The island lay hushed after nightfall. Beneath a sky of twinkling stars, a small corner of sorrow lay quietly.
If the Luoyang Bamboo Fields had once offered bamboo leaves to veil her eyes, and the cliffs of Luofu Mountain had once been wreathed in mountain mist, then the boundless night sky above this island seemed especially lonely. In that deep, dark sky, clear starlight poured down like water, flowing slowly over the girl as she lay still.
The streaming starlight was rather cold and desolate, but the little girl beneath its chill radiance felt waves surging through her heart and could not find peace.
Were all those dreams I had before really true?
When the night grew deep and still, little Qiong Rong, usually so carefree, could not help thinking of the question she feared most. The fire-spouting mountain that towered into the clouds, the strange waters upon which not even a feather would float-these had grown clearer and clearer in her recent dreams. It was as though she, Brother Xing Yan's silly little sister, had truly once grown a full pair of wings and soared freely through a mountain blazing with fire. When she tired of flying, it seemed she really had gone to that Strange River where falling feathers sank, skimmed lightly over its waves, and lingered to gaze at her reflection.
Perhaps these bizarre dreams were not, in themselves, so frightening to a little girl who had never known what fear was. Yet now she curled tightly into a ball, trembling beneath her bedding, leaving only her two large, dark eyes uncovered to gaze at those tiny, familiar, comforting lights high in the sky. These increasingly vivid dreams were like a wicked person lurking in a dark corner, advancing toward her step by step. Each time they