Yu Sheng led along an endlessly energetic doll, a ravenously hungry fox, and an artificial saintess who never slept.
They wandered through the big city beneath the mountain the whole day, until the sky darkened and the city lights came on.
“So beautiful…”
The little doll sat on Yu Sheng’s shoulder, tilting her head up with wide eyes.
She watched as lanterns and illusions lit one after another between pavilions and towers, and a huge flower-bedecked barge slowly drifted across the sky.
Little pavilions were built on the barge, with carved beams and painted rafters, lanterns flowing like a river.
From the distant markets the lights rose and poured through the whole city—everything was so breathtaking, far surpassing the Ink City on Shouji.
Yu Sheng carried Ailin on his shoulder and sat on a section of guardrail by the road.
He tipped his head back to look at the city nightscape and, after a long while, breathed out softly and couldn’t help but mutter, “Awesome.”
The little doll reached out and tugged his hair. “You’re a novelist, at least use some variety—only ‘awesome’ after all that?”