Surrender will be the greatest prize.It is the invisible city built as the realm of the gods’ wood. It is an amphitheater erected to stage our intoxicating passions, the cult of one’s own essence, the crossroads of rites celebrating opulence as their religion. It is the incense burning in the dark like eyes filled with passion and a love letter so long as to fill up a whole library. It is the intimacy of a blooming rose, the missing half of the apple, the gentle strength of the cedar, the lethal temptation of the lily of the valley. It is a river of passion flowing in the middle of a town. The mature Cambodian oud enters the nostrils like a queen entering her court announced by gong chimes, her trail more precious than gold.