The night descended like ink, the mountain forest tightly wrapped in a heavy veil of rain and fog.
Darkness, dampness, the fine rain like silk, seeping through the clothes, carrying a bone-chilling cold straight to the heart.
The mountain path was muddy, the surroundings silent, the light rain pattering on the fallen leaves, creating a rustling sound with a hint of emptiness and remoteness.
Through the rain and mist, a few lanterns flickered.
The lanterns' light was dim, as if it were being swallowed by the wet, cold darkness.
A group of travelers trudged through the mountains, each of different stature, all wearing cloaks and bamboo hats, their shadows flowing like night ghosts in the rain.
Li Yan flicked his fingers, scattering the rainwater from his bamboo hat.
He pulled out his pocket watch, examining it under the candlelight, it was already three-quarters past the Chou hour (2:30), and he couldn't help but frown slightly.
