They say my life is as fragile as paper, and that I’m destined to weep as I bury flowers and die of illness behind closed doors. Wang Xifeng laughs at me in front of everyone: “A poor young lady putting on airs.” Baochai sighs, “Why fight over a moment’s pride?” Even Baoyu tells me, “Don’t take it so seriously.” But today, I stand on the poetry gathering’s high platform, holding a branch of red plum blossoms. Who says Lin Daiyu can only weep? I’ll make this Grand View Garden change my fate!
