The autumn wind was bleak, and I returned to the ancestral home of the Han family. But at this time, I was just an erhu. Looking at the hundreds of years old sycamore trees in the yard, I couldn't help but sigh in my heart, why have I lived for thousands of years? The Buddha said: People suffer from eight kinds of suffering: birth, old age, illness, death, the meeting of resentments and hatreds, the separation of love, the flaming of the five yins, and the inability to seek what they desire. I didn't get anything I was supposed to have in life, but things I shouldn't have always came to bother me. His name was Han Shaoyun, and he should be considered my descendant. People in the late Qing Dynasty and the early Republic of China always had some mysterious feelings. After returning from studying in the West, he found that the woman he loved was married to his dead second brother, but the person who loved him did not hesitate to poison himself and painted her skin, just for the day and night.
I dreamed back thousands of years. I was Han Liyue, the daughter of a minister. I was exiled to the countryside by my stepmother when I was young. Then I married my younger sister into the palace. Unexpectedly, the family was in chaos. My stepmother died in an "accident" and my father was demoted. He told me that all this was arranged by my biological mother. He was Bai Qianchen. He knew many of my secrets. Even my grandfather planned to rebel. My mother was the empress dowager. Looking at the Dunhuang murals that are often hung at home, I am reminded of some different stories: the young master and the actor, the ghost marriage and the infant spirit, the prince turning into a civet cat, and the love we cannot ask for...
Maybe, all this is just a dream, the lingering haze, I put on half the makeup, just because I still want to keep half for myself.