The autumn rain fell and stopped, stopped and fell. Crows cawed and frogs croaked, competing to sing of rain and clear skies.
Taking advantage of a break in the autumn rain, Yang Ming accompanied his family on an outing, trudging through thick mud mixed with wheat straw as they wandered through a village outside Heaven Dou City.
Villagers picked autumn fruit in front of houses surrounded by rustling green leaves, while women planted sweet potatoes in the fields. Most of the fields were ready for harvest, their wheat stalks standing as tall as a person in a brilliant expanse of gold. Frogs croaked on every side. Water flowed from one field into another with a gurgle. Only during the autumn rains could such a vast chorus of rushing water be heard. The river flowed thick as rich cream, brimming with green currents, and a bundle of golden wheat straw bobbed away on its surface. Some of the reeds along the banks had put out plumes. Children broke off reeds and spread them on the ground, sitting on them to fish.
The air was heavy and oppressive. The village's cooking smoke was too damp to rise and could only turn into mist that crawled along the ground. The hills and countryside had deepened into dark blues and greens, as though even a single falling drop of water would dissolve into a spreading wash of color.
Little Yang Guo broke free of Yang Ming's hand and bounded through the muddy ground like a husky let off its leash. Every heavy stamp of his little feet left a pit in the mud and sent splashes of black muck flying onto his trouser legs and clothes. He paid them no mind, only growing more delighted.
Perhaps it was because this city child had never