June skies, a child's face.
An hour before, he had been admiring the moon from a high building, but now, large raindrops had begun to fall.
"Ah, it's raining," Zhao Douan raised his head, listening to the dense drumming sound overhead, withdrawing his fingers as if jolted from drunkenness by the thunder.
He stood up, glanced at the sobering soup, and ultimately did not dare to drink it, saying,
"I must return home, otherwise, the women at home will worry."
Having said this, he saw that the old man before him was staring absent-mindedly at the table, and silently he sighed in relief.
He strode forward, braving the wind and rain, sprinting towards home.
In no time at all, he had vanished from sight.
In the raining world, every household closed its doors, leaving only the corner where a red lantern swayed.
Zhang Yan Yi quietly gazed at the steaming bowl of soup on the table, next to the crookedly written words "Tao generates one."
As if lost in thought.
