At night.
The little girl next door stealthily climbed out of bed for a late-night snack; the smell of sesame paste wafted over.
Zhou Luchen had been copying scriptures. With utmost disgust, he closed the window. He then took out a matchbox, slowly selected an incense stick with his long fingers, struck a match, and lit the incense burner.
Finally, the unpleasant scent of sesame was dispersed.
A special, privately blended musk incense burned in the small tripod censer.
A faint, milky fragrance lingered in the air, the aroma it produced bewilderingly sweet.
He leaned back in his chair and wearily closed his eyes to rest. Inhaling the rich, cloying incense, he drifted into a dream.
A beauty, her long hair disheveled, lay sweating and weeping in his arms, murmuring, "Little Uncle… no more… no more…"
