There are no street lamps. There are no stars and the moon in the sky, but it is as gloomy as the darkness that will be pressed overhead. The shadows of trees and buildings in the distance are motionless, like monsters. Occasionally fireflies float and sink at two or three o'clock. Isn't this a ghost dancing happily? (Ye Shengtao's Night)
The snow outside is getting tighter and tighter. The strong wind broke the frozen branches of the back hill and made a dumb sound. Wild dogs in the distance are barking, melancholy and sad, mixed with the howling of unknown animals from time to time. The silence of the night is almost completely broken by these interlaced sounds. (Ye Zi's "One Night in the Mountain Village")
I think the night is terrible. In the middle of the night in early autumn, street lamps are beating like a jack-o'-lantern, flickering. The night is like a black cover, covering people's heads, so heavy and so ferocious. Bats rushed out of the low ruins on both sides in droves, and their black wings creaked and sometimes almost jumped on people's heads. The trees on both sides of the road were blown back and forth by the wind, whistling. I held my breath and walked quickly with my head down, as if to escape from this dark grave as soon as possible. The fallen leaves behind me rattled by the wind, and it seems that there is always a black hand sticking out from behind to my head. ...