(Yesterday's chapter was revised right up until its release at eight, and I even rushed to change a few places after it was published, from the chapter title to the last few lines. I won't go into the specifics. As for the ending, it was originally supposed to be just "The rain stopped." That would have better suited this story and Jing Jiu's character: a little plainer, a little more ordinary, with even ten thousand kinds of beauty rendered as outlines on unglazed porcelain. In the end, I added two lines about thunder, thinking that although they were a little clichéd, a little jolting, there ought, after all, to be a thunderclap here.)
Once the rain stopped, it was no longer a rainy day.
The thunder that sounded at such a moment was a bolt from the blue.
Everyone felt as though they had been struck by lightning.
One Green Mountain disciple lost his wits and fell from his flying sword. Fortunately, he was rescued in time, or he would have fallen to his death in the Stone Forest.
More people were too shocked to speak, staring blankly at the young man in white beneath the Thatched Hut's eaves.
Many others wondered whether the thunder had damaged their ears. Had they heard wrong?
The Thunderclaps still echoed and circled high in the sky, like an enormous yet invisible bird flying without cease.
Apart from that, there was not a sound among Green Mountain's peaks. The silence was absolute.
Zhuo Rusui's habitually drooping eyelids had long since risen as high as they could, his eyes filled with horror.
Guo Nanshan and the others were equally stunned, standing rooted to the spot like stone statues.
The faces of Lei Yijing, Yao Songshan, and the other young disciples were flushed