The rain started falling in the afternoon, and at first it was just a few scattered drops, knocking on the roof tiles with a dull sound. At Shenshi, the wind blows moisture into the valley, and the rain falls densely like a torn hemp rope.
Li Jingtang sat at the wooden table in the hall, holding a bald wolf hair in his hand, the tip of the pen hanging above the yellowed page, and it never fell down. The oil lamp on the corner of the table danced with a weak flame, making his features half-dark. His eyes were not bright, and his pupils were slightly pale, as if covered with a layer of mist. When looking at people, it always made people feel that their sight was not in the right place.
Spread out on the table is a torn volume of "Tianji Miscellaneous Notes". The edges of the paper are browned and curled, and there are several traces of being burned by fire. This is the only thing left by the master. Apart from a few polished copper coins, there is no other relic.
The sound of rain was mixed with the roar of animals in the distance, low and intermittent, like rolling over the ridge. Li Jingtang tilted his ears slightly and frowned - today's roar was much closer than usual.
