The night I died, the whole capital was celebrating the wedding of the chief minister.
He married the princess who saved his life, and my first wife was abandoned like a worn shoe.
After rebirth, I found him immediately: "Husband, let's make peace."
He smiled and crushed the wine glass: "Mu Niang, can you say it again?"
Later, I burned the marriage certificate in public, but he rummaged through the ashes for the charred fragments.
Everyone said that the first assistant was crazy.
Only I know that the night he knelt in front of my grave, his hair was as white as snow on his temples.
Reader comments
This is not a "sadistic love" story, not a "chasing wife in the crematorium" story, or even a "revenge" story.
This is a story about "self".
Shen Mu did not hate him forever, did not kill his whole family, and did not make him kneel in front of him and beg for mercy. She just - walked forward.
Go your own way, live your own life, brew your own wine, and be buried under your own crabapple tree.
She knew about his life and death, but she didn't send him away.
She read his last words, but did not cry.
She put on the hairpin, but that was her explanation to herself, not his response.
The only thing she had to do with him was the jar of Begonia wine that had been stored for more than 20 years - and was finally spilled on his grave.
That was the only time she looked back.
Then go ahead and make your own way.
——The mountains are long and the rivers are far away, and old friends sleep forever.
——Haitang's old wine, let's drink it together in the next life.
Would she like to see him again in the next life?
The story is not told.
What we are left to think about is a begonia tree and two fallen flowers.
Standing in his yard with a woman who finally learned to let go, looking at the darkening sky.
She waited for no one.
She just finally became her own light.
This is not a "sadistic love" story, not a "chasing wife in the crematorium" story, or even a "revenge" story. This is a story about "self". Shen Mu did not hate him forever, did not kill his whole family, and did not make him kneel in front of him and beg for mercy. She just - walked forward. Go your own way, live your own life, brew your own wine, and be buried under your own crabapple tree. She knew about his life and death, but she didn't send him away. She read his last words, but did not cry. She put on the hairpin, but that was her explanation to herself, not his response. The only thing she had to do with him was the jar of Begonia wine that had been stored for more than 20 years - and was finally spilled on his grave. That was the only time she looked back. Then go ahead and make your own way. ——The mountains are long and the rivers are far away, and old friends sleep forever. ——Haitang's old wine, let's drink it together in the next life. Would she like to see him again in the next life? The story is not told. What we are left to think about is a begonia tree and two fallen flowers. Standing in his yard with a woman who finally learned to let go, looking at the darkening sky. She waited for no one. She just finally became her own light.