After sending off wave after wave of guests, the lakeside cottage finally quieted down to a solitude that felt somewhat lonely.
Yang Ge shut himself inside the house, sitting silently by the hearth all night long.
This night was especially short.
It was as if he thought about a great many things, yet also as if he thought about nothing at all.
The next morning, inches of the morning sun slanted into the wooden house from the terrace, dispelling the darkness.
Like suddenly waking up, he got up, fetched a bucket, and drew a bucket of crisp lake water from the lakeside into the house, dousing the remaining embers in the hearth.
And then, like any ordinary person about to embark on a long journey, he wandered aimlessly inside the house, now and then wiping the table, straightening the chairs, occasionally tidying up the bowls and plates, and gathering up rice and flour...
