Dream City, in a certain sense, was a particularly exquisite indulgence.
Here, one could taste the endless desires of all living beings.
Intense agony, wanton intoxication, the bloody smoke rising from thousands upon thousands of gallows, and food below dipped in human blood.
Spasms of joy, endless greed, countless pairs of shoes carrying the dust of many worlds hurried here, all to make dreams come true.
A murderer's shoes, a usurer's shoes, a prayer's shoes, a hard worker's shoes—millions of different people entered wearing different shoes.
This was a crowd whipped onward by fear and joy, exuding the stench of warm decay, breathing in happiness and ecstasy, squeezing out the strength remaining in their marrow, then exhaling it through their mouths.
They plotted war after war, cultivated indescribable creations, feverishly adorned the brightly lit city, sought flowers and willows, reveled without restraint, and drowned themselves in a paper-drunk, gold-bewitched haze.
They rose again from outside bearing hope, only to sink once more into the city as walking corpses.
The crystalline, brilliantly illuminated city was where they lived. Here, there was no day or night, no gender, no old or young; everyone was categorized as one whole.
Everyone's sins, everyone's joy, everyone's murders, everyone's joy—it was all like plays upon plays, like a turning sun.
Only a place like this could ferment the fiercest emotions. Countless young people scattered their youth here, sturdy young men and young girls pouring in like trash.
The nighttime metropolis was filled with towering buildings and ceaseless traffic. Even at night, the crowds did not diminish in the slightest; they remained densely packed, rushing everywhere.
This was a city that never slept. Beneath its resplendent lights, day and night were no different. Work never stopped, and the city never rested—but precisely because of that, it was