A Dead Tree Meets Spring, Its Broken Branches Enter the Snow

In the twenty-fifth year of the Republic, I fell in love with the young man who rescued me in the winter snow at Plum Blossom Garden. When we met again, he shouted that he would marry no one but me. But the last time I saw him was at his wedding to someone else. In the winter of the twenty-fifth year of the Republic, I died in the snow, in the same winter when I first met him.