Peach Blossom Ordeal

Peach Blossom Calamity

After a long silence, the sky opened up and rain poured down. The icy raindrops were snow that had formed, then melted. They struck the skin, raising fine red marks, like the blush on a woman’s face on her wedding night, though nothing could compare with the blood that dripped from the cuckoo’s cries.

-----Author’s Note

I. Mei died in a blazing peach grove. That season brought a few brisk winds and some light, lingering rain.

On the day of the funeral, after hiding for a long time, the sun was finally dragged out. It looked haggard and exhausted, like a beggar who had wandered the roads for years. Every inch of its skin bore the marks of hunger and hardship. Its wide-open, furious eyes brimmed with seething resentment and dried-up misery.

The sunlight was scorching, stark white, with a hint of midsummer’s ferocity and even a faint stench of decay. The rainwater from the night before still sparkled as it pleased, beautiful as the most dazzling pearls in the Eastern Sea. The serrated edges of the grass leaves swayed stubbornly, holding a few drops of clear water, like the tears on Zhu Yingtai’s lashes, poised to fall, yet never quite falling.

Beneath a crumbling earthen wall, someone’s dog basked in the fresh, blazing sunlight, drying its damp fur. It lounged like a princess. A few pretty young wives stitched soles for their husbands’ shoes, their needles flying, while gossiping endlessly to stave off boredom.

Their tongues wagged, and a woman’s tongue was always longer than the hemp thread in her hands. The long-vanished past came vividly to life beneath their saliva, cruelly embellished with a trace of relish. Yet in the end, it was no more than a cup of lukewarm water on a winter’s day: not warm enough for oneself, nor cold enough for anyone else.

At the village entrance, the old father, blind for most of his life, leaned against a bare old locust tree and let out a deep sigh. Women, women!

A red peach blossom drifted down and settled lightly on the blind old man’s thin shoulder. It was cool, yet faintly warm, like a tear that had traveled through the wind.

Slowly, very slowly, the blind old man brushed his sleeve, sweeping away a shoulderful of breeze, a shoulderful of feeling, and a shoulderful of fading floral fragrance.

In truth, Liuzhuang was famous not for the graceful willows that gave it its name, but for its countless peach trees and its many beautiful young women, each more lovely than the flowers. And the woman who outshone them all was a legend that everyone in Liuzhuang told.

Three years earlier, when the willows on the embankment were lush and the warm breeze over the river could intoxicate a person, thunderous gongs and festive suona horns awakened the clear blue sky from its long winter sleep. Their clamor shook peach blossoms loose, sending them swirling everywhere. Pink and white flowers, strong and delicate fragrances, all gave off an old, familiar scent. With the brightest streak of spring red, Mei entered everyone’s sight, graceful and quiet. A sudden gust lifted her silky, lustrous hair and her lotus-colored gown, and blew away the veil hanging over her face. Her lovely eyes turned and shone; in an instant, the wedding hall became a graveyard.

“She’s an assassin,” the men said.

“That’s a mistake,” the women said.

After a brief silence, the petals around them began to dance again, wilder and more frenzied than before, spinning the world around. Mei stood amid them, her sleeves fluttering, slender as a flower’s heart, cool as white snow. For one brief instant, silence became eternity, and the world fell lonely.

So Feng’s eyes, dimmed for years, were gilded with a tender pink, ethereal and bewildered, steadfast and patient. And so, people said, the peach blossoms that year bloomed more ravishingly and gloriously than ever, often singeing the eyes of those who gazed upon them.

The men said the village well water had gained an intoxicating richness.

The women said the mountain songs in the village no longer lacked a man’s boldness.

The blind old man said nothing. With fingers dry as dead bamboo, he kissed forgotten songs from the gleaming strings of his instrument. The notes were thin and trembling, like a woman’s shrill cries after a fresh bereavement.

Mei would walk the damp flagstone path, carrying wisps of rosy sunlight and water home in her buckets as she passed through curling cooking smoke. Behind her followed the hazy, not-yet-awake gazes of the morning.

The full moon hung like a mirror, and the night was cool as water. Mei stood in the chilly courtyard, combing her freshly washed hair.

“Sister-in-law, the dew is falling. Go inside and rest, or you’ll catch a chill,” Feng said from the doorway of the west wing.

Mei shook her head and slowly combed through her dripping hair.

“Are you watching the moon?”

“No. I’m remembering the moon.”

“Remembering the moon?”

“Yes.”

Mei’s solitary figure looked especially frail in the moonlight, like a puppet manipulated by an entertainer. Feng’s heart gave a painful wrench, and sorrow deepened in his eyes.

“Chang’e, are you lonely?” Mei asked.

