The Story Beneath My Pen

It was a wondrous tale you could see and touch,

The rustling of footsteps in the bamboo grove, the grace of music from the qin.

Was it a poem or a painting, a person or an illusion?

The brush set down the wonder,

And beauty came vividly to life.

One person, one dream,

So strange and uncanny.

When I picked up my brush to face it,

Everything began to unfold.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance is purely coincidental. Please do not imitate.