which some call the Milky Way. Since there is no bridge across the river, the lovers are eternally separated except on one night of the year, the seventh night of the seventh month. On that treasured night, magpies form a bridge to span the river so that the lovers may meet in fervent embrace.
Ming Huang held Yang Kuei-fei close. "I am the Cowherd," he whispered.
"And I the Spinning Damsel. Fortunately, birds are our friends."
"We can never be separated," said the Emperor, "for even though distance separates us temporarily, we can always gaze toward the heavens and meet in the stars."
"My Cowherd Emperor," she murmured, and snuggled up against him.
"Come," he said huskily, "let us go in, where we can remove some of these coats."
Yang Kuei-fei sighed. Somewhat wistfully, she said, "Why should not the air be filled with good spirits, enough to overcome the forces of evil? Why should not the night's black silence be satin-soft with peace and comfort?"
He seemed surprised. "Why do you say that?"
"I thought I saw the shadow of a cold gray mist."
"There is no mist," he assured her. "And the only shadows are those of trees against the moon."
She smiled. "I cannot understand what came over me. However, now it is forgotten. I was wrong, there are no shadows. The night is filled with gentle music."
She started singing the words of an ancient song:
