"Alas, I predicted thirty years ago that Shanggu would eventually be engulfed by the expansion of the capital city, and sure enough!"
On the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, the lantern festival fills the streets with revelry. Leisurely strolling down the avenue, Gu Yu suddenly felt a wave of sentimentality.
Back then, he was a wandering monk with a fellow student from Shanggu as his roommate, who would come here to play during the summer holidays. He felt the encroaching pressure from the capital's outer ring, and his words indeed became prophetic.
The Kingdom of Jushi has thirty-six provinces, and Yan Zhao is the most lamentable, a helpless situation indeed. Of course, the common folk don't care—festival time means temple fairs, lanterns, beauties, a time of peace and prosperity.
