Pagoda in a Chaotic World

At some point, the moon peered out from behind the clouds. Its clear light mingled with the murky yellow glow of the lamps, draping the area in a veil like a hazy dream and lending it a quiet air. From an inconspicuous corner came a series of soft, rustling sounds. Thin streams, no thicker than pen tips, trickled out, forming a crisscrossing, intricate web like one drawn in red ink. They converged at a single point, then crept forward over the ground, winding across the moonlit lawn.

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