In days past, Skyward City rose upon the Mohist Hill, intended to pierce the clouds and divine the celestial m…
In days past, Skyward City rose upon the Mohist Hill, intended to pierce the clouds and divine the celestial mechanisms for the salvation of all. Yet the ambition remains unfulfilled, the city falling to decay ere it was finished; three years have vanished in a blink. Today, within the ruins, strange echoes stir; the clatter of mechanisms pulses with the rhythm of a heartbeat. Beasts and insects swarm, their cries a discordant chorus. Azure birds skim the wreckage, while deluded monkeys fruitlessly grasp at the moon's reflection.
For that shadow in the ripples, is it the true moon, or but a gossamer dream? Those who follow may yet discern truth from shadow amidst the ripples, and weigh the verity of that flying dream.