Death of a Red Heroine

by Qiu Xiaolong

spat vigorously on the damp ground three times—a half-hearted effort to ward off the evil spirits of the day,

Shangyin—’When, when can we snuff the candle by the western window again, / And talk about the moment of Mount Ba in the rain?’

patches of partially forgotten dreams hovering in his mind.

Helpless the flowers fall,

All the poses were in imitation of nature—the essence of Taiji.

Not the river, but the moment it starts rippling in your eyes .

bicycle bell spilled into the silence of the night.

“Whoever fights monsters,” Nietzsche said, “should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”