He Shu dreamed of that year: she stood in the shade of a tree, waving and smiling at him, with a basket of sophora flowers beside her. Back then, he was still constantly being made to kneel as punishment by his master, and he often messed up Qingyi Workshop's orders.
Yan San brought him dried sophora flowers. Whenever his master drank sophora flower tea, he would be all smiles and go easy on He Shu.
He Shu dreamed of another year, when she was covered in dirt and stumbled through the doors of Qingyi Workshop, then burst into tears in his arms. That was the year Yan Kang was still alive.
And another year, Yan San danced in a flowing red dress at Changge Terrace, dressed in full finery. Her gauzy sleeves fluttered, then slipped from her hands and drifted softly around Prince Heng's hand. That was the year He Shu had just inherited Qingyi Workshop.
By the tenth year, with Prince Heng's help, Yan San's restaurant business had grown and grown, until Zhaomeng House became the finest in Chang'an.
In the twelfth year after she came to Chang'an, in the autumn of the forty-ninth year, there was no longer a Boss Yan in Chang'an.
That winter, Prince Heng, already demoted to commoner, died in the first snowfall. He Shu, the owner of Qingyi Workshop, sat silently in the snow, gripping a knife. Prince Heng's steaming blood flowed into the snow. Its burning warmth was just like the heart in He Shu's chest, beating for a woman for the first time eleven years earlier.
People say I love Chang'an. In truth, I only love someone in Chang'an.
In the spring of the twelfth year after Yan San came to Chang'an, there was no longer a He Shu in Chang'an.
Theme: Twelve years pass as the stars shift. If there is another life, will you say, "Don't go"?
