The Eight Wastes.
Across the Eight Wastes and through the ages of history, I had no idea how long I drifted in a daze, stumbling into one stroke of luck after another amid twists and turns, accompanied by countless upheavals. In the end, I still opened my eyes.
The Eight Wastes stretched across the world, while the ages stretched through the eons. After drifting and tumbling through who knew how much confusion, as though blindly stumbling into a stroke of luck, accompanied by countless storms and upheavals, I finally opened my eyes.
A few black-and-white strokes on the ceiling outlined the shape of the roof, as though a brush soaked in thick ink had been swept across it with a grand flourish. In this black-and-white world, every color appeared extraordinarily precious. I wondered whether Han Shanshan had tricked me into placing my thoughts inside some dying stray dog, because everything my eyes saw was nothing but black and white.
A few black-and-white strokes on the ceiling sketched out the shape of the roof, as though a brush soaked in ink had swept across it in broad, vigorous strokes. In this black-and-white world, every hint of color seemed extraordinarily precious. I wondered whether Han Shanshan had tricked me and my consciousness had been cast into some dying stray dog, leaving everything my eyes saw washed in black and white.
Yet even this black and white was extraordinarily simple. It was like the few straw rain capes and hats hanging beneath the eaves—so simple that I found it hard to believe.
Yet even this black and white was extraordinarily plain. The few straw rain capes and hats hanging beneath the eaves, for instance, were so simple that I found it hard to believe.
But none of these visual shocks could conceal the