The winter sky was hazy and grey, the white somewhat dull.
On the lakeside of Bell Lake, a miscellany of trees—varying in thickness and height—were scattered amicably within a copse, enduring the months of winter. The branches, once home to vibrant leaves, had long lost their charm, carried away with the northerly wind, leaving behind only bare branches and the white or light brown bark covered in marks of age.
At present, these trees bore no leaves, but were laden with clusters of 'fruits'.
Some of these 'fruits' were black, some white, some yellow, their fur all fluffy. The smaller ones were the size of apples, while the bigger ones as big as watermelons. They hung in the dry branches, subtly swinging with the cool breeze caressing across the lake.
Zheng Qing was one of these 'fruits'.
Indeed, these 'fruits' were actually cats of various sizes and colors.
