When We First Met

In the reckless days of youth, we carry ourselves as if we ruled the world, never believing that youth fades and time grows old. But ah, beauty lasts only for an instant.

They said it lasted only an instant. The stories of the former dynasty are nothing but memories now.

They say, “Drink today, for today is all we have,” yet ask, “Why hurry through this life, busy with so much?”

We dream of green hills and leafy walls, of gathering chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge, yet we shatter those beautiful dreams with our own hands, smiling cruelly as we do. The wine is gone, the tea has gone cold. Who is left, wanting to speak but holding back?

What a fine autumn!

They say, “If only life were as it was at first meeting.”

How can life ever stay as it was at the first meeting? Wrinkles and graying hair blur the face we once knew. Even our temperaments twist out of shape, and the purity we once had is hard to recognize.

Who still remembers that truly beautiful face?

Can a single glance really steal your soul and spirit?

Only if the beauty is like jade.

But where can one find such flawless jade, blooming everywhere?

If life were only first meetings, where would all these memories come from? Years later, we remember the past as a hazy painting, piercing the air and breaking through time. No matter how much there is to remember, we recall only the good.

And there’s nothing wrong with remembering only the good. One might say that if people truly were as they seemed at first meeting, then life should indeed be as it was at first meeting.

How many first meetings are there in a brothel?

A thousand men rest their heads on her jade-white arms; ten thousand taste her vermilion lips.

What secrets lie hidden in private, where no one can know? Beneath fluttering robes and an elegant figure, there may be nothing but rot.

And so they say: “If only life were as it was at first meeting.”

If only.

There are too many if onlys in this world. Dreamers and the lovelorn prop their chins in their hands, brows drawn, eyes fixed, lips parting softly: “If only.”

But it is only an if only.

With a sweep of his sleeve, he hurls down his staff: “Foolish child!”

I know the blurb has nothing to do with the story… I just saw the title and let my imagination run wild… I’m borrowing this for the story… for now…

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