The theatre dimmed gradually, until we were in full dark. But then the domed screen above us took on a glow, so subtle at first I didn’t know if it was my imagination, until I recognized the Taipei skyline, precise as a paper cutout, with the skies brightening behind it. Thin wisps of white clouds were scattered across pale blue, a color I had never seen with my own eyes. Beyond, I glimpsed the sloping lines of distant mountains, the mountains that surrounded our city, that Daiyu had pointed out from my apartment in the 101, somewhere in the unseeable distance. Mountains that might have been as real as ancient dragons, for we had no proof they existed in our skyline except from old images of Taipei. And the sun crept up between them, bright and fierce. Blazing. I squinted, turning my head to the side as it rose between the peaks and climbed, godlike, and the skies deepened to an indigo blue around it.

Taipei was lit beneath, with fewer high-rises and no aircars, awash in colors from what the sun and skies gave. Instead of being smothered in a blanket of brown or gray. My heart hurt to see it—to see how it was supposed to be.

“Blue skies,” I whispered.

Daiyu squeezed my hand. “I kept returning to that conversation we had in your vegetable garden.”

I ran my thumb across her knuckles, not knowing how to respond.

“After I saw the footage played for the first time here,” she continued, “I wondered why we ever let it go.”

From lack of foresight. Greed. Hubris.

“I think I can even feel the warmth of the sun.”

“It’s because you do.” She turned to me and smiled. “I’ve designed the theatre to be experiential.”

“It’s incredible.”

She was using her Palm again, and the scene changed gradually before our eyes. At first, early morning mist obscured the landscape, but as the day brightened, the fog dissipated, revealing trees on the mountains, denser and greener than I’d ever seen. I recognized the thickets of Yangmingshan, opening up to a sea of calla lilies with their white blooms turned upward. It was an aerial view, from decades-old footage. A cool breeze swept over my face as the camera panned, and farmers walked between the endless flowers, all wearing hats to protect them from the sun. What I had seen, visiting with my mom, had been a muted version of this, the colors dulled, the expanse narrowed and clipped. But it had still been beautiful, walking among those blooms, holding my mom’s hand.