It was drizzling in another small village. All around, willow seeds were carried by the wind.0

Zhao Changhe, who was always confident in his body and thought nothing of getting wet in the rain, finally started to agree with Cui Yuanyang when she cursed this awful weather.0

Poets could leisurely write about the frequent rains during Qingming, but if you were a traveler, you would naturally be cursing it. What’s more, this was a long journey; he was not simply returning to a nearby village to visit his family. Zhao Changhe had to brave the rain for long periods at a time.0

In ancient times, traveling was just this difficult. Whenever poets bade farewell to someone and traveled ten thousand li across the empire, they did not know if they would see them ever again. Thus, countless timeless pieces of writing would follow every farewell.0

Having just received such a good horse, he cared deeply for his Snow-Treading Crow and was afraid he might get sick from the rain, even though he had no clue if horses could catch a cold.0

Zhao Changhe left feeling free and unrestrained. In the rain, though, his mood soured and he began missing Yangyang. He did not know if she was weeping at home.0

From all of this, he understood...0