Chapter 84: The Commoner Idol Mr. Zhao

Once again a small town, shrouded in drizzle and fog, was full of fluffy willow catkins blowing in the air.

Previously confident in his robust health, Zhao Changhe, who thought nothing of getting soaked, finally began to agree with Cui Yuanyang's cursing of the rotten weather.

Rain during Qingming, the poets may leisurely recount their tales, but as a traveler on the road, you can only curse your bad luck. Especially when you're covering a thousand miles—a far cry from a quick visit to the neighboring village.

Such was the inconvenience of travel in ancient times, hence at every parting, countless timeless masterpieces were born. Because one never knew whether, after a separation over mountains and rivers vast, a reunion was ever in the cards.

Having recently acquired a fine horse, he felt particularly distressed for Wuzhui trudging through the snow, fearing the rain might ruin it, utterly unaware whether horses minded the rain or not.