雨声 planned to drown out everything. Melting down the cobblestones, washing the mud off the doorsteps, and trying to turn the world into a big, grey puddle. In this downpour, Lin Mo stood in the alley, the wet air making his clothes clench to his skin.

He flicked the match again, the flame sputtering briefly, illuminating the confusion on his face. Up ahead, that thing was still standing there, straight and stiff like a barbecue rack, not moving at all.

Lin Mo narrowed his eyes. It was the scarecrow. Its straw body was soaked through, almost blending into the grey backdrop of the alley. But it was still standing there, facing the rain as if it didn't care.

Suddenly, a voice came from the scarecrow. Clear as a bell, though it seemed to echo strangely in the wet alley.

“You’re still here?”

Lin Mo froze. The voice wasn’t human. It was like wind whistling through dry grass, but with words.

The scarecrow turned its head slowly. Its straw neck cracked loudly, a sound that seemed completely out of place in the quiet alley. The painted-on eyes stared right at Lin Mo.