About This Novel
I am so greedy for this world that I have to occasionally go to the cemetery, just like wandering on the edge of the abyss; I love this time when I am alive, but I love only when I think of death, especially in front of the grave. A typical cemetery puts the occasional visitor into a trance, as if they have traveled for many years to reach the place. The large and inlaid boulders here seem weightless, just a vast expanse of nothingness covered with stones, while the wind passing through the dense pine forest is heavy. The clouds, belonging to the bewitched blossoming patterns in the murals, hang motionless. Some of the westerly sunlight is dozing on the hillside, making shadows superimpose. Accompanied by the moist sighs of ferns or moss, the silence here emits a gray light. Those monuments erected in memory somehow show the look of forgetfulness, resulting from daily weariness and finally ancient loneliness.
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