pool was wet and hung heavily, reflecting on the rippled water, just like the untwisted green silk of Gong E.
It was in such a rain that Cun Da Goose opened his eyes.
The dull pain in the back of his head came to him before he became aware of it. He wanted to raise his hands to rub it, but found that his arms were tied with something thick and hard, making his skin tight. A smell that mixed with earth, musty smell and a faint scent of powder entered his nose. He opened his eyes with difficulty. What he could see was the dusty linen tent roof with a hole as big as a copper coin. Raindrops were dripping down the hole, leaving a small patch of dark color on the straw mat next to his ear.
