Raindrops hammered down like dense, jade beads, washing over the carriage windows in layer after layer of rainstorms that seemed woven into shimmering transparent curtains.
The world looked as dim as if its lights had been snuffed out. In the sky, leaden clouds hung low, and the CC1000 Express sped through the hazy sheets of rain. The glaring white beam of its headlamp seemed to be torn to shreds by the wind and rain, failing to illuminate the path lurking ahead in the darkness.
Spring in Chicago was notoriously rainy, especially around the Illinois region, where lakes and forests required the nourishment of natural waters. Yet these rains were usually gentle breezes and fine drizzles that moistened all things silently, unlike today's howling gale and torrential downpour. It was as if a floodgate in the sky had been blown wide open, with massive volumes of water cascading down onto the earth as though trying to drown the world.
Chapter 107