The evening breeze was gentle, and the sky slightly chilly.
Old Taoist Huang coughed violently, spewing out a large lump of dark, foul-smelling water weeds, tears streaming down his face as he lay on the ground coughing desperately, his dazed mind gradually returning to clarity.
Only then did he realize he was lying between the soft muddy banks of the river, the cool breeze from the forest river striking his soaked body, chilling him to the bone.
He shivered forcefully, the cold completely dissipating the last shred of confusion in his eyes.
He propped himself up, struggling to recall all that had happened last night, as if it were a dream.
Seeing the remnants of scattered fruits and broken bamboo rafts, he guessed that everything that happened last night, as nightmare-like as it was, was indeed real!
