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[thisrainymorning]

天上白玉京，十二楼五城

I always imagine that would be red strings everywhere in the city in the sky. Braided on the wrists of children, intertwined between the pinkie fingers of lovers, hanging loosely from windows and doors, tied to prayers on the oldest trees, attached to every lamppost glowing in the dark and every letter sent afar, forever protecting the dwellers of the city from unseen demons, malicious thoughts, and harmful miasma.

And when it rains in the city in the sky, maybe you’ll pass by a pond overgrown with lotus flowers and lily pads, and you’ll hear a different kind of music than the harps and flutes in the city center, one created by walking in deep puddles and the shaking of a leaf unable to bear so much water. Because when it rains in the city in the sky, it rains with all its might, with the darkest clouds brooding for days, collecting as much water and winds as it can, determined to prove that the city in the sky isn’t invincible.

And it fails every time, because no matter how much it rains, trying to flood the city, no matter how hard the winds blow, trying to topple the towers, the city remains the same as it was once the rain passes. While children are rushed inside and told not to leave until the sunlight shines upon their red braided bracelets, adults move about the city wielding umbrellas tied with red strings, fixing broken items, delivering food to the elderly and children, and maintaining the aqueduct system that moves water out of the city streets and into the world below, knowing that the storm will be over in a few days, as it always has.