Ancient Trees, Whistling Winds

There are six kinds of fated adversaries:

Deep affection and devotion bind two hearts. They would rather die than be unfaithful. This is the first kind of fated adversary.

Two hearts are bound together, yet countless obstacles keep them apart. One’s thoughts and spirit fly to the other, leaving neither able to sleep or eat. This is the second kind of fated adversary.

At the parting, whether at a long pavilion or a short one, they go their separate ways, heartsick and grieving, weeping bitterly. This is the third kind of fated adversary.

Mountains and rivers stretch between them, with no word from either side. They yearn for each other in dreams until their hearts break. This is the fourth kind of fated adversary.

One dotes on the new and casts aside the old, forgetting love and loyalty. Bitterness and sorrow take root, resentment cuts to the bone. This is the fifth kind of fated adversary.

One lives while the other dies. The slightest reminder brings sorrow; grief turns to illness, and in time they pass away together. This is the sixth kind of fated adversary.

Though these words may be vulgar, they are what I have heard here and there.

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