“The pearl hairpin that fell into his arms when she was five, the strand of hair tucked into his breastplate when she was fifteen, the white hair that landed in his palm when she was fifty: all were the same handful of moonlight.”
The two most cherished children in Cheng'an Commandery met one spring day, with wisteria climbing all along the western wall.
The pearls from the Shen family's young lady's hairpin became embedded in Pei Yan's scabbard. From then on, the sugar box in the only son of the general's household's sleeve opened for just one person.
They measured their love through the four seasons:
In spring, they picked crabapple pears and steamed them with jade dew; in summer, they gathered lotus dew to brew icy tea; in autumn, they collected osmanthus seeds and made new wine; in winter, they stored plum blossoms and snow to seal away old letters.
When the lanterns on Vermilion Bird Street lit up their 39th Lantern Festival, Pei Yan held Shen Zhao's no-longer-tender hand and opened a locked redwood chest:
A faded sword tassel nestled beside childish doodles. The words “I hope this letter finds you well,” written on thirty-eight letters from the frontier, at last became “A letter to my beloved,” entwined with strands of white hair.
“Childhood sweethearts, fine wines for every season, and the rarest joy of all: growing old and sharing them together.”
