
No one has ever seen the real Chang'an. All impressions of it are but phantoms pieced together from scattered fragments of history. The chronicler's pen is too austere, the poet's ink too lavish, and so the true Chang'an vanishes into the mist of time and space. Yet this does nothing to hinder the Chang'an of imagination: a Chang'an resplendent in rose hues, majestic and haunting, lingering in the soul like an unshakable dream.