The rainy season in the south of the Yangtze River is always lingering, and the patter of rain is like torn silver threads, woven diagonally, soaking the entire Wuzhen in a warm water vapor. The bluestone road was moistened by the rain and shone brightly. When you step on it, you can hear a subtle "clucking" sound, like the whisper of an old object. Duan Dong stood at the door of the "Behind the Scenes Inn" holding an oil-paper umbrella, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the warm patina on the umbrella handle - it was rosewood picked by Su Wanyue herself, saying that it matched the scenery of Jiangnan better than the ebony he used before.
