It was Qingming Festival once again.
Mist and rain drifted endlessly over Nanyuan Lake. Within that haze of rain, all one could feel was the melancholy at the bottom of one's heart. The lake and mountains were as pleasing as an ink wash painting, yet the damp air always brought a faint sorrow. Those returning home to honor their ancestors wore grief-stricken faces, timid as they neared their hometowns. Wild grass grew thick and lush as they faced the graves and said, "I'm here..."
Nanyuan Lake had no winter. After that strange torrential rain over the lake last year, a steady drizzle had continued all the way to Qingming.
Clothes and bedding were damp, and grain could not be stored for long.
The only benefit was that both armies tacitly remained in their respective island camps, warming themselves by the fire. Every day, aside from eating peppers and drinking liquor to drive away the damp, they stared at the sky beyond their windows and prayed for sunrise.
The government army was not affected in the slightest by the chaos in Chang'an. They fought when it was time to fight and rested when it was time to rest, as though they were an independent kingdom.
The Aristocratic Clans of several southeastern provinces had completely given up hoping for help from the imperial court. They only hoped it would not come and make a mess of things. The rebel army had been blocked at Nanyuan Lake, unable to advance an inch, and was expected to collapse soon.
A black-canopied boat rocked as it left the dock.
Mo Yuan wore a bamboo hat and a straw rain cape as he rowed the boat slowly into the curtain of rain.
Mo Qin sat inside the cabin, taking small sips of liquor. She had to