Spring Snow

In the spring of the second year of Jianyuan, snow fell unusually in Nanli.

Snowflakes as large as goose feathers blanketed the ground, weighing down the red threads wound around the willow branches.

Huachao, dressed in a flimsy, garish gown, was pushed before the crowd.

Lanterns lit the riverbank, and red blossoms drifted through the air.

That was the first time she saw Xu Yanxing.

He leaned against the rail of a waterside pavilion, his features as lovely as a painting. The frail young man had dark eyes, and his gaze happened to meet hers.

Xu Yanxing nearly gave up everything he owned to buy her freedom.

Inside the red gauze curtains, Huachao's mind was hazy. Trembling, she gripped the hairpin in her hand.

In the faint candlelight, a tall, handsome figure approached. The hairpin grazed his hand just as it touched the curtain, and bright red beads of blood welled up.

The young man still came closer. With the hand he'd kept behind his back, he placed a peony hairpin, still wet with melted snow, in her hair. His voice was gentle and cool: "I wish you freedom, my lady."

She warily retreated, then after a long pause asked in a small voice, "What is freedom?"

He only smiled and said nothing. But over the next ten years, he showed Huachao through his actions what freedom meant.

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In the spring of the twelfth year of Jianyuan, on the twelfth day of the second month, the Festival of Huachao.

For the second time, snow fell in Nanli in spring.

The difficult reforms had finally borne fruit. The young emperor was benevolent and reduced taxes. The land was at peace, and it was a fine time to be alive.

Huachao wore plain clothes and held an earthen jar in her arms. A brilliant peony was tucked beside her temple.

Step by step, she walked into the river, letting the water rise over her head until only red blossoms floated on the surface.

In the distance, flower lanterns bobbed gently with the ripples. Among them, elegant handwriting was hidden:

So many years have passed since we were parted in life and death; your soul has never come to visit my dreams.

If you will not come to me, then I shall go to you.

Tragic ending.

I may make a few small changes to the blurb before starting, but the plot will remain the same.

Theme: Finding one's true self