My name is Xu An, and I'm an utterly ordinary, well-behaved art student. My life should have been all color palettes and drawing boards, with a safe, uneventful graduation ahead of me.
But from that day on, a rift was forcibly torn open in my world.
The old folks often say that everyone has three life-flames.
When the flames burn bright, evil spirits cannot harm you. When they go out, ghosts roam the night.
And my life-flame was fading bit by bit, its light and shadows forming a composition of the strangest kind.
Just as I thought the rules would swallow me whole, I met him.
His name was Yan Guiwang. He owned a paper effigy shop in the old district. He was always dressed in a dark, exquisitely tailored robe with a subtle pattern, the fabric gleaming in the gloom like cold jade. Fine, lifelike vines were embroidered in silver thread around the collar. His sleeves were wide, and as he raised his hand, his robes billowed as if countless pale paper butterflies were about to take flight in the shadows.
Holding an oil-paper umbrella, he walked toward me beneath the blazing sun. He fixed his deep, unfathomable eyes on my wavering life-flame and smiled with a tenderness that was almost sickening.