“With this peaceful palace and all these thoughts of him, how could I be lonely?”

“Don’t you miss Houyi?”

“What difference would it make if I did? He could never belong to me. He is Heaven’s favored son. Victory and glory are his oxygen, but I’m tired of bloodshed and slaughter.”

“What about love? Have you started forgetting that, too?”

“For some people, love is nothing but a beautiful burden. To survive, you have to learn to choose, and to forget when you must. I keep my promise in my own way, yet the world endlessly condemns me for betraying him. No one has ever truly considered that truth and lies are merely the two opposing sides of love and hate.”

“Without your yearly rendezvous on the seventh night of the seventh month, would you feel lonely?”

“I’ve passed through splendor and witnessed all of life’s vicissitudes. I no longer indulge in one-sided hopes. I only wait.”

“What a beautiful answer: I only wait. Chang’e, you’re a wise woman.”

“No. It isn’t wisdom. I’ve simply understood.”

“Understood?”

“Yes. I’ve understood love, life, human nature, and human feelings.”

“Sister-in-law, what are you thinking about?”

Mei turned to look at Feng’s handsome face. “I’m wondering what we should have for dinner tomorrow.”

Feng was taken aback.

Mei gave a faint smile.

Under the clear light of the stars, a peculiar feeling slowly blossomed in the two of them, amid their evasive yet entangled glances and the vast darkness of night. It grew so deep, so deep.

Far from the squabbles of daily life, Liuzhuang slept peacefully in the silence. Only the dust motes in the air gently, so gently, shaped a whispered conversation.

“Why did you decide to marry into this family?”

“I’m an orphan with no family or friends. I had no power to resist and no choice.”

“Did you know beforehand that he was paralyzed?”

“I knew.”

“And you married him anyway?”

“Your family is so rich, and they’re so greedy. A woman’s life is so cheap.”

“There are plenty of rich men. It didn’t have to be him.”

“Your father has a silver tongue and unmatched means. Who could stand against him?”

“Our Gu family wronged you.”

“From the moment we enter this world, we’re always owing and repaying. It doesn’t matter who owes whom.”

“You remind me so much of a girl I saw when I was little.”

“Do I?”

“I met her at the Lantern Festival. She wore two long braids and plain clothes, like a lotus just about to bloom.”

“That must have been ten years ago, then?”

“How did you know?”

“I can tell fortunes.”

A cough or two came from someone’s courtyard. Though faint, they were enough to shatter the silence.

The air trembled, and the conversation abruptly stopped. Only a few scattered stars remained, hanging crookedly at the highest reaches of the sky, kindling the loneliness of the night.

II. On a stifling summer night, Lan arranged to meet Feng.

The air was hot, the wind was hot, and people’s hearts were hot, too.

After bathing, Lan spent half an hour applying makeup before a tarnished bronze mirror, her face exquisitely sculpted. Then she changed into a vivid red cheongsam and sashayed out of the attic, her figure curving beautifully.

Men lounged everywhere with their shirts open, seeking relief from the heat. A pair of smoldering eyes followed every step as Lan swayed along, her ample hips rolling, flirtatious glances flying in every direction. Whistles rang out, and the lewd, brazen teasing made even the heavens blush. The moon overhead began to feel hot, too.

Buddha says that women are like water mixed with mud: the pure remain pure, the muddy remain muddy. There is no sin, no sin.

Gossips say Lan was once a begonia in a brothel, leaning in the doorway to beckon customers. In her next life, she was reborn with this fatal allure.

The stream burbled beneath the shade of green willows. Waist-high mugwort and wildflowers of every kind formed a natural screen and a beautiful, comfortable bed. No wonder people jokingly called this place Mandarin Duck and Lily Bay.

“What urgent matter did you want to see me about?” Feng’s eyes held their usual distaste and indifference.

“Can’t I ask you out just to chat, even if nothing’s wrong?”

“Forgive me, but I must decline.”

“So eager to hurry back: are you missing that sister-in-law of yours who’s only there for show?”

“What nonsense are you talking about?”

“Nonsense? Hmph. Other people might not notice, but I’m no fool. I’ve never seen you treat any woman with the kindness and tenderness you show her.”

“We’re family. It’s only natural for me to be good to her.”

“That sounds better in a song than it does in real life. Don’t you think your denial rings a little hollow?”

As she spoke, Lan moved closer to Feng. Her soft body wound around him like water plants, while her nimble fingers slithered across his back like a snake.

“I’m no worse than her in any way, so why won’t you show me even the slightest kindness?”

Feng pushed her away and said coldly, “Look at yourself. Do you really think you’re fit to be compared to her?”

