Mandarin Oranges in the South, Bitter Oranges in the North

Bei Zhi: Nan Ju, look. Autumn has come again, but the hibiscus flowers have faded and the parasol tree leaves have fallen. A first taste of green wine leaves one drunk. Coming is like a spring dream that lasts but a little while; leaving is like morning clouds that vanish without a trace.

Nan Ju: Bei Zhi, listen. Spring is here again. Luckily, the willow-swaying breeze is gentle, and orioles and swallows whisper. When it comes, the fields are fragrant and the morning chill is mild. When it leaves, spring bustles among the apricot blossoms. Bei Zhi, are you well?

Yan Zi said that though the leaves of the tangerine and the trifoliate orange look alike, their fruits taste different. The reason for this difference is the soil and water.

Chen Nan Ju and Chen Bei Zhi grew up in similar surroundings, yet their temperaments and fates are utterly different. The reason is that one chose reality and the other, ideals. They could not have both. In this dusty, tangled world, can there truly be two leaves that look alike? As the years roll on, if we meet again in the same time and place, will you still remember me? We were once two people inseparable as a shadow and its form.

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