The Hiking Order

Outside the peach-flower curtain, the east wind is gentle; within it, she lingers over her morning toilette.

Peach blossoms lie beyond the curtain, while she rests within, the two separated by little more than a breath.

The east wind, with a mind of its own, lifts the curtain; the flowers long to glimpse her, but the curtain stays drawn.

The peach blossoms beyond the curtain bloom as before, while she within has grown thinner than the flowers.

The flowers know how to pity her, and they too are filled with sorrow; the wind carries their message through the curtain.

The wind slips through the gauze curtain, and blossoms fill the courtyard; the spring scene before the house only deepens her heartache.

In the quiet garden, the moss-covered gate stands open; by the railing in the slanting sun, she leans alone.

Leaning there, she weeps toward the east wind; in her crimson skirt, she steals close to the peach blossoms.

Peach flowers and leaves whirl in a flurry, blossoms opening in fresh red, leaves shining emerald.

Mist wraps and smoke veils ten thousand trees; the towers glow, their walls a blur of red.

The loom burns through its mandarin-duck brocade; spring-drunk, she is nearly awake, shifting her coral pillow.

A maid brings a golden basin of water; fragrant spring water reflects her face, cool as rouge.

What can the vivid rouge be compared to? The flowers' color, or a person's tears?

If one were to compare a person's tears to peach blossoms, the tears would flow forever, while the flowers would still bloom beautifully.

Watching flowers through tearful eyes, tears soon run dry; when they do, spring ends and the flowers wither.

Withered blossoms hide a sorrowful woman; flowers drift away, and the weary are overtaken by dusk.

At the cuckoo's cry, spring is gone; in the lonely curtained room, only the moon's pale trace remains!

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.