Growing by the Reed Bank

The red-robed general's feral grin was as chilling as a crow over a grave on a cold night. The monks, stripped of their black robes, stood there naked, their pale flesh exposed, weeping softly. In a daze, the glinting armor drew closer and closer to the monks' naked bodies. From not far away came Senior Sister's scream: “No! She's only a child...” It was a catastrophe for the Buddhist community, and Hongcao, a young nun, became its victim and sole survivor. With her words, “Xiaoxiang blood bamboo for my hairpin, a heart of ice in a jade flask, tears streaming down; with an innocent heart, I contemplate the desolation of this world,” she laid bare the desolation of human life. The tale of the humble hairpin that was never cast aside passed beyond the towering palace walls and spread through ordinary streets and alleys, becoming an immortal love story of emperor and empress. But how many could understand the sorrow behind it? Though her nature was as clear and pure as water, she could only flow, fast or slow, along the channel designed for her. Though her love was like fire, tossed about and adrift, she still held fast to what she cherished and never wavered, yet she could not change the hardships fate had in store. The man she loved rose from humble commoner to supreme ruler. Though he never forgot the love they shared in their days of poverty, in the end he could not give her everything. Her rival, a haughty and selfish official's daughter with a face pale as dust, seemed to have a past unlike anyone else's. And she herself did not know where she had come from or where she was going. The most tragic ending in the world is not lovers living apart, nor even the grief of being separated by death, but the loss and ruin of love itself. When the endless accumulation of material things gradually buries the beautiful feelings humanity depends on to survive, I dedicate this story to everyone who calmly holds fast to true love. This story ended a long time ago, yet so many of you are still leaving comments. I'm truly deeply moved... I've decided to rewrite it, with a special focus on putting the male lead through the wringer... For details, click: Empress of Time (Hongcao Grows by the Stream, rewrite edition) The Empress Yin of Yan was murdered by a eunuch in the secret chamber of the Jade Terrace. She unexpectedly came back to life, only to discover that she had returned to a year earlier... At dusk, a melodramatic opening unveils the prologue to an ancient butterfly effect. This is a mistake born of time, one that leads to an imperfect ending. Hulian, the emperor of Yan, was a handsome young ruler with a keen mind. Though frail and sickly, he shouldered the burden of restoring his country, and devoted his passionate love to the woman he had cherished when he was poor. He wrote poems and waited for his beloved to return. Their story, the imperial couple's tale of the humble hairpin never cast aside, passed beyond the towering palace walls and spread through ordinary streets and alleys. In the Jade Terrace, green jade and precious stones gleamed beneath dimming lanterns. The lonely figure standing in the distance was impossible to make out; all that remained was the memory of last year's bloodstained skirt and a fragrant soul lost to the void. In the vast desert, a lone plume of smoke rose. Poplars danced, the moon was cold and the stars sparse. Their fevered bodies entwined in a passion that could not express the grief of love divided by life and death. A blank page in the history books waits for your ink to fill it. Different paths lead to different destinations... Who is right? Who is wrong? New project: historical fiction, Biographies of Handsome Men in Ancient China: The Prophecy of Lanling (The Prince of Lanling), gentle in appearance but strong in spirit, beautiful in voice and bearing. Imagine, fifteen hundred years ago, beneath the ancient and desolate walls of Jinyong, amidst thousands of screaming warhorses, a lone rider fought his way out, covered in blood and utterly exhausted, wearing a fearsome mask. What a soul-stirring moment it must have been when the young warrior resolutely removed his mask and revealed his peerless face. And how bold and stirring must have been the “Prince of Lanling's Battle Formation Song,” which was passed down for generations because of him, inspiring so many iron-willed men to pour their blood onto the battlefield and defend their homeland. Sadly, no one knows the tragic and poignant story hidden behind that mask. A hundred years later, the people of the Tang dynasty left only a brief but admiring description in the Book of Qi: “Gentle in appearance but strong in spirit, beautiful in voice and bearing.” Premise: