C1894 There Are Two Kinds of People in the World That I Hate the Most

The rain was relentless, blurring the distant scenery into a hazy tapestry. Raindrops cascaded like a beaded curtain, with a persistent mist wrapping around, refusing to dissipate. The sound of the rain seeped into the room, adding a layer of dreamy remoteness, as if it were carried from a distant place.

Lo Chuan was in the midst of recounting a tale of talismans and demons