As mid-September arrives, just as the mountain folks predict, the icy autumn rain pours down.
This kind of on-and-off wind and rain will last one to two weeks. In such weather, the mountain folks can only resort to drinking, sleeping, and beating their wives.
The rain falls like needles onto the thatched roof, making a crisp pitter-patter sound.
Amid this sound, surrounded by seven or eight mountain folks, Ansel, clad in a heavy hooded cloak, is already half-soaked as he pounds on the door of this little cabin.
"Lalor, it's me!" Ansel's voice rises above the sound of rain, "It's Ansel, let me in."
Footsteps approach amidst the rain, and then the wooden door swings open, Lalor peers out, his face marked by fatigue and weariness.
He gives Ansel a glance, genuinely surprised, "Brother Ansel, what brings you here? It's not a day for traveling."
"What have you been up to these days? It's already September 14th, you didn't come for the spinning payday yesterday, what's going on?"
