Hydrangea Resentment

Deep in the mountains of northern Guangxi, there is an isolated Zhuang village. Sixteen-year-old Ayi and her seventy-three-year-old grandmother live in a stilted building in the east of the village. An old hydrangea hangs under the eaves - it has twelve silk petals, eleven petals are embroidered with faded patterns, and only the last petal is empty. On the day of the rainy season, the hydrangea fell. Vines grew out of thin air from the stone cracks on the threshold, and steady breathing came from outside the door on a rainy night. Grandma put a copper coin on Ayi's head and said, "Don't listen. Once you hear it, you won't forget it." But Ayi had already heard it - the woman's singing voice floated from outside the door, intermittent, and the tone was sad. The words penetrated into her ears, like a seed falling into the crack of her heart: "If you throw a hydrangea to the mountain god, you will never leave the forest for the rest of your life." Grandma has guarded Ayi for sixteen years, but the time limit is coming soon. The mountain god is waiting. The vines are climbing. The singing in the dark is getting closer. Hydrangea has twelve petals. Eleven petals are full. The twelfth petal is empty.