My name is Yang Lihua. I was born into the Sui Duke’s household. At twelve, I was crowned and wed to Yuwen Yun, the crown prince I had known since childhood.
When we were young, within the palace walls and beneath the shadows of the parasol trees, he was the only warmth in my lonely days. I believed his sincerity when he climbed high to pick sour fruit for me, and I still remember the burning light in his eyes when he placed the empress’s seal and patent before me. I once thought that in this cold palace, we could rely on each other and keep each other warm.
When we were young, within the palace walls and beneath the shadows of the parasol trees, he was the only warmth in my lonely days. I believed his sincerity when he climbed high to pick sour fruit for me, and I still remember the burning light in his eyes when he placed the empress’s seal and patent before me. I once thought that in this cold palace, we could rely on each other and keep each other warm.
But they are not me. How could they know the warmth we once shared as husband and wife? How could they know how he truly treated me all these years?
He was guilty of countless wrongs, yet the good he did for me was like the traces left by a bird in snow or mud: stamped into my heart, impossible to smooth away or pick clean. It would be a lie to say I did not love him, and just as much of a lie to say I did not hate him.
Later, he died young, leaving me alone in this world to watch the Great Zhou fall and my family rise to the heights of power. After half a lifetime of vicissitudes, it seemed that love, hate, and longing had all faded away.
Until, in my old age, the windblown sand of Zhangye stung my eyes. In a daze, I saw again the boy from when I was nine, with pear blossoms scattered across his shoulders in the Eastern Palace. Smiling, he said to me:
“Lihua should bloom in the spring sunshine.”
But our spring was so brief.
