Prologue
The moon hung low between the second and third big strut of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was as though the bridge itself was an ancient device intended to measure the moon’s cycle. Strange warm on my ear and shuddered, pulling my cardigan tighter, and moving away from the railing, first walking, then falling into a light trot. In front of me, big, gothic-style arches rose into the sky. The night was astonishingly warm, but despite that, I clenched my cardigan with both hands.
Suddenly, I noticed something ahead of me glistening in the night sky. I started to run towards it like one would run towards the light at the end of a tunnel. As I came closer, I noticed that it was the moon drowning in the river. The music had stopped. The moon slightly rose out of the water, becoming translucent so that the rippled, watery surface behind it became visible. I felt a warmth in my pocket and pulled out the Luopan, my Chinese compass. A few signs on it lit up, starting from the inner circle and slowly moving outwards: first a direction in the middle, then a trigram, then one of the heavenly stems. The needle flickered and jerked, then lingered on the spot, slightly trembling as if controlled by some mysterious undercurrent.
Something urged me to move towards the moon hovering above the sea. Water was sloshing around my feet, mellow and warm. Then, suddenly, I lost balance and was twirled around...
