雪像被藍墨反覆打磨，山脊冷得發亮；遠處兩點黃光，像守夜的人不語。還是不要問我這是哪裡好了，這樣會戳破我的謊言——我沒有去過我筆下的地方，我沒有看過極光。

The snow looks as if blue ink has polished it again and again; the ridgelines shine with cold. In the distance, two yellow lights keep silent like night watchmen. Better not ask where this is—you’d puncture my lie: I’ve never been to the place on my canvas, and I’ve never seen the aurora.