“I can’t be a paragon of virtue, so don’t make things hard for me. I only know that I always get what I want.”

“Too bad I’m not a thing. I’m a person.”

“You’ll do what I say. Otherwise, I’ll tell the people in the village that you and she have been carrying on behind everyone’s backs. Then we’ll see how you explain it away. Don’t blame me for being cruel. You brought this on yourself. You don’t want your sweetheart’s reputation ruined, do you?”

“You... you venomous woman!”

Lan giggled, laughing until the willow branches seemed to tremble. The fish dreaming beneath the water darted in panic beneath the rocks.

“Do you want me?” Lan asked, suddenly grabbing Feng between the legs.

Feng’s face turned purple-red. He wanted to lash out, but said nothing.

Lan fell silent, too, and began acting even more wildly and wantonly. She covered Feng’s brows, eyes, and lips with her scarlet mouth, leaving no inch of him untouched.

Feng flailed and tried to resist, but kept resisting until he dissolved into a puddle on Lan’s tongue.

The moon disappeared. The riverbed’s flagstones gave out a strange sound under their weight.

As Feng entered Lan, he seemed to see a woman with braided hair shed a blood-red tear. The weight of that tear made his heart heavy; its warmth burned his heart with pain, terrible pain!

“I’ll marry you,” Lan told Feng.

Feng closed his eyes and said nothing.

Through several rows of tall willows, Mei stood quietly in a patch of shadow, listening to Feng’s ragged breathing and Lan’s coquettish moans. Her eyes grew wet with tears, her heart was wounded, and her dream lost its course.

The blind old man’s music drifted downstream. Its notes were dark and damp, like the stifled grief of a woman.

“Have you understood?” Chang’e asked.

“No. I still can’t see through it.”

“What are you waiting for, exactly?”

“A miracle. A miracle that proves waiting will bring an answer.”

“There are only myths in this world, not the miracles you speak of.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Do you not believe me, him, or yourself?”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

“Then do you believe in destiny?”

“I do. The old people say everyone has a destined bond, but some people hold only the bond, while others hold only the destiny. That’s why there are so many partings and reunions, joys and sorrows in this world. Only when two people who have both the bond and the destiny meet can they become the happiest couple.”

“So you’re destined to suffer for him all your life.”

“How can I believe that?”

“When you do, don’t forget to look up at the moon. You’ll see it’s no longer as round and bright as it is tonight.”

After nightfall, Mei slowly removed her clothes, examining inch by inch her body, smooth as mutton fat. Her heart pounded like a startled deer.

The drooping beaded curtain was suddenly swept aside, its clattering rings chiming sharply, like pearls dropping onto a jade plate. The sound was quite lovely.

“Father, how did you get in? Go out, quickly!”

Saliva dripped from his mouth. In the blink of an eye, Mei’s clothes had become a useless heap.

The vase shattered, the teacup shattered, the diamond-patterned mirror shattered, and her heart shattered, too.

A searing pain, two lines of bitter tears, and a virgin’s blood.

There was no love, only lust. This was humanity’s purest and most primitive destruction.

Mei’s lustrous braids were twisted into a round bun, like a moon that had accidentally fallen into an inkstone, filled with the inescapability of fate.

“How did you hurt your neck? Did you catch it on the firewood?”

“No. A stray cat scratched me.” Mei spoke with weary indifference. Her expression held a deeper mockery and a sense of exile.

Feng’s brow furrowed, tightly locking away the lightness of drifting willow fluff and the sorrow of fallen leaves.

Three months later, Feng’s father died in an accident. The same day, Lan left her family home to marry someone else, not Feng.

Lan still came to see Feng from time to time.

“Let’s end this. You have a husband and a home now. You should settle down and live your life.”

Lan curled her lip in disdain. “Who cares about him?”

“If you don’t care about him, why did you marry him?”

“Because he has both money and power. Besides, he was the one bending over backward to marry me. I never said I wanted him.”

“Get out!” Feng glared at her.

“Jealous? Don’t worry, darling. I won’t leave you.”

Feng grabbed Lan roughly and threw her onto the makeshift bed beneath the open sky.

“Gently! You’re hurting me.”

“So you know what pain feels like? Isn’t this what you wanted? I’ll give it to you.”

“Feng is a complete rogue,” Lan told the villagers.

After that, Lan broke off her relationship with Feng. But one day, in the bitter cold of a heavy snowfall, Lan’s husband knocked on Mei’s door.

“We have no dealings with each other. What can I do for you?”

“I just want to discuss a business deal.”

“I’m not interested in business.”

“Would you say the same if it involved Feng?”

“Feng? What happened to him?”

“What he and Lan have been up to is no secret. There’s no need to pretend you don’t know.”

