When Shall We Grow Old Together?

Passerby A: Flowers cast shadows behind the curtains, and her rosy cheeks were flushed with sleep. In that moment, time seemed to drift by lightly. His throat went hoarse, as if even the fragrant dust in the air had deliberately fallen quiet. He descended the steps slowly and carefully. An ancient poem came to mind: "Once I leaned against the painted rail and smiled into the east wind; by dusk, half the cherries had bloomed." He gently lifted his robe and sat down. Slowly, he bent over her, close enough for her warm, moist breath to brush his face, close enough to see the fine beads of sweat on the tip of her nose, close enough for her two rosy lips, as fresh and dewy as if they might drip, to be right before his eyes.

Passerby B: Her bare feet weren't as soft and pink as they had been when she was pampered, and after spending all day in straw sandals, they were covered in calluses and little cuts. But her slender jade feet kept kicking lightly at the small of his back, brushing against him, and it was more than anyone could bear. And then she dragged out her words in a sweet, languid voice: "I'm really cold..." On a chilly late-autumn night, the north wind howled and the cold made people curl up into a ball, yet somehow a thin sheen of sweat broke out across his back. The thatched hut still let the wind in from every side, and it was truly freezing at night. Moonlight streamed through the holes in the roof in shafts, leaving the room half-lit and half-asleep. Before an hour had passed, the folded coat he'd placed between them had been kicked away by her, no one knew where. She lay on her side, her feet against his legs and her hands against his arms, curling up and inching closer and closer. At last, unable to stand it any longer, he shut his eyes and sighed faintly into the air, "I'm a man."

Passerby C: The rows of armored guards before her suddenly parted in perfect formation, opening a path wide enough for two. A man approached, dressed like an ordinary young nobleman, the jade pendant and tassels at his waist swaying gently. He came at an unhurried pace, calm and steady as a pine tree. He had once been somewhat wild and unrestrained, but now that he had claimed the empire, the air of nobility had settled into his very bones, making him truly formidable. She looked at him, resolutely climbed over the railing, and let her skirts billow in the wind. All it would take was one release of her grip for her life to end. Seeing this, he remained perfectly composed. His gaze passed through the crowd and settled on her as he spoke in an even tone: "You want to die? You should ask whether I allow it first. Since I've come here in person, you ought to know how determined I am to have you. If you jump today, I will lead my troops south and spill a million lives to ease the regret in my heart." He spoke as lightly as if discussing the weather, using the lives of millions of people across half of the Southern Dynasty as a threat. Step by step, he strolled to Jinse. The hidden guards held their breath, watching Jinse for a sign and not daring to stop him. He came to stand before her and gazed steadily into her eyes. Then he leaned down and whispered beside her ear, softly enough that only the two of them could hear: "If you were truly determined to die, how would you have survived until now? You don't care about the lives of these dozens of hidden guards? Or the lives of the countless people of the Southern Dynasty?" The wind roared across the heights. Her hairpins had fallen in her frantic struggle, and her long black hair was tossed into disarray by the wind. He sighed softly, reached out, and tenderly tucked a loose strand behind her ear. One hand took hold of her arm, the other slipped beneath her armpit, and he gently lifted her into his arms, holding her securely across his chest.

Passerby D: In the darkness, she couldn't see his expression. As the air shifted, he groped for her hand and pulled it over. At a time like this, how could he care about anything else? He pressed her hand firmly against his waist. His fingers interlaced with hers. His palm was scorching hot and drenched in sweat, unbelievably warm and damp. He used all his strength to hold her hand against the jade belt at his waist, her hand resting on one of its jade plaques. Its openwork carving of lingzhi mushrooms and orchids pressed into her skin, cool and faintly soothing. His panting thundered in his chest, and his racing heartbeat made hers pound in turn. Her broad-sleeved white silk robe, its neatly finished edge embroidered with the Xinqi pattern, hung beside her cheek and brushed against her ear. The fabric was stiff and slightly ticklish. She felt the hairpin on her head being straightened. The sleeve, carrying the cool fragrance of red plum blossoms, withdrew as casually as drifting clouds. Then she heard his soft, lingering voice above her, tinged with laughter: "Your Highness, your hairpin is crooked."

The author says: Passerby A, B, C, and D aren't ranked by status.

The author says again:

When will we trim the candle by the western window together?

And yet, looking back, all I can say is that I was lost then.

One lifetime, one person. You are not that kind of person, and neither am I.

You are no good match, and I am no saint. There's no need to argue over who wronged whom.

Theme: A person as lovely as jade, wicked and dazzling, restrained yet devoted, with a sense of destiny. The green hills cannot hold it back; all flows east with the river. If you like all kinds of melodramatic twists, come on in!