Tailing Tomb

For a moment, all is silent but for the distant barking of a pack of dogs. Before me, the yellow roof of the long'en hall must once have gleamed in newness, but now lies lustreless, cracked and crumbling like the paving stones beneath my feet.

The courtyard with the grey stone altar is surrounded by a stand of darkling pines. Two sentinel hou sit stricken on their lonely plinths, their heavenward gaze obscured by moss and lichen. Behind me, the old memorial tower to the Yongzheng Emperor rises into a hazy sky, its central plaque bare but for the ghost of a Chinese character, the painted wood faded and flaked.

All around is decay and desolation, as perhaps befits a funerary monument.

Then the wind lifts again, carrying the chatter of the few tourists at the site. The sun, soft and watery, begins its long decline, lengthening the shadows that steal around the souvenir vendor as she dozes in her chair.