“To catch a couple in the act, you need to catch them together. Do you have any real evidence?”

“My word is evidence. The moment I speak up, he’s finished.”

“What do you want?”

“Of all the women I’ve ever met, you’re the most beautiful, the most tempting. What do you think I want?”

“But of all the men I’ve ever met, you’re the most disgusting.”

“So you won’t agree?”

“Unless you promise not to do anything to hurt Feng.”

“Deal.”

“Will you keep your word?”

“I’m a man, too. A gentleman keeps his word, with heaven and earth as witnesses. I won’t go back on it.”

Every winter, without fail, snow fell on the village. When something happened often enough, strangers became familiar faces. It was like heartbreak: hurt long enough, and it became a habit. Eventually, it didn’t seem to hurt much anymore.

Mei’s body, bare in the air, sent this regular visitor in the wrong direction. He collided with the purplish-red wall and was cruelly bounced back. The room remained cold, desolate, unbearable to speak of and painful to look upon.

Her skirt had slipped halfway down, and her hairpins and ornaments lay in disarray. The room’s strange scent made Feng’s eyes turn red.

“How could this happen?”

“I wanted it to.”

Feng gritted his teeth and raised his hand. A thin line of red appeared at the corner of Mei’s mouth.

Mei did not move. Looking out the window at a plum tree covered in snow, she said, “Look. The blossoms are fading so quickly this year. I haven’t even had a good look at them, and in the blink of an eye they’ve become faded flowers and fallen willows. What a shame to lose such a beautiful season.”

Feng clutched the plum tree’s gnarled, resilient branches and shook them violently. He shook down the white snow and the last remaining blossoms, and shook loose his own tears.

Scattered into mud, ground into dust, its fragrance remained as before.

Mei smiled silently, her smile steeped in sorrow.

For the first time, Feng saw a stubbornness flowing in Mei’s usually gentle, patient eyes. He also saw a radiant feeling sinking within them.

Feng was deeply shaken, while the plum blossoms, now drifting away as spirits, remained fragrant.

“Something must have gone wrong. It shouldn’t have been you.”

“It could only be me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m beautiful. Because I’m Mei.”

“Love at first sight is measured in a flash of lightning; everlasting love is witnessed by the eyes of time. A butterfly’s dance measures faithfulness unto death, while Jingwei’s determination measures a willingness to regret nothing. But I dreamed of crossing the desert’s drought with a camel’s slow steps, so waiting would no longer be endless and suffering would no longer spread.” Feng looked at Mei’s face, cold as frost. Despair, despair.

Before the snow had even begun to melt, Feng had a woman known as his wife by his side.

For a long time, the blind old man stopped keeping watch beneath the village’s old locust tree, gazing at his own little patch of sky. For a long time, the people heard none of the ancient music. They heard he was ill.

As Mei drew water from the well, a sharp-eyed woman noticed how thin she had become, and how forlorn the long hair draped over her shoulders looked.

III. Ice melted and the water warmed; flowers competed to bloom in spring. Yet Liuzhuang’s peach trees remained the same pure, simple green, all oily green and greenly lustrous, completely missing the flowering season.

Mei sat quietly beneath a poplar tree, holding a newborn kitten. Around her, sunlight lay in clean, transparent patches. A swarm of bees hummed as they went back and forth, sniffing at the graceful wildflowers, carefree and untroubled. A few children in shorts chased brightly colored butterflies through the grass. Their joyful laughter soared upward, startling newly hatched birds into flapping their wings and flying straight into the sky.

“Do you think these peach trees will bloom again? April’s already begun.”

“Let’s wait a little longer. Last winter was bitterly cold; perhaps it froze their hearts solid. If the temperature is right, they may bloom more beautifully than in past years.”

Mei sighed. “I’m afraid I won’t live to see those almost-miraculous flowers.”

The kitten nudged Mei’s cold hand with its tender nose, then settled into a more comfortable position.

“The word for love is easy to write, but the road is hard to walk. Who knows how many infatuated men and women have shed tears on the road of love, or how many have waited until their youthful hair turned white? It’s so painful. Love is more bitter than medicine and more potent than poison. Why can’t I see through it?”

A caterpillar accidentally fell from a tree and landed beside Mei’s foot. It playfully rolled over, then slowly crawled up her trouser leg.

“Have you ever loved? I mean the kind of love that cuts to the bone.”

“Have I loved? Have I? I can’t say for sure. Maybe when I turn into a butterfly, I’ll finally see the road I’ve traveled and understand what’s in my heart.”

“People say butterflies can’t see any colors. Is that true?”

