Late into the night, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the laptop screen. The pavilion in my digital creation seemed to throb with life, its image growing larger, blocking the concrete high-rises.
Out of curiosity, I reached out to touch the screen, my fingers passing through the glass. A cool, smooth sensation lingered, as if I had touched the surface of a still pond. Before I could react, the image enveloped me, and I found myself standing on the pavilion's steps, the night air caressing my skin.
Modern Nanjing had vanished, replaced by a landscape of serene gardens and moonlit waters. I heard distant murmurs and the gentle tinkling of chimes.
An elderly gentleman in a silk robe approached. His presence was dignified and commanding, as if he were the very essence of this ancient world. "I am the Spirit of Jinling," he said. "You, ren-qiu-lan, have bridged the past and present. Your image was no mere art. It was a portal, uniting two worlds that are not so different."
The Spirit of Jinling smiled and invited me to join him. "Wine will flow, though I suspect you might prefer tea." I nodded gratefully. He then informed me that, as a nondrinker, I would need to submit a classical poem as my passport back to my world. Not a bad trade-off, considering the circumstances.
（平水韵七律）
江南第一醉香楼，
客啖黃花片片秋。
天下寒霜归鬓角，
尘间清月出心头。
无诗不犯当朝怒，
有酒何消古国愁？
梦送渊明歌易水，＊
入秦轻驾武陵舟。
＊陶潜有诗咏荆轲
金陵／南京
Was Jinling a Dream?
Late into the night, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the laptop screen. The pavilion in my digital creation seemed to throb with life, its image growing larger, blocking the concrete high-rises.
Out of curiosity, I reached out to touch the screen, my fingers passing through the glass. A cool, smooth sensation lingered, as if I had touched the surface of a still pond. Before I could react, the image enveloped me, and I found myself standing on the pavilion's steps, the night air caressing my skin.
Modern Nanjing had vanished, replaced by a landscape of serene gardens and moonlit waters. I heard distant murmurs and the gentle tinkling of chimes.
An elderly gentleman in a silk robe approached. His presence was dignified and commanding, as if he were the very essence of this ancient world. "I am the Spirit of Jinling," he said. "You, ren-qiu-lan, have bridged the past and present. Your image was no mere art. It was a portal, uniting two worlds that are not so different."
The Spirit of Jinling smiled and invited me to join him. "Wine will flow, though I suspect you might prefer tea." I nodded gratefully. He then informed me that, as a nondrinker, I would need to submit a classical poem as my passport back to my world. Not a bad trade-off, considering the circumstances.
图／文：纫秋兰