At first, it was unformed, just a mass of darkness, moving like a dancer. There was the sound of music outside the darkness, weak and melancholy, as if it was blocked by something. Then the darkness expands and rushes toward you. As it rushed over, it lost all sound. You float through one space after another, like a mosquito in the air, and then, all this goes away, leaving only the soft music and the floating darkness.
"The night was young, and so was he. But the night was sweet, and he was sour."
"The night was young, and so was he. But the night was sweet, and he was sour." ―Cornell Woolridge, "The Ghost Lady"
(This novel is co-edited by Qi Huan, Jiang Shu, Yu Mo, Lengquan Gezi, Yi Su, and Ling Dang)