A drizzling rain, like fine cow hair, arrived unexpectedly again, blanketing the Northern Sea and the separate estate nearby with fine, white threads of rain. Countless droplets fell and splashed up a layer of white mist, merging into a sheer veil that eventually left nothing between heaven and earth but a vast expanse of white fog.
In the midst of the white fog, the black tiles on the rooftops were exceptionally lustrous, appearing now and then through the hazy mist. The rainwater gathered on the tiles into slender streams, cascaded down the roof's edges, and hung like strands of bright silver threads.
It was as if a figure from a painting, clad in a white robe, holding a white oiled-paper umbrella, walked into the estate by the Northern Sea amidst the white mist.
Two women walked hand in hand into the Glazed Tower in the rear court, warmed up a pot of hot tea, and, against the backdrop of the fine spring rain, spoke of the private matters between women.
