When the Peng migrates to the southern darkness, the waters are roiled for three thousand miles. It rises with the wind and climbs up ninety thousand miles, departing on the sixth-month gust. Wavering heat, bits of dust, creatures blowing each other about with their breath — is the sky's blueness its real color? Is it just that it goes on so far without end? When the bird looks down, it sees the same blue too.