“Perhaps. Maybe they can’t see colors because the colors are too dazzling, too complicated. They want to see clearly but can’t, so they deceive themselves by saying they don’t want to. Many things in this world go against what we wish for, just like thinking that possessing what we want most will let our souls fly free. That’s a mistake. Dreams and love don’t run aground because there is no love, but because the love is too deep and too real. It’s like how beauty always hides so many things beyond our power to change.”

“Deep in your eyes, there’s a dreamlike tenderness, a yearning, endless wait, and a hopeless struggle. Are those proof that you once loved?”

“Who knows? But I was young once, too. I still remember the way he smiled at me when the peach blossoms were in bloom that year, and the clear stream and the path paved with smooth pebbles. Now it’s all over, all over. By this time next year, I won’t be able to see the moon above the willow branches.”

Mei’s heart warmed, and a mouthful of thick blood surged out, splattering her snow-white skirt in tiny spots, like a plum blossom of breathtaking brilliance.

“Master, you’re coughing up blood again.”

“Only a little.”

“Let’s call a doctor.”

“It’s all right. I’m fine.”

The kitten mewed softly, its innocent eyes, untouched by dust, gazing toward the distant sky full of clouds.

“Doesn’t your heart feel empty?”

Mei smiled. “Once it’s empty, it’s clean. Once it’s clean, it’s free.”

A limping dog with a broken tail dragged itself over and lay down by the poplar’s exposed roots, whimpering softly. It was impossible to tell whether it looked content or miserable.

Mei coughed, then pushed herself upright. Her body swayed like a paper kite, drifting farther and farther away in the evening breeze. Her illness seemed to infect the air, which gradually grew salty and metallic.

Not far away, behind a gigantic peach tree, Feng clutched a little sachet embroidered with phoenix flowers, his tears soaking his blue robe.

“What color are phoenix flowers?”

“They’re fiery red. I’ve never seen a color so unforgettable. Red as flames shooting into the sky, brilliant as burning sunset clouds, as if the flower had set its own life ablaze. It has a little despair, a little stubbornness, a little heartache, and a little wildness.”

“If the color alone is so unforgettable, the flower itself must be captivating, too.”

“Phoenix flower isn’t really a flower. It’s a very precious medicinal herb that blooms in March. It got its name because it looks like the legendary phoenix. They say it can bring the dead back to life.”

“Do you know where it grows?”

“Phoenix flowers like shade. They mostly grow in damp, bitterly cold places. Because they’re so rare and precious, they’re found almost exclusively on sheer cliffs.”

“Anyone who picks one must be able to scale walls and walk across rooftops, or they’ll never get it.”

“Of course. People often lose their lives trying to pick one.”

“When I grow up, I’ll pick lots and lots of phoenix flowers for you.”

“I don’t want phoenix flowers. I don’t want you to be in even the slightest danger.”

The sun sank gradually in the west. The dusk glow burned over the deep, distant spaces of the great manor, its helplessness tinged with loneliness. But in the farmyard, white smoke scented with cow dung, horse manure, and dry grass drifted lazily upward in the gentle breeze, like gauzy white scarves rising through the air, soft and peaceful.

As expected, the blind old man’s strings began to play, filling the late-spring plants with desolation.

Following the music, which sounded like weeping and lamentation, Feng pushed open the two vermilion gates.

His wife came forward carrying a bowl of pale red liquid. “I just finished cooking your medicine. Drink it while it’s hot.”

“I’m almost better. I don’t need to drink this bitter stuff anymore.”

“How can you say that? You have to get rid of the illness completely, or it’ll come back next spring.”

“Whatever happens, happens. Why worry so much?”

“What kind of thing is that to say? If you won’t drink it, you’ll be letting Sister-in-law’s kind intentions go to waste.”

“What does she have to do with whether I drink the medicine? Don’t try to fool me. I’m not drinking it, no matter what. Take it away and let me have some peace.”

“You know this illness can only be treated with phoenix flowers. But when you fell sick, not a single pharmacy in town had any. So Sister-in-law went to the mountains, dozens of miles away, to gather some. I wanted to go, but she wouldn’t let me. She said you were ill and needed someone close to you by your side, so I stayed to look after you. Sister-in-law absolutely refused to let me tell you, afraid you’d feel guilty and it would spoil everything. So I never said a word. I only told you the medicinal ingredient had come from the doctor.”

No wonder her face was covered in scars. No wonder she had suddenly become so frail.

“If you hadn’t stubbornly refused to take your medicine, I wouldn’t have broken my promise to Sister-in-law and told you all this.”

“She wouldn’t have worn herself out just gathering medicine for me. Are you still hiding something?”

