As with every spring in Old Dunling, the cold rain washes over this steel city. Although often maintained, within this misty vapor, the entire city remains rust-stained, with countless lights blurred and transformed into resplendent neon.
The residents of Old Dunling have long since become accustomed to such weather. Black umbrellas unfurl one by one, gathering in the streets like countless blooming flowers, and these black flowers surge through the gaps between buildings, following the flow of the accumulated water.
Joey held a black umbrella, stepping over shallow puddles.
The rainy season in Old Dunling had arrived. For the next few weeks, the city would remain this way, with the drizzle continuously falling, oppressively gloomy, as if it would never stop. Joey felt as though his soul was being drenched.
