It was raining. But probably not as much as it rained when the road was built in the late 1930s. Back then, a legion of 200,000 villagers toiled for more than two years to gouge an emergency supply route through these jungled hills in Yunnan. The war was on. The Japanese had blockaded the ports. The villagers worked with only hand tools and muscle to open more than 700 miles of vital roadbed to neighboring Burma. Through mud. Through malaria. Through heat exhaustion. Back then the monsoons were so ferocious that the new road turned into a swollen torrent, carrying away days of labor, days of sweat. More than 2,300 roadworkers died. It rained much less now. Today, the climate crisis was drying out the landscape. Farmers said this all along the old Burma Road.