On rainy nights, a pale blue lantern glows coldly above a solitary well, where a ghostly woman sits, sometimes…
On rainy nights, a pale blue lantern glows coldly above a solitary well, where a ghostly woman sits, sometimes gazing longingly at the moon, other times smiling softly as if lost in a quiet game.
A night traveler once passed by and saw a gaming table beneath the lantern light, with one of the four seats empty. Looking closer, two spirits and a peerless beauty sat there, her features as delicate as a painting, appearing like a wandering soul.
The traveler fell into a trance and awoke only at cockcrow to find nothing but lush bamboo shadows. Sensing the wick had burnt to ash, he realized it was no mere dream.
Yet in all my travels, I have never seen the dead return to life. The body is but a vessel, while the soul dwells where its longing lies. This nameless woman, speaking the cryptic tongue of fox spirits, must seek something. It is not found within this world, but at the intersection of soul and dream.
In his dream, the traveler journeyed a thousand miles east, tempering his heart and soul. Yet in the grove, there remained only a lantern, a shadow, and a table.