The cold rain fell steadily outside the palace, leaving the air somewhat damp.
The vast palace seemed slightly desolate.
Wrapped in rain, Baili An fumbled in the small pond of the courtyard, his pockets filled with smooth goose-egg stones, before catching a bowl of clean rainwater under the eaves.
The rainwater boiled and bubbled, and the stones were soaked and scalded in it before being wrapped tightly in a gauze cloth, placed on the belly of a woman lying drowsy on the bed, for her to hold.
Back and forth, with the wind blowing and the rain falling, the effects of the alcohol gradually dispersed, and Baili An, initially somewhat sober, began to feel groggy.
When sober, one could cruelly restrain one's emotions, building a solid wall to seem less sad.
But as the intoxication crept in, willpower seemed to become futilely soft, leaving no energy even to think.