His wife fell silent for a moment, then said sadly, “Sister-in-law slipped while climbing a cliff and rolled all the way down to the bottom. Her chest struck a sharp rock. The doctor said the injury had reached her internal organs. He’s afraid... afraid she won’t recover.”

A bolt of thunder suddenly roared in Feng’s ears. He leaned helplessly against the wall, his body like a deflated balloon, limp and utterly drained.

Laughter filled the corridor of his memories, woven through the familiar face he saw every day.

The little boy asked the little girl, “When can we see each other again?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe when the phoenix flowers bloom.”

“Phoenix flowers bloom every year. Will you come every year?”

“If there are lanterns this beautiful here every year, I’ll definitely come.”

A clean little finger hooked around another warm little finger. “We’ll meet again, no matter what. We’ll meet again, no matter what.” Those words formed a circle drawn with a child’s innocent heart.

“Your sachet is beautiful! I’ll ask Mother to embroider one exactly like it for me, so I can hang it from my waist.”

“If you like it, I’ll give it to you. I sewed it myself, and it’s filled with dried phoenix flowers to ward off disasters and evil. Wear it all the time. It’ll keep you safe and sound for the rest of your life.”

A little hammer tapped Feng’s heart, not too hard and not too lightly. His numb nerves took a long time to regain the slightest feeling, while his insides shattered into pieces. Every fragment bore the image of a past that had never truly gone away. “Where’s Sister-in-law?”

“I haven’t seen her. Maybe she’s still out.” His wife’s brow showed genuine concern.

Feng’s palm instantly filled with cold sweat. Struggling to contain his rising emotions, he rushed through the door, leaving behind rows of peach trees, some in groves and others standing alone.

In a wood where no one ever came, a woman in plain clothes, with a simple face and skin like pale gold, lay lifelessly among the lush grass. Her long hair was black as night, chilling to look at. A gray-brown kitten curled obediently over the faint warmth of her heart, occasionally sticking out its pink tongue to lick her paper-pale fingertips.

Feng carried Mei’s body, light as flower fluff, to a peach tree and sat down beneath it. He did not call out or cry. He only used his fingers to gently smooth Mei’s disheveled hair.

The wildflowers gave off their fragrance in peace, and the grass grew as it should. Only a few swallows returning to their nests perched on the branches, murmuring gently. The clouds were light, the breeze soft, and their tender conversation from the night before continued. The sky was high, distant, and blue, the color of the desert sky. Not a cloud, not a trace of impurity or grime: only vastness, emptiness, grandeur, and desolation.

Feng stared at the thin, melon-seed-shaped face in his arms, his heart swelling as if he were about to unleash a torrential downpour.

With someone to lean on, Mei, curled like a cat in Feng’s broad, warm arms, slowly began to regain consciousness. She opened her weary eyes, and a familiar yet distant person came straight into her heart. “Is that you, Feng?”

“It’s me, Shuang’er. I’m the mischievous boy who had the phoenix flower.”

A faint, bleak smile appeared at the corner of Mei’s eyes. “You finally recognized me?”

“I recognized you long ago, at the very moment the wind lifted your bridal veil. I knew then that even though you’d come as promised, you could never keep our appointment.”

“As long as spring comes every year, and phoenix flowers bloom every year, and you wait beneath that lantern shaped like intertwined lotuses every year, I’ll be with you for all eternity.”

“Don’t make me wait too long. If I wait too long, I’m afraid I’ll go blind.”

“I’ll never break our promise again. I swear.”

The blood continually seeping from Mei’s lips tore at Feng’s already shattered heart, leaving him unable to remain calm. He rubbed his increasingly wet eyes again and again, trying to hide his rising, uncontrollable grief.

The wind stood at the edge of the trees, its face cold, waiting for Mei’s life to vanish with the dawn, together with it, into darkness from which nothing could return.

Mei gave the sachet in Feng’s hand a faint smile and touched the red phoenix flower embroidered on it. Calmly, she said, “The forest blossoms have withered, and spring’s red has faded. It all happened too quickly. Though neither of us forgot the promise we made back then, everything has become neither flower nor flower, neither mist nor mist.”

“Even a tiny blade of grass repays the warmth of spring sunshine, and the plum blossoms defy the snow. No matter what happens, you’ll always be the most outstanding woman in Liuzhuang. Your elegance is beyond compare.”

“Too bad plum blossoms only bloom in winter. But don’t be sad for me. I’m like the maple leaves in autumn, able to shine for only one season. I blaze with color in the most beautiful season and fall at its most beautiful moment. That’s the law of life. None of us can change it. We can only accept it.”

There was no moon, no stars, no voices, no clamor. Once night had shed the beautiful bustle of the day, all that remained was a quiet no one needed to arrange. In that stillness, thoughts could surge and race wherever they pleased, with nothing to hold them back.

