exhale and pressed his knuckles to his rheumy eyes . Blinking rapidly to drive away the swarm of spots that danced in and out of his vision , he looked up and saw –– huh .
Curious . Just who he ’ d been looking for .
Under a streetlight stood a dainty figure , a ghost in the dead of the night . The harsh fluorescent light cast a ghastly pallor to her skin ; she was a sculpture made from mortician ’ s wax , or perhaps the subject of a blurry high-exposure photograph . Her qipao was diaphanous , woven with neon and faded starlight , ethereal in her intangible beauty ; at the crown of her head rested the city skyline , a glittering diadem of concrete and glass and steel .
As planets are drawn to the sun ’ s gravitational pull , he found himself inexplicably stumbling towards her , movements sloppy and unbidden .
“ Hey ! Over here !” He cried out , waving his arm about carelessly . She whipped her head towards him , drawing up to her full height . A bird tittered nervously overhead . “ Who goes there ?” She coughed ; her ribs creaked in protest .
Her posture was indistinguishable from that of a proud sovereign , unperturbed and calm even in the dingy and crudely-lit alley behind –– he looked up at the street sign –– Fu Xing Road . It was under a different name last time he was here .
The man scoffed in mock affront . “ What , you don ’ t recognize me ?”
“ Should I ?” She rasped , wrapping her shawl tighter around herself . Her hands had become bloodless in the stinging bite of the wind .
“ Maybe . I don ’ t suppose you do . It ’ s been quite awhile since we ’ ve last seen each other , after all .” The wind whistled , filling in the silence . Haven ’ t you heard ? it said , but the woman did not hear .
She exhaled sharply . “ No normal person has been able to see me in a long time . How- ” she paused , scrambling to find the right words . “ How are you doing it ?”
The man lifted his bottle and stretched his lips into a grin in lieu of a verbalized answer . “ Alcohol is hardly a hallucinogen .”
“ No , it isn ’ t . But I still see a lot of things .” He paused to take a swig from his bottle and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand , barely hiding a grimace . “ Bah . You are what you eat . Or drink , I suppose .”
“ So , you ’ re an alcoholic .” “ Sure .”
“ What , you drink to forget ?” She asked . Her lips twitched downwards , hiding no small amount of disdain . “ I hardly find that an honorable ... pastime .”
“ I don ’ t suppose you do .” He let his eyes flutter shut . “ But no , I drink to remember .” It was difficult , he realized , to look at her directly without being blinded by her presence , highlighted in stark contrast to the shadows surrounding them . Light seemed to bend towards her in a fluorescent halo , energy and radiance amassing behind her head as if she was the subject of a Renaissance painting dappled in chiaroscuro .
“ Nothing that drives you to the point of alcoholism , I think , is worth remembering .” “ Names ,” he sighed out . “ Names and faces and dates of battles .” “ You ’ re a veteran ?” “ Of sorts , I suppose . Though I believe I am a better historian than I am a soldier .”
“ There hasn ’ t been an uprising here in decades ,” she said slowly ,“ and you can ’ t possibly be older than- “
“ I ’ ve been around for a very long time ,” he swiftly cut in . “ I don ’ t understand .”