A História do Abate do Cervo

When autumn arrived in Chang’an, the Egretgrass Post beyond Yumen Pass was exceptionally beautiful.

Especially at sunrise.

The Tianshan and Jinshan mountains on the horizon gradually revealed their outlines in the darkness, their silver-white peaks slowly shifting to a golden hue.

Those golden rays seemed to emanate from these two vast mountain ranges, gradually filling the boundless desert and sea of sand.

Desolation and bleakness were the prevailing themes at this moment. Standing on the boardwalk outside the post, gazing into the distance, the sky seemed within reach, yet an overwhelming sense of loneliness would often wash over like a tide, as if one were utterly alone in the entire world.

However, whenever this feeling became too intense to bear, simply withdrawing one’s gaze could restore a fleeting moment of tranquility.

Clear streams irrigated the continuous meadows, converging into serene lakes.

A cluster of a dozen or so houses comprising the post stood by the lakeside, where rampant bulrushes easily swallowed the roads beyond the boardwalk. The grass known locally to herders as egretgrass was not the same as what people in Chang’an called by that name; it was merely a slender grass that bore no flowers. Yet in the morning breeze, countless emerald strands swayed gently, brushing against the railing of the boardwalk with a soft rustling, exuding an incomparable gentleness.

The reeds in the lake, however, bore large white blossoms resembling the tails of white foxes, their reflections mingling effortlessly