[ He certainly knows that Chang Geng's name is ill-omened, it's something that occurred to him the first time he heard it. Back then, he'd attributed it to some strange fancy of the Man woman, or perhaps that the Northern tribes had different superstitions regarding the stars. But knowing what he knows now, of course that name was intended to torment the boy, like everything she did to him. And yet, after so many years of calling "Chang Geng," how can he possibly switch to "Li Min"? He might as well call him "your royal Highness."

This question, Chang Geng's sleeplessness: he'd hoped to send the boy a sweet message, but it seems he only opened old wounds. He sits down at the table, and is silent for a moment before answering: ]

In the Northwest, the golden sand stretches to the horizon on all sides; the sky overhead is endless and vast. There's a peculiar clarity to the air. At night, the thousands upon thousands of stars sparkle so brightly that they cast a shadow. They rise and fall, moving inexorably through their paths, and I always thought, back then, that it made no sense to try to foretell what will happen on earth according to the stars. They are constant and predictable, but human affairs are always changing.

[ A little pause. He smiles. ]

Now of course, we know about stars and planets and moons. There's nothing disastrous or monstrous about any of them.

[ He plucks the vine full of flowers from Chang Geng's fingers and holds it up, pretending to look at it; but at the angle he's holding it, he is really looking past it, at Chang Geng's face. ]

This "evening star flower" is of course lovely to behold, a treat to all senses, and admirable besides in its tenacity. Naturally it's something good.

[ His gaze softens. On his lips are words he can't say: during those years we were separated, every night I looked for "Chang Geng" in the evening sky. ]