Smoky Blue Eyebrows

When a crabapple blossom fell, he first met the performer who seemed so frail.

A dance, a drop of blood, a carpet of fallen petals: from then on, he could not let him go.

In Jiangnan, by the lotus pond at Quyuan Garden, he saw the man's sorrowful detachment. In a letter from an old friend, he lost himself in the man's resolute elegance. Beneath the paulownia trees in the night rain, he finally understood the deep love and pain buried in that man's heart and etched into his bones.

His heart ached, and love took root, yet in the end he would have to hurt and betray that man with his own hands, until there was no turning back.

And yet, when that man stood on the palace steps, smiling proudly before the emperor; when he once again sang softly with a smile and tears in his eyes, dancing a desolate dance;

he suddenly understood: at some point, that man had become his entire world.

So many old dreams, so much yearning: love unfulfilled, lovers parted.

He could not let go, could not leave him behind. As the world changed, love had long since sunk deep into his bones, fading into habit.

He, a refined and gentle scholar, as warm as jade.

He, a peerless performer of astonishing talent and beauty.

He, a high-ranking minister, second only to the emperor.

He, trapped in the mire, with a heart as bright as the moon.

He was tender and compassionate, and gradually fell deeply in love.

He withdrew, resolute and unyielding, yet willingly gave his life for the one he knew to be true.

One was lost in love; the other, in his art.

I cherish your pure, clear heart, bright as ice and jade. Love has not reached its limit, yet feeling has already grown profound.

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