It began raining at midnight and drizzled on until dawn. Night rain in an old-style courtyard had more charm than anywhere else.
Ye Weining was woken by the sound of the rain.
She sat under the window in her bathrobe and turned on a small lamp with warm yellow light. The light cast her silhouette to one side, adding a touch of gentleness.
Her hair was tousled from sleep; she only raked it with her fingers a couple of times, then sat beneath the window, admiring the night scene.
The flowers and plants in the courtyard had all been baptized by the night rain. In the hazy darkness a few dim yellow palace lanterns were scattered about. They had been set directly into the ground by watering, and could withstand even the fiercest wind and rain.
Every now and then a cool breeze blew in, carrying fine threads of rain, landing on her skin, chill and damp. The frogs in the pond were asleep too, croaking only once in a while.
