The flowing stream knows nothing of the fallen flower's feelings; the fallen flower drifts away and is buried by the stream. You know nothing of my countless troubles. When the willows turn green next year, my old friend will be late.
My life was once without hope. Because of him, it blossomed with flowers and green leaves. He was a rare ray of sunlight in my endless night.
My hypocritical stepmother paved the way for my mother's death, then faked a pregnancy to frame me.
The class secretary had my deskmate poison my water day after day. It made me lose control and act irrationally, costing me the only person I ever loved.
The indifferent young man seemed to care for me so earnestly, but all along he was using honeyed words to hide his cruel heart, making me do his dirty work.
In the end, I lost him.
When the person you love most is taken from you in an instant, revenge is your only choice.
Spring's promise: I gaze into the distance as orioles flit above the willows, and a hint of green returns to my hometown.
On the verge of death, I sang through my tears of blood the poem we had revised together.
With my hatred still burning, I was reborn. I tread step by step on blood-red lotus petals, quietly watching one former enemy after another fall amid the fading spring and its sorrowful mists.
Blood trickled down the iron nails, nourishing the flowers of my love for him. With a box of cassette tapes, I went along with the poisoner's scheme and trapped him in his own home.
As the startling swan dance begins, who drinks blood to the sound of the qin?
As the song of Guan Ju rings out, who breaks a finger on the zither strings?
The dandelions, each believing they could remain connected in heart even when scattered far apart, wilt one by one.
The people he loved, the people he hated, and all those who could compete with me for him have left, one by one.
I no longer want the swallows to return with news. I wait in vain, only to end up with a mouthful of mud.
In the southwest wind,
I quietly nestled in his arms,
clutching his silk robe to keep him close.
(Author's note: This is not an ancient-style story.
The poems and lyrics of sorrow and joy
are merely the sigh of a lonely figure in the desolate night.)
Want a preview of the schoolyard drama ahead? Join us to discuss a BL-style Empresses in the Palace, about a high school freshman's revenge after being reborn.
