This vermilion hue—it reminds me of the sunset glow, of autumn maples... Mid-Autumn is for feasting on crabs! …
This vermilion hue—it reminds me of the sunset glow, of autumn maples... Mid-Autumn is for feasting on crabs! Alas, in Liangzhou, there are no crabs to be found. Merchants from Chang'an speak of the autumn crabs of the Central Plains, plump and rich, their shells cracking open to reveal oozing, golden roe, best savored with a dip of vinegar... Tsk. When the caravans return in spring, I must ask them to bring a jar of vinegar. Then I can pair it with this wall of "crab roe" for my meal! Ahem... Amitabha, may the Bodhisattvas forgive my worldly thoughts.
—Crab Roe Red.
This shade of yellow—like apricots, sunflowers, the scent of gardenias... I hear the gardenias of Chang'an are flawless white, their fragrance sweet and shy—too delicate, I fear, to endure the wind and snow of Liangzhou. One cannot smell gardenias in the Sutra Caves, nor find them near the Reclining Buddha Temple. Yet the scriptures speak of another kind of gardenia fragrance—the Zhanbo flower, a sacred golden bloom from the Western Pure Land. It is pure and lovely, a favorite of the Bodhisattvas. They say if you perform good deeds and accumulate merit, the Bodhisattvas will smile, and a rain of fragrant flowers will fall from the heavens, guiding all beings to enlightenment with its scent. In that case, these few accidental smudges of yellow can be counted as the light of Buddha and a rain of sacred flowers. I imagine the Bodhisattvas are generous and will not hold it against me.
—Gardenia Yellow.
This shade of green... One sees no green beyond the Jade Gate Pass. In Liangzhou, the snows are heavy, and verdant life is hard to find. This splash of green... it's like the willow trees in front of my home, the lotus leaves in the pond, and the emerald mountain behind my house. As a child, the mountain seemed immense and lush, a place to get lost in and never return. Only after growing up did I understand that though the mountain is vast, it always stands behind home. One can get lost in life even without venturing into the mountains. In those moments, you need only close your eyes. If you can see the mountain, home is not far.
—Emerald Mountain Green.
This color, this cyan... I believe I have heard it before. That night I lodged at the monastery, the wind wailed, making sleep impossible. In a daze, I seemed to hear the faint sound of a flute, drifting from deep within the bamboo grove outside my room... If I had followed the sound, I wonder if the spirits of flowers and birds would have understood my words and let me capture their likeness with a single stroke? But to not go would be to waste a perfect moment, a beautiful presence, a kindred sound... Then, suddenly, the flute fell silent. A gust of wind blew my storybook from the desk. Outside, the moon was intensely bright.
—Moonlit Bamboo Cyan.
This white... it's not like the snow of Liangzhou, nor the sand under the moon. This chalk powder feels fine and smooth to the touch... Is it not a bit like what the devout ladies at the temple speak of—the lychee? They say the fruit grows in the southern lands. You peel back the shell to find flesh as white as snow and translucent, soft and glistening... This shade of white would be perfect for painting the fingertips of Guanyin. Ahem, I mean no disrespect, of course. It is only a bit of envy... Then again, if my own fingertips were so lovely, I would no longer be able to hold a brush.
—Lychee Flesh White.