It was late autumn. Behind the house stood a forest of fiery orange, with open fields spreading out in front. The wild chrysanthemums had withered, only a few clinging stubbornly to their stems and swaying in the wind. A small river meandered by, and farther in the distance, a pool of turquoise water was nestled amid the bare rice paddies.
'A gentle stream winds through the countryside.' The phrase popped into her head.
She dismounted and, leading her horse, slowly followed the village path toward the house in the hills.
The courtyard gate was open. She immediately spotted two village girls sitting under the eaves, dressed in coarse, homespun clothes. They looked to be about twelve or thirteen and were busy with needlework as they chatted. One of them wore a light yellow cloth covering her face.
'That must be Juhua!'
