The Flood

Yu Xing came to himself for a moment in the fog, then stepped onto solid ground.

The indistinct shadows in the fog spread like paint, and then the mist dissipated too.

A cacophony of voices suddenly filled his ears, accompanied by the furious wind battering the windows and the rumble of thunder.

As soon as Yu Xing steadied himself, he rested a hand on the handle of his whip and looked up.

What appeared before him was a busy inn hall, every table full. Most of the people were dressed in worn, simple tunics with narrow sleeves.

At a glance, anyone could tell from their clothes and the damp smell clinging to them that they worked on the water year-round.

They were probably boatmen.

At that moment, the boatmen occupied the entire hall, leaving only a few seats for travelers who looked a little wealthier.

Their tables held only plain water or wine jugs. The waiter wasn't bustling about and hawking food; he was leaning against the counter, gazing at the windows with a sigh.

Lightning flashed and thunder roared outside. Every so often, a bolt split the pitch-black sky in two. Torrential rain pounded the whole building with a clatter, filling the hall with unease.

A man sitting by a window pushed the frame outward a little and peered through the gap. His face turned deathly pale as he murmured, "It's still rising... A lot of places are already underwater."

At his words, the burly man at the same table slapped the tabletop and stood, making to head outside. The people beside him hurriedly pulled him back.

"What are you doing? Old Zhang, it's pouring out there! At least wait for the rain to stop before you go!"

Old Zhang said miserably, "How long is this rain going to