A branch snapped beneath his foot. The deer looked up. Yue gently lowered his easel to the ground. The deer stood motionless, as if petrified in rock. Then it darted away through the thick green canopy of the forest. Yue let out a loud sigh and sat down on a pile of leaves. Above his head, insects weaved circles in the warm summer air. He slapped at his neck to ward off the mosquitoes. He rummaged through his rucksack, feeing his way past paint brushes until he found what he was looking for, a bar of chocolate. He carefully peeled open the foil wrapper and ate the whole bar in three bites, then he lay on his back and gazed up at the moon.

The low din of heavy machinery filtered through the quiet of the forest. Metal grated against stone as thick drills, wider than a person, bore relentlessly into the earth. Yue let out another sigh, louder than the first. There was no escaping from his father, even here, in the middle of nowhere, he wouldn't let him think. Determined not to waste the opportunity afforded by a full moon, Yue struggled to his feet and set about preparing his inks. His colour palette was muted by modern standards. He restricted himself to the dark inks and earthy hues of his hero, the Song Dynasty painter Ma Yuan. The irony wasn't lost on Yue that his favourite painter also happened to share the same name as the father that he loathed.

He stretched out his canvas and carefully secured it to his easel, which tilted on the uneven camber of the forest floor. Yue closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of all extraneous thoughts. He blocked out the din of the construction work occurring down on the valley floor and formed a picture of the forest as he sought to paint it. A tight cluster of inky spires pierced by the pure light of the moon. Yue felt that colour wasn't necessary to capture the essence of a scene, that there was as much beauty in a single black stroke as there was in a vast canvas tinctured with reds and blues and greens

A rustle of leaves made him open his eyes and he smiled as he saw the deer that had fled earlier take a tentative step back into the clearing. The animal glanced around the glade then lowered its head and began to graze. Yue silently mixed his inks, taking care not to scare away the deer for a second time. He placed the tip of his brush at the top of the canvas and drew a single line down the left hand side. This would be the spine of his first tree. He dipped his brush back into the ink and was preparing to make his second stroke when the sound of breaking glass echoed through the trees.

Voices shouted toeach other in a language that Yue couldn't understand but instantly recognised.His brush hovered in front of the canvas, its tip shaking. Locals, thought Yue,drunk locals. The deer had already vacated the glade and Yue hurriedly packedaway his things, rolling up the still wet canvas and closing the legs of hiseasel. He calculated the distance back to camp and started to run. Behind himthe voices grew louder.