The first layer of the Abyss, the Demon Palace.
Rain as fine as silver hairs veiled heaven and earth like gauze. A winding ribbon of blue-green jade, like emerald water, curled around the woods. Distant mountains hid their shadowy forms in dark blue haze. Rain brushed the tall, slender phoenix-tail bamboo, gathering into beads that slid from the elegant tips of its leaves. Like crystals falling from a broken string, they struck the oil-paper umbrellas in intermittent, clear notes, like a court lady gently tapping chime bells.
Inside the Demon Palace, rows of enormous red pillars supported the great hall. Each was carved with a lifelike golden dragon winding around it, a magnificent sight.
Amber wine, jasper cups, gold-footed goblets, emerald platters; food like paintings, wine like springs. The ancient zither murmured and bells chimed. Flowers shaped like inverted bells adorned the hall, their white calyxes gleaming with the translucence of bone china. A ring of pale purple in varying shades crowned their petals, looking both dyed and naturally formed.
Crystal-bead curtains cascaded in winding folds. Behind them, someone draped in gauze played a zither. Music flowed with the rise and fall of their fingertips, now ethereal, now tangible, ever-changing. It was like springs dripping into a secluded ravine, clear, otherworldly, and crystalline. Then the waters gathered into a powerful, rushing current, forging through overlapping mountains, hidden reefs, and treacherous shoals with tenacious vitality before flowing into surging rivers and seas. At last, it settled into calm, leaving only lingering overtones, like ripples splashed up by a fish leaping from the water.
Notes that shook the forest, three refrains of Yang Pass, urgent strings and pipes, lofty melodies few could echo, seductive strains, music lingering among the rafters for three days, pearls falling onto a jade platter, an oriole emerging