When the Song Ends, the Lights Fade

A glittering city stretching ten miles, ablaze with lights. Who will rule Shanghai?

Rich or poor, the strong prey on the weak. All around us, it’s nothing but absurdity.

A land of gold, split into four. How can we spend a lifetime as slaves?

A thousand kindnesses and ten thousand loves, all passing like clouds. Looking back, the song ends and the lights fade.

Now you can slowly fold up the chiffon fan in your hand and gently tuck it into the seam of the sofa beneath you. Smooth out the tiny creases in your gauzy dress, then turn your head slightly. You’ll see a cup of black tea on the table beside you, pale-yellow bubbles floating on its surface. It’s gone half-cold, its aroma both astringent and mellow, impossible to resist. Pick it up and take a small sip. The fatigue that’s built up since dusk will gradually dissolve, leaving you utterly languid. You can’t bear to part with this little moment of pleasure. Holding the cup, you relax and lean back, farther and farther, until you sink into the embrace of the high-backed sofa. A woman can live without a man’s loving care, but she must never go without knowing the warm pleasure of solitary indulgence. Before you is an old-fashioned gramophone, and inside it is my voice. Sometimes it is gentle and lilting, sometimes sharp. Sometimes it makes you stubborn, sometimes it leaves you hesitating, and sometimes, perhaps, it even annoys you. But right now

Yes, when you open this story, when you’re weary after a long day and want somewhere quiet to have a drink, when you’ve quenched your thirst and are ready to let a tale unfold before you. Now, with a calm and unhurried heart, listen as I tell you a legend.