The City Stands Still, but Hearts Are Moved

The sky did not “light up.”

Instead, the whole world was enveloped in a strange light.

It spread from the western horizon. It wasn't dazzling, and was even gentle, yet it made every hair on Pei Xinzhi's body stand on end. It was a “color” unlike anything he had ever seen, impossible to describe: neither blue-green nor white. It was as if the pale, fish-belly white before dawn, the harsh white of midday, and the cold light left behind after moonset had all been crushed together, with every trace of warmth sucked out.

There was no sound.

That was the most terrifying part. At this hour, the camp was usually filled with exiles cursing, guards shouting, camels snorting impatiently, and pots and bowls clanging together. But now, all was silent. No, it wasn't silence: the light had “swallowed” every sound. He could see a guard in the distance moving his mouth, but not hear a single thing. He could see camels stamping in terror, yet the dust they kicked up seemed to move a beat too slowly.

Then he saw “it.”

In the west, where heaven and earth met, a “pillar” stood tall.

No, it wasn't a pillar. It was more like a… vast, frozen “gray streak” stretching from heaven to earth.

It had no substance, and its edges were blurred, like a drop of thick gray-white paste falling onto the sheet of rice paper that was heaven and earth, then setting in place. Inside the paste was a deeper gray, completely opaque, swallowing every scene behind it: the desert, the distant mountains, even the sky beyond.