The History of Cypress Trees

I am a cypress. An arborvitae to be precise. In the pedigree of plants, I am neither precious nor rare. But I have survived the beacon smoke of Qin, the bright moon of Han, the neon clothes of Tang, the afterglow of Song, the horseshoes of Yuan, the city bricks of Ming, the Eight Banners of Qing, and the earth-shaking roar and silence in the past hundred years. My roots are rooted in the Xianyang Ancient Ferry on the north bank of the Wei River and next to the old foundation of the West Wei Bridge. This is the remnant of the capital of Qin and the gateway to the capital of Han Dynasty. For thousands of years, wheels have rolled over my shadow, horses' hooves have trampled my roots, pedestrians have rested under my shade, and wars have burned around me. I have seen the greatest prosperity and the most profound desolation; I have heard the most beautiful songs and the most tragic wailing; I have guarded the longest loneliness and hid the warmest secrets. I can't speak or move. I can only stand here like a tree and witness everything. The changes of dynasties are engraved in my annual rings; the wind and frost of the years hang among my branches and leaves; the stories of countless people are hidden in my root system. This is neither a legend nor a hymn. This is just the memory of an ancient tree. It is a story that I have seen, heard and experienced over the past two thousand and two hundred years from 212 BC to 2026 AD. There is warmth, loss, pride, and countless helplessness and sadness. The story begins in the spring of the thirty-fifth year of Emperor Qin Shi Huang.