Beneath the blossoms' shade on a spring day, she traced those verses again and again:
"Behold the banks of Qi, where green bamboo grows lush. A noble gentleman, polished like ivory, refined like jade."
"Your green jade pendant, my thoughts of you go on and on. Though I do not go to you, why do you not come?"
"The mountain has trees, and the trees have branches. My heart is set on you, but you do not know."
"Do not lean alone from the tower beneath the bright moon. Wine enters my sorrowful heart and turns to tears of longing."
She had thought her feelings would be just like that: silent, born of affection yet restrained by propriety.
But the world was unpredictable. After one ordeal after another, she finally became disheartened.
Before leaving, she set fire to all the sheets of paper covered in verses. Every word upon them belonged to a tender, bittersweet love poem.
She watched the flames flicker like orange-red petals, slowly turning those lines to ashes, along with every secret longing from her maiden years, all fading into silence.
Yanran raised a hand to wipe the dampness from her cheek and told herself this would be the last time she cried for him.
And what about now?
Well, you'll find out when you reach the end.
