O Herói da Porta Fria

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A quiet autumn rain had been falling for ten full days. It was not heavy, but carried a trace of late-autumn chill as it pattered finely and densely across the boundless fields.

Masses of dark-gray clouds hung low over the earth. It was already deep autumn, and the woods stood bare. The rain had washed the old trees clean, but merciless autumn had stripped away their beautiful garments, leaving them standing gloomily while brown moss concealed the deep wrinkles in their bark.

The ten days of continuous rain had also turned the ground exceptionally muddy. Even the imperial highway was filled with murky puddles and mire, making it impossible for pedestrians to take more than a step at a time. Only with the aid of animal power could one manage to move slowly along the muddy road.

This was Tangyin County, under Xiangzhou Prefecture of the Hebei West Circuit in the Great Song dynasty. A broad, level imperial highway ran straight through the county. Ordinarily, travelers came and went along it, making it lively and bustling, but thanks to Heaven’s mischief, it was now difficult to see a single passerby.

To the east of the highway stretched endless wheat fields. The autumn wheat had long since been harvested, leaving the fields bare, with bundles of stalks standing everywhere like human figures. Farther away stood a massive waterwheel. Where there was a waterwheel, there was a river. Beneath it, the Tang River flowed quietly eastward, eventually emptying into the broader, glittering Yongji Canal.

Several miles west of the highway,