I Dream of Five Thousand Years of Chinese History

Five thousand years pass like a flowing river, a single page turning in the book of history. I look back and see ironclad cavalry and clashing blades, heroes growing old, ambitions left unfulfilled, beauties blamed for ruin, and the passing of the torch. Where the smoke of war fades, the setting sun shines blood-red over lands strewn with broken halberds and sunken sand. The deeds of emperors and generals come down to a few lines on a stele; the joys and sorrows of gifted scholars and beautiful women are no more than a scene in a play. Yet those who press onward through the dark with lamps in hand still conceal a spark in their sleeves, carrying it across wilderness and beneath the cold moon until it reaches the next dawn. Rivers surge on, day and night, while the persistence and watchfulness of humankind continue quietly writing unfinished chapters in the pages of time.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.