The third wail of the night, the hour of the rat.
Today is already late January. The full moon in the sky has become only a small crescent, occasionally obscured by dark clouds, turning the entire earth pitch black.
Fu'an Village is quiet, the crow of roosters, the bark of dogs, the chirping of birds and insects, all have vanished.
No one asks why; everyone intuitively understands, cooperating with this tacit silence.
In the dry air, not a single breeze passes through, making the drought-stricken land even more harried and restive.
The Jiang household is equally silent. The crescent moon suddenly hides behind clouds, as if giving cover to someone intentionally.
The door to the side room opens softly, and a small shadow flits out.
Swiftly moving along the dark areas to the corner, a wave of her hand, and a cat materializes out of thin air, gracefully landing on the ground.
