After the New Year's celebration, the weather remained cold.
A thin layer of ice floated on the river outside Wanzhou City.
Crack!
Ship master Chen Tuozi jabbed the ice layer seven or eight times with the tip of the pole, breaking the ice so that the small black canopy boat could barely squeeze into the dock.
The copper bell hanging at the bow of the ship had already frozen into an ice clump, but the cargo vendor Old Zhao's curses were more audible:
"Damn it, dog-fucking weather, it's been three days since the Waking of Insects, and the rope for my goods is still frozen stiff!"
At the stern, a herbalist was huddled, with angelica root whiskers covered in frost flowers in his bamboo basket. He tightened his tattered cotton coat and chimed in:
"You're not wrong, it's been snowing since the New Year, and it's still so cold after the holiday. This wasn't the case in past years, feels kind of sinister..."
Upon these words, the cabin instantly grew quiet.
