The evening sun drifted slowly past the top of my head, leaving behind only a fading streak of crimson clouds along the horizon. Returning along the narrow path, I carried with me a melancholy that seemed the only gift I could offer to the dying glow of dusk.
Walking alone through the bamboo-lined trail, the last traces of sunset faded away, and distant lights began to flicker to life one by one. Only I wandered in solitude along this quiet country road. Looking up, I saw the night sky — where stars should have blossomed like flowers — yet tonight, it stretched above me, vast and empty.
I gave my silence to the stars, pushed open the creaking wooden door, and collapsed onto my bed.
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally, I sat up again — another night of utter stillness. Yet the figure of that young lady filled every corner of my mind. Clearly, I had fallen hopelessly in love with this nameless woman.
I stepped outside, and saw that the stars were unusually bright, as if the distant Milky Way had sent me its softest greeting. In this long, sleepless night, perhaps the starry sky itself was my greatest comfort.
Returning to my room, I pushed open the window that had long remained shut and propped it up with a wooden stick, letting the night breeze flow gently in. Sitting before my desk, I opened the long-slumbering diary and wrote with a trembling hand:
The stars are asleep,
and the shadow of night shimmers still.
I am the Cowherd bathed in moonlight,
yearning for my maiden upon the moon.
I call to the crescent moon,
yet it answers only with its pale glow.
Though the night is long —
it shall remain sleepless,
for even the stars are dreaming tonight.
When I finished writing, I rose slowly and stepped once more into the night. Quietly, I walked along the silent country path. The water in the rice fields rippled softly under the moonlight, swaying gracefully like dancers in silver gowns. Within that glow, even the shy faces of the young rice shoots revealed themselves.
The torches along the road flickered faintly — each one lonely in its own flame. I pulled one from the ground and began walking toward the bamboo forest.
Inside, darkness engulfed everything. I could not see even my own hand. The torchlight barely illuminated the muddy path beneath my feet. Lost in thought, I failed to notice a small stone in my way — and stumbled, falling hard to the ground.