"Snap!"
Young Pierre opened his closed palm, revealing a mosquito flattened with blood.
Old Pierre, who was polishing shoes nearby, lifted his head: "What's the matter?"
Young Pierre shook his head: "There are too many mosquitoes in Thousand River Valley, even in autumn."
"We are still navigating on the water, it's normal to have mosquitoes," Old Pierre continued polishing shoes without lifting his head.
Interrupted from his focus, Young Pierre lost interest in reading and approached the ship's railing.
With the recent autumn rain, the weather was gradually cooling, but the large mosquitoes in Thousand River Valley hadn't completely died off.
He looked up, gazing at the azure-gray mountains surrounding him like an amphitheater, enveloping the steel-blue sky transitioning into gray-white.
On the mountain peaks, he could still see dozens of wooden windmill axles slowly turning.
