In a daze, you open your eyes and find yourself standing at a busy bridge in the heart of the city. Beneath your feet lies a road paved with blue-gray stone, while above you rise tiled roofs with soaring eaves. The clatter of carts and horses mingles with the cries of street vendors, forming a lively symphony.
Goods from north and south, brought by the canal boats, are piled high. Camel caravans belonging to foreign merchants rest by the roadside, while the graceful figures of Persian dancers appear and disappear behind the second-floor windows of taverns.
The air is thick with the mingled scents of spices, wine, and cosmetics. The splendor of a golden age washes over you.
Yet beneath all this prosperity lurks something glaringly strange:
A young woman in a green silk skirt walks past with a food box. As her skirt flutters, you glimpse slender calves tightly wrapped in sheer, flesh-colored stockings. On her feet are three-inch heels embroidered with curling lotus vines, the pearls on their tips trembling gently with every step.
An old flower seller wears jasmine in her hair, but the hem of her coarse-cloth skirt reveals what looks like the edge of dark stockings. She pairs them with low-heeled cloth shoes, and the absurdity makes your heart skip a beat.
“Is this really the Tang Dynasty?” you wonder, startled. You look down at the flowing water beneath the bridge.
In the reflection, the man has sword-shaped eyebrows sweeping toward his temples, eyes bright as stars, and a tall, straight frame like a pine tree. There is no trace of the greasy, middle-aged shut-in you were before you transmigrated.
