This koan happens before all the stories. This story was so old that she didn't know at that time the pain that vaguely penetrated into the bone marrow, which was called "injury" by mortal literati. She just remembered that on that day, the Flower God said to a pool of budding peonies that anyone who descended to earth and endured a lifetime of love tribulations could be reincarnated and become an immortal. In the time it took to burn the incense after I finished speaking, the most beautiful peony bloomed its first flower quietly in the sweet and fragrant red buds of the pond.
At that time, she inexplicably remembered a fairy ballad often whispered by the Flower God.
After years of dreams, ninety-nine times I will be young again.