Dust and Mist

Dreaming of Yellow Millet: Moonlight falls on my face, my heart still bears its wounds. I reach out to burn incense. To mend a broken heart and fulfill our promise, I sleep upon a pillow of yellow millet. The storyteller's voice drifts into my dreams, while the starry river outside the window remains unchanged. The railings in the story still look as they did in days gone by. Beneath the tree, the old man sings again of those who passed through. In the desert, whose soul lies buried in the shrine? Beneath the Red Dust Pavilion, I cannot forget your plain silk silhouette, stained red. Before the Mist-Hidden Pavilion, whose blood blossoms into fragrant memories? Upon a pillow of yellow millet, the scholar sheds his youthful arrogance. All is well in the dream, where the painter transforms into a werewolf.

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