Rain in the South

     Nestled in the south, between the Qinling Mountains and the Huai River, sudden downpours often occur in late spring and early summer, catching people off guard. Occasionally, a light drizzle, drifting in the breeze, is a truly pleasant and joyful experience. Accompanying this comfortable discomfort is the greasy, sticky, and acidic feeling of the body, washed clean by sweat, especially those parts of the body that are too embarrassing to talk about, and of course, impossible to describe.

    After the drizzle, bravely enduring the ninety or ten o'clock sun, a symbol of youthful vitality, walking a mile or two in this southern city where tree roots are much taller than trunks will cause sweat to gush from the chest and back, soaking through white shirts, creating a uniquely southern sweaty picture.

    Southern rain is very fair; the misty dampness creates a "fair problem of sweating," a problem that doesn't discriminate based on wealth, status, gender, or appearance.

    In the South, the anticipated yet reluctant, unpredictable, torrential downpours arrive on schedule with the plum rain season. Aside from the increasing stickiness, stuffiness, and internal congestion, the overall feeling is quite comfortable. At least you no longer have to let your money be consumed by the cold air conditioning, your stomach be soaked in ice water every day, or the unbearable fumes from the toilet.

    Southern rain sometimes leaves the world damp and melancholic, sometimes it plays a floating, melodious tune. Southern

    rain sometimes makes you sing, sometimes it makes you feel sorrowful.

    Southern rain nourishes the South, washing it down to an exceptionally beautiful state.

    In the South, if you don't understand the rain, you'll find it hard to find true nourishment.

    If you come from the North and miss your hometown, then quietly listen to the howling winds of the North amidst the torrential rains of the South.