A Heart Revealed in Falling Ash and Snow

Two stone tablets stand side by side, like two people standing shoulder to shoulder, gazing in the same direction. Many years later, the old folk in Chang'an still tell the children that story. They speak of the prosperity of the Cheng'an era, of the imperial consort who stood beside the emperor to build a golden age, and of Emperor Wu Zhao, who spent her life protecting one person and every day of the rest of her life missing them. “Those two,” the elders say, sitting beneath the ginkgo trees in autumn, squinting as they gaze into the distance. “They conquered the realm together while they were alive. And after they died, they had to sleep side by side, too.” “As if they had never been apart.” The children listen, only half understanding, but they always feel it must be a wonderful story, the kind that makes you want to cry. The evening breeze sweeps across the imperial mausoleum, and the ginkgo trees before the two tombs rustle. Golden leaves carpet the ground, one overlapping another, as if someone has spread an endless brocade quilt between heaven and earth. In the distance, it seems a magpie flits across the sky, bound for somewhere unknown. Or perhaps not. There is only the wind, and silence. Theme: Mountains and rivers may decay, and dynasties may rise and fall, but people can still illuminate one another through the long night.