“Mandarin oranges grown south of the Huai River don’t remain mandarins when planted north of it. I’m a plum blossom. I should have graced winter with elegance, but instead I foolishly took root in this secluded village of peach trees. No wonder I won’t live to see the next sunrise or the fragrance of the peach and plum blossoms.”

“Do you like peach blossoms?”

“No. What I like best are phoenix flowers. Peach blossoms have a delicate, reserved beauty, modest and approachable, like a girl from a respectable family. Phoenix flowers are different. They’re bold and passionate. Only the brave can reach them, and only the sincere can win them. They love openly and hate plainly, never hesitating or dragging things out. Even thinking about them feels liberating.”

The fragrant little pouch was hung around Mei’s slender, pale neck. It swayed gently in the night breeze like a tiny cradle full of nursery rhymes.

“As long as you recover, I’ll give up business and become a farmer. I’ll plant a bed of phoenix flowers for you, so you’ll have flower fairies for company every day and never feel lonely again.”

“They’re free spirits, so they should grow without restraints. They take root wherever they land, sprout wherever there’s water, and call the ends of the earth home. Isn’t that wonderful? Why use a patch of earth to buy their freedom?”

The blind old man sat beside the crooked locust tree, now dressed in fresh green, in the same strange pose he had held since time immemorial. His cloudy, lifeless eyes stared blankly into some unknowable distance, like a clay statue of a philosopher.

Suddenly, a rough, hearty folk tune rang out over the village. It was utterly unconventional, yet stirred the soul.

“Why is there only wind tonight, and no moon?”

“Because you’ve already been bound by the ropes of fate.”

“No. I haven’t surrendered to fate. I just can’t carelessly throw the equations of life into chaos.”

“Feeling helpless?”

“Completely exhausted.”

“That’s life. As long as you draw breath, you have to endure it. Since I can’t give you a full moon, I’ll give you a beautiful night’s sleep. In your dreams, there’ll be an ocean of flowers.”

“If I can’t have a bountiful harvest, then a dream will have to comfort me.” Mei smiled with natural serenity, rested her head against the cool breeze of the woods, and fell peacefully asleep beneath the deep gaze of a pair of dark eyes.

Feng built a sturdy, steadfast wall with his arms, sheltering Mei from the night dew and chill.

A long, narrow peach leaf drifted down onto Mei’s pure white clothes. Its vivid green looked like a spot of red in the snow, carrying a startling, soul-stealing beauty. It sighed for a life whose flower had withered before it could even bloom, with no words to explain it.

Feng gently breathed on the leaf, blowing away its lingering chill and the tears he had held back for so long.

They were close enough to touch, yet neither said a word.

At dawn, the birds’ chirping awakened Mei’s drowsy ears and her slowly beating heart.

“Hey, good morning!” Feng said, blinking his two bright, sparkling eyes.

Mei carefully reached out and touched Feng’s bristly chin, then gave a sweet, innocent smile. “Good morning, old man! Did you stay awake all night? Were you admiring the beauty of spring or counting down how much time I have left?”

“Neither. I was listening to the sound of flowers blooming.”

“The sound of flowers blooming?” Mei raised her head in confusion, her eyes struggling to see past Feng’s shoulder toward the peach trees.

In the space of a single night, Liuzhuang had become a world of flowers. The countless peach trees each took on a different shape, yet their flowers, in every shade, were equally beautiful and alluring, so dazzling that the eyes could hardly take them all in. Clouds of butterflies and swarms of bees streamed back and forth through the flowers, darting like meteors to gather this sudden crop of nectar. The sun rose much earlier than usual, invigorated and imposing atop a dewy mountain, waiting for all creation to pay homage.

There was no bashfulness of half-open petals, no reserve in buds ready to bloom. There was only the fullest, most complete blossoming, the most passionate and uninhibited invitation.

“It’s a mockery of the Creator,” Feng said.

“And a satire of fate itself. Look at how fiercely, how wildly, how recklessly these flowers bloom. They spare nothing. Perhaps, like me, they’ve reached the end of their lives.”

Feng held Mei’s increasingly weightless body tighter and tighter, until tears began to fall. One, two, then strings of them, then streams...

“The flowers have finished blooming, the people have all gone, and the banquet must end. Love remains unfinished, but destiny has been severed. I’ll still go where I came from and return where I’m bound, at least with some freedom. It’s just a pity I came into this world for nothing, and that those who can’t let go have suffered for it.”

The air was thick with the heady fragrance of peach blossoms. When the wind blew, the petals left their branches without a backward glance, falling resolutely to the earth, without the slightest regret.

