When A Yin woke, the sun had already risen three measures; the window curtains had been pulled closed very securely, and the inside of the room was just as dark as the Teng serpent’s cave, but through the sliver of the curtains, the sunshine penetrated both clearly and brightly. It was as if she were weighed down in the spacious void of the deep sea, and what brought a calming scented air was the bubbling stream, and the thread of light was a fisherman’s line that lured her out of the sea. She didn’t know what sort the angling fisherman was, or how he planned to eat her, just as she didn’t know whether the scene outside the curtains was agreeable to the gaze. She wanted to cough quietly, yet her breastbone was numb and couldn’t rise eagerly, and the painful sensation of the bones of her limbs had just emerged from sleep; it was this that caused her to dully remember the matters of the day before. She twisted her ankles; since the past, when receiving an injury, she’d always had this cu