The moon was dark, the wind fierce, and rain blotted out the sky.
The moment darkness descended, a rare storm for this season swept in. The drizzle gradually intensified, and by around the third watch, rain hung like a curtain. The torches around the granary camp swayed in the wind and rain, sometimes bright, sometimes dim.
Zhao Wei returned from duty and wrung out the damp hem of her clothes.
Muddy droplets trickled down, drip by drip.
She took off her helmet and held it in her hand to fan herself.
"How did this wretched weather come about?"
"Fortunately, the autumn harvest is over. Otherwise, after a rain like this, who knows how much grain would be ruined. Tsk—Lu Zhi Zong, why have you taken your boots off again? Can't your nose smell it? It's sour and foul. Hurry outside and collect some rainwater to wash them."
Her words were filled with disgust.
Lu Ji had just woken from a full sleep and yawned.
"You've got some nerve saying that to me. Hasn't Lady Zhao gone eight or nine days without bathing too? Why don't you raise your noble arm, lower your head, and sniff your own armpit? You dislike my feet, but I dislike the sour, sweaty stink all over you even more..."
Hearing the sound of rain pounding against the tent outside, Lu Ji said, "The rain's that heavy already?"
Zhao Wei rolled her eyes, unwilling to hurt each other any further.
Only after joining the army had she learned that imagination and reality were separated by an impassable barrier. In the past, when she followed her father around the camp for fun, he would never have let her go ten days or half a month without bathing, much less thrown her among soldiers who had spent ten