This fog is not as thick and biting as winter fog, nor as sticky and hot as summer fog. It is clear and moist, carrying the moisture of the vegetation along the stream, gently spreading over the bluestone road, the weeping willows on both sides, and the stone arch bridge over the stream. The fog is uneven in thickness. From a close look, you can see the dewdrops on the grass blades. From a distance, the scattered huts and tracts of mulberry forests are shrouded in haze, leaving only vague outlines, like a blurred ink painting.
Su Wanhe carried a bamboo basket and walked forward on the wet bluestone road. The soles of her cloth shoes were stained with tiny specks of mud, and the hem of her skirt was wetted by the mist, sticking to her calves with a slightly cool touch. But she didn't care. Instead, she raised her head slightly, letting the mist with the fragrance of grass and trees brush over her cheeks. There was a faint smell lingering on the tip of her nose, and she couldn't tell whether it was willow buds or grass.
"Wan He, walk slowly, the fog is heavy, be careful of the slippery stones under your feet.
