Chapter One: The Night Dome
The starry sky-the oxidation of metal and the abrasions upon mechanical armor determine the base tone of this firmament. Looking up past the white mountain ridges, the entire sky is a substantive, thick wall. It is layered and riveted together by countless heavy-duty exhaust pipes, interlocking gear sets, and colossal dormant engines. Those glimmers scattered in mid-air are the stars of a clear night, yet they are also the haloes emitted by these dark heavy metals themselves.
However, within the gaps of the dense, discarded machinery, several glowing transparent capsules hang suspended. Inside the capsules, a warm light burns like a primitive oil lamp. A few pale-bodied, nearly translucent little fish-men sit huddled around this spark of fire. In this night sky, entirely welded shut by cast iron and bearings, they dwell as if within the gargantuan mechanical heart of the universe, maintaining a faint yet infinitely enduring breath.
Chapter Two: The Mountain Bones
Massive accumulations of snow cover and level everything, sketching the undulating trends of classical mountain ranges. Yet, if one scrutinizes the dark sides unmasked by the white snow, they will find that it is not rock that props up these peaks. Several giant beasts, their forms as large as hills, lie dormant along the path of the mountains. Their broad backs and bulging limbs constitute the shape of the earth, silently bearing the geological stress.
Upon the back of the giant beast on the right mountain, a section of plank path has been carved, guiding the gaze downward. Following the valley, three snow-covered Chinese courtyards sit scattered in the foreground. Beneath the traditional upturned eaves, metal pipes and valves of the steam age coil and twist. Outside the courtyard walls, dark winter woods are arranged with meticulous disorder, their canopies transformed into miniature exotic beasts or suspended spheres. Behind half-open sliding doors, the little fish-men rest leisurely, watching this slowly crawling snowfield as if in a dream.
Chapter Three: The Micro-Spring
On the left side of the frame is a stream. Above the stream, a slightly larger, pale-colored little fish-man suspended in air. He holds a ceramic jar in both hands, his body leaning forward slightly, seemingly prepared to draw something from the flow.
But he belongs to no narrative. Water vapor condenses on his jaw and the rim of the jar, yet he stands motionless. If one levels their gaze and observes from a slight distance, this little fish-man, amidst the cold and interlaced background, has completely lost the abruptness of a biological being. His grayish-white silhouette grows seamlessly into the jagged terrain beneath his feet, like a strangely shaped stone by the stream, washed by water for years on end. In this self-consistent world, life has no need to prove itself as life; it gracefully abdicates, playing the role of a landscape feature that never intrudes upon the natural environment.
Chapter Four: The Night Guest
In the lower right of the frame, a small bridge covered in heavy snow sits level. This is a microscopic corner within the entire scroll. A small figure wrapped in winter clothes has just stepped out, preparing to set foot upon this snow-laden bridge deck.
He is the sole traveler here. He does not look up. In the experience of this little wayfarer, this is likely just an ordinary snowy night: he believes the flickers in the sky are merely common stars, unaware that they are Mecha descending from the heights; he believes the mounds beside him are merely ordinary snow mountains, unaware that beneath them sleep the giant beasts serving as load-bearing walls; and he must surely mistake the little fish-man with the ceramic jar for a green stone that happens to block the stream.
The gears across the sky turn soundlessly; a vast ecology has made its home within the ruins. Yet, with his head bowed, he walks alone into this boundless classical snow.
In the biting cold, he says:
