The Blood-Loving Flower

Rows of camphor trees lined both sides of the street, their dense branches drooping overhead.

Her feet felt heavy.

"Keep walking. What are you thinking about?"

"Yanyan."

The setting sun passed through the glass window, split into diagonal squares by its cross-shaped frame. The shifting light flickered in her eyes, and the tips of her hair were bathed in the dusky glow. She posted on social media that she felt as if she had been gilded.

She always liked to leave a warm yellow light on in her bedroom. This time, she did the same, but curled up in a corner, the outline of her favorite plush toy blurred by darkness.

After a long while, she sent Xia Qijun a message: "I can't believe I'm the one saying goodbye to you."

She was shattered, and he couldn't pick up all the pieces.

Their love was humble, fierce, and sick.

Longing was the most fundamental kind of love a girl could feel for a boy.

In the letter she wrote before she left, she said:

"I have a few regrets. Not for any other reason, but I really love watching you smoke. I feel like I still haven't watched enough, even at this point... I know my love is sick, mixed with a little selfish desire."

"Even after reflecting on it, I still long for you, and you still long for me. I want to know more about you. Time has passed so quickly, and I don't have much time left."

"Remember? My kitten didn't bring me any luck, either."

Xia Qijun rarely cried, but later, when Old Li opened the envelope, much of the writing had been blurred by tears.

Do you remember which flower I love most?

Pink poppies.