Gaoling Village was exceptionally tranquil under the setting sun, with only the occasional chirp of insects and the sound of the stream that wound around the village.
But to those who had lived through the drought, the sound was incredibly pleasing to the ear.
This place might not be ideal, but this one thing—the sound of flowing water—meant they would never again have to flee their homes because of a drought.
The only thing that made their hearts sink was the sight of the houses at the village entrance, all of which were in a state of decay. The wood was riddled with insects and had faded to a dull gray.
Many of the roofs were like sieves. On some, nothing remained but the rafters, with a few crossbeams visible between them, looking like the ribs of a skeleton.
