The palace of the First Emperor, who conquered all under heaven, was a silent city guarded by the Terracotta Army, its cold light seemingly cast in bronze.
The imperial capital of the mighty Han, where pomegranate blossoms and heavenly horses brought the dust of Yumen Pass. Its smoke and haze wove together scarlet and darkness.
The magnificent capital of the Sui, whose dragon boats bound for Yangzhou had yet to return when the tragic beauty of rouge faded with the Qionghua blossoms and jade trees.
And what of Chang'an, with its peony wine, its Li Bai and Du Fu, its rainbow skirts and feathered robes? Was it a wealthy crimson, or a brilliant gold? Or perhaps a dazzling, mysterious jade green? Perhaps it held even more wondrous colors, like the murals of Dunhuang, like the flying apsaras and their dances. Strange hues curled into clouds and lifted that dreamlike city to a higher, farther place. As people of later generations gazed up at it, they felt a familiarity that seemed both real and illusory. The scholar leading a white horse down Vermilion Bird Street: is that you, or isn't it?
When the moon rises and night falls, strange stories are always being written. Dipping their pens in moonlight, they write upon the wind and upon the water, only to vanish at the first glimmer of dawn. If you glimpse their fading shadows, what color would you paint them? What colors would you give this Chang'an of the Tang, a city belonging to fantasy and night...
Mian Tangxiong, Nightfall Melody: What color is the Chang'an in your heart?
