Maisu Log '26④ Celestial Theater, April 30
Wind Voyagers of Changbin
Original version in Chinese
✐ Isin (Guanyuu) ✐
The moon is the first to take the stage—nearly full, round and plump. Even before darkness falls, she is already perched at the edge of the sky in the direction of taen Sarepwol (roughly east-southeast). In the early hours after sunset, despite the dark patches gracing her face, her brilliant light shines with absolute confidence. Naturally beautiful, she completely steals the show, leaving only the brightest stars a fighting chance at appearing in this celestial theater.
Aside from the moon, Jupiter and Sirius are the first and second to make their entrance. Venus is also incredibly striking, glowing in the fading twilight. The moment Venus appears, the curtain of night begins to drape over the sky, swallowing everything in black.
Right on cue, the bright stars of the western sky emerge one after another. Orion—the Orion Beer star (oops!)—along with his belt Eliyol, and Uul in the nearby “pizza pie” constellation, are all hanging low in the west, getting ready to make their exit. Meanwhile, the eastern sky is so awed by the moonlight that its stars barely dare to show themselves. The only ones brave enough to step out with arms wide open and chests puffed out are the Big Dipper in the north, anchoring the North Star, and the fiercest, brightest star in the east: Arcturus—or Hōkūleʻa, as the Hawaiians call it. Lady Spica is having a rough night; she is completely drowned out by the full moon. Tonight, she will sink below the horizon right alongside the moon, bowing out without ever getting a chance to be seen.
As the night rolls on past midnight, the moon drifts into the western sky, and the Big Dipper follows suit, wheeling westward while remaining fiercely loyal in its guard over the North Star. Finally, the true headliner of the southeastern sky takes the stage: the “Big Fishhook.” He alone commands two navigational stars, Tumur and Mesaruw.
Then, some unpredictable gatecrashers disrupt the theater—clouds out of nowhere. Mostly hovering near the horizon, they block this star and mask that one. Are they just here to cause trouble? They aren’t sticking to the script at all. Or maybe this is a plotline I just don’t understand? The Southern Cross gets bullied pretty badly by them and can’t show its face tonight. Only the two “pointers” next to it shine through stubbornly, dead-set on targeting the top of the Cross, leaving us to guess where it’s hiding.
Before dawn, the moon is finally about to sink into the sea. The clouds rush over to cover it, as if trying to rob it of a grand finale. But as an audience member, I think the way it bleeds into the clouds, scattering its light in infinite, ever-changing patterns, is its most beautiful state of all—leaving everything to the imagination.
Once the moon sets, the stars across the entire sky burn with full power. The Milky Way, glowing like a faint nebula, stretches all the way from Mesaruw at the tip of the Big Fishhook across to the zenith, running between Mailap and Meol in the Great Triangle. Just imagine: a river made of billions of endlessly bright stars, looking just like a cloud. How massive is this world, really?
In the northeast, Cassiopea—the great bird Igulig—takes flight. Due east, a giant quadrilateral kite soars into the sky. Just before dawn, the final act begins as the eastern sky takes on a faint glow. Soon, when the sun rises, none of them will have actually left the stage, yet not a single one will be seen again.
Translation post-edited by Yulun Huang (Yaya)