Yan Qing felt as if he had embraced another little furnace, and he thought to himself, this night, he wouldn't be getting any sleep.
He deeply doubted himself, wondering which part of his brain wasn't working properly, that he would actually take care of her?
In the past, on rainy days in the deep autumn, what was he doing? Drinking, listening to songs, gambling, walking the streets under the umbrella to see how heavy the rain was, to see if it could soak through his boots, watching ants getting washed away by the rain and losing their way, watching the hurry of carts and passers-by, or else he would go to Jiuhua Temple to listen to the monks chanting, donating a bit of incense money, hoping his grandfather would stop appearing in his dreams, tired of hearing the scoldings even there.
Now, on rainy days in the deep autumn, what was he doing?
