The Changan City at night is still as bright as day, with lights everywhere and bustling crowds lingering by the shops, vendors enthusiastically selling their wares.
The sky is thick with clouds, obscuring the bright moon, but that does not dampen people's spirits. Adults and children alike stroll through the streets and alleys, holding beautiful lanterns, while from the teahouses and taverns drift sounds of poetry and song, accompanied by cheerful laughter.
"Brother Lin, I have composed another one. Listen to this: 'The moon of Mid-Autumn, full upon the fifteenth and bright...'"
"Haha, Brother Zhang, I have composed another one too..."
Such pleasant and carefree voices are everywhere, drifting into the ears of passersby—some intrigued, some admiring, some dismissive with a smile, and others indifferent.
On such festive days, it's common for scholars and literati to gather to compose poems and leave their calligraphy throughout the city.
