Twelfth Year of Tianwu, early October.
In the region along Canglan River, the autumn rains have been unrelenting for half a month, heavier than usual this year, with chill wrapped in mist sweeping over the river's surface, soaking the lands of the Three Canglan Counties overnight.
The locust trees on both sides of Cyan Cloud Avenue shiver in the rain, their shed yellow leaves mixing with the muddy rainwater, staining the blue-stone pavement a turbid color. Pedestrians hurry under the rain curtains, all donning cotton-padded clothes.
On North Yanque Street, a young man gazes at the medical clinic's eaves where rain lines hang down. During this period, once he pulls himself out of the oblivion of swordsmithing, a vague unease starts to grow in his heart, becoming increasingly pronounced.
