After parting with Zhu Qingyue at the station, Xu Xiangyang returned home alone. He stood at the entrance of the alley and lifted his head to look at the horizon, as the sky neared dusk.
At this moment, the fierce rain had somewhat weakened, but the little alley where his home was situated, being relatively low-lying, still accumulated a river inside, with the water deep enough to submerge his ankles when he stepped down.
In some places, it even overflowed over the steps in front of the doors, gradually invading inside the houses.
This rain, coming just before autumn arrived, had a momentum more ferocious and urgent than the typhoon days of summer, as if it intended to drown the homes nestled in the alley.
He saw a few uncles and aunties from neighboring homes, with basins in hand, bending over to pour out the water that had flowed inside their homes and onto the stairways, their faces filled with distress.
