As Ning Que awakened, the world had disappeared.
Looking at the ants' dead bodies in front and the green leaves and ice gravel that were scattering and heaping together, he pulled himself up with difficulty after a short moment of absent-mindedness. He wondered how long he had been in coma. It might have been very long or very short, but he knew it was extremely dangerous to lie in the middle of the street. Hearing the distant sounds of bamboo flutes and hoofs, he bit his lower lip to gather his nerves, and then dragged his tired and injured body to run into a side alley.
The remaining blood had disappeared without a trace, as if the bluestones had been washed in the rain several times and dried up in the warm spring. He did not notice that the blood stains on his body were gone. He was so clean that it seemed he had taken a bucket bath for half a night in the House of Red Sleeves.
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