The distant sun sat very low on the edge of the plains. In that black line that was the monster tide, there were many monsters that could fly. They blocked out the rays of light, causing the world to go dark.
On the high platform of the mausoleum, the green leaves of the wutong tree cast their mottled shadow over their figures like the night had come early.
The night had always signified death and the end, but it also often signified safety and peace. Under the cover of the night, people dared to do things they normally did not do, dared to feel emotions they normally did not feel, dared to talk about matters they normally did not talk about.
Those words were often true words, spoken from the heart.