The spectacle drew birds and insects, but no one could settle down to admire this rare sight. Anxiety and fear filled the faces of old and young alike. Only the children remained happy, playing and chasing one another in the peach grove.

The blind old man felt the walking stick that had accompanied him for years, then the smooth old locust tree. Leading his toothless old dog, he walked silently toward home. From that moment on, his bent figure never appeared at the village entrance again. On the night after Mei’s burial, he died in his dark little wooden hut, amid the village’s endless gossip. The faint, peaceful smile on his face looked calm and serene.

“I heard the flowers bloom, brilliant and radiant. I thought love and you would arrive in the next moment, but all I got was a riverbank washed clean and coldness covering the earth. Shuang’er, was this ending set from the very start? Even if I plucked the moon from the sky, I still couldn’t keep you.”

“Nothing is predetermined. It depends on whether you’re willing to admit defeat. I didn’t accomplish what I wanted, but I don’t regret it, and I haven’t surrendered. Because I came here, I walked this road, I loved, I hated. Most importantly, I lived honestly and cherished what I had. That’s enough.”

The wind grew fiercer and fiercer, as if it would uproot the whole world. The peach blossoms kept falling, falling, forming an impenetrable net above Liuzhuang that spread across the sky and pressed down on everyone’s chest, leaving them struggling for breath.

With Feng’s help, Mei slowly straightened up in the wind and slowly lifted her face to the sky. Her wide sleeves billowed, making her look lighter, like a goddess about to ascend. Her long, silky hair caught the drifting crimson petals, giving her the spirit and vitality of a flower once more.

Feng watched Mei’s rapt expression, his heart utterly clear.

The falling blossoms continued to dance as Mei slowly leaned against Feng. “I’m tired,” she said.

“Then close your eyes and sleep well. I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

Mei nodded in relief. “I’ve never once doubted what you say.”

“Since you trust me so much, promise me one thing.”

“If I can do it, I promise.”

“In our next life, I want you to be my bride, mine alone.”

“I’ve always been your bride alone.”

“I mean in our next life. Don’t you want to be my woman then, too?”

Mei gave a soft laugh, though it came with a catch in her breath. “Has no one ever told you that you’re terribly greedy? But that doesn’t matter. I’ve always been generous. I promise.”

Feng smiled, with tears in his smile and blood in his tears.

As she neared death, Mei said, “If everyone has a flower of life, then I hope that in my next life mine will be a graceful, elegant peach blossom, growing toward the sun. Not lofty or unreachable, not proud and solitary, but simple and unadorned. Ordinary, perhaps, but real and visible.”

When Mei breathed her last, Feng said something no one could understand: “Beautiful feathers are beautiful to other people’s eyes. Empty stories are only a wedding dress sewn for someone else.”

The blossoms kept drifting, but the sun suddenly disappeared. Hail-sized raindrops followed close behind, and the rain lasted for half a month.

Flowers bloom and fade, and no one can keep anyone. Just like that peerless woman, no matter how reluctant anyone was to let her go, no matter how many regrets remained, in the end she disappeared with the season.

“Plum blossoms don’t belong among peach blossoms.” That was what an old scholar in the village said. It seemed to make a little sense, but somehow it still felt wrong.

Half a month of rain was followed by half a month of scorching heat. The blazing sun beat down, leaving marks on the earth like those left by a long, brutal summer. After that, Liuzhuang became a village of willows in truth: only long, soft willows remained, and none of the peach trees its people had once been so proud of. In that strange month, every peach tree withered completely and became the best firewood for boiling vegetables and soup in every home.

Before long, another blind man appeared beneath the old locust tree at the village entrance, watching the sky every day and waiting for someone to return. His face was pale, his nose high-bridged, his clothes immaculate. He would never have to worry about food or clothing in this life or any future one. He was a wealthy blind man. No one dared bark orders at him or boss him around; there was a story behind him.

The newcomer sat where the blind old man used to sit. With the same unseeing, colorless eyes, he quietly gazed toward some unknown corner, waiting and hoping for someone just as the old man had. The difference was that the walking stick in the blind old man’s hands had been replaced by a small sachet, adding an unexpected touch of elegance to this somber scene.

Without the blind old man’s music, Liuzhuang seemed to fall silent all at once. Often it was so quiet that people’s hearts filled with unease.

A year later, a tree that looked like both a peach and a plum grew from Mei’s grave. Its slender trunk resembled Mei’s slender waist, but it never bloomed with flowers as bright as she had been.

Some people said that without the folk songs and peach trees, Liuzhuang was truly lonely.

And the phoenix flowers in the mountains continued to bloom year after year, year after year...

…