The Cold-Scented Tomb

Nie Zhao transplanted a clump of scarlet poppies into the freshly turned soil in the back courtyard. He stared at the flowers. They were such a vivid color, red as blood, yet cold and scentless, almost as if they were fake. They were just like the hairpin she had once given him. That only made him love them more. A love and hate that had nothing to do with him. What is love, that it makes people pledge their lives to one another? Theme: