At midnight, the Forbidden City faded away from the hustle and bustle of the day and sank into a lifeless ink. There were only a few dim street lamps, blurring the halo of light in the damp and cold night fog, barely outlining the outline of the cornices and brackets. Lao Zhou wrapped his old cotton coat tightly and swept the beam of flashlight across the empty square, routinely inspecting the stone beasts that had stood silently for hundreds of years. He is the night watchman here and has been working for almost thirty years. He can feel the texture of every floor tile with his eyes closed. The wind tonight is a little evil, whining through the gaps between the palaces, blowing chills on the back of people's necks.
