Red Apricots Fall into Dust

I was fourteen years old that year, and the back of the bronze mirror was smooth. Later, I sat on the porch and scratched the first mark on it with my fingernail, which was as shallow as an unfinished sentence. I was trapped in the deep courtyard of the Yuan family, marrying someone who had never crossed that threshold. Later, the tiger and leopard horses came, and a rough hand grabbed my wrist. There was a charcoal fire in the camp. The other hand covered the back of my hand, and the birthmark under the fingertips was exactly the same as the one above the tiger's mouth on my right hand. He didn't speak, but I recognized him. I gave birth to Cao Rui. He also had the same mark on the back of his right hand. Cao Cao came to see the child, his eyes paused on the birthmark for a moment, and he smiled, with the corners of his mouth moving but his eyes unblinking. Cao Pi would never enter this door again. I sat on the porch and counted the leaves of the red apricot tree. When I reached the thirty-seventh leaf, I got confused. When I got confused, I started counting from the beginning again. I couldn't finish counting the leaves, nor could I finish counting the days. Then they came. The rice glue was applied to my eyes and lips. It was warm and gradually cooled down. Someone opened my mouth and stuffed rice bran into it, silencing all sounds. My hair was stuck to my face like an extra layer of skin. There was a clicking sound in my neck, and then everything stopped. On the day Cao Rui ascended the throne, the throne was cold. He asked people to take the bronze mirror back to Luoyang and place it on the case with the back side facing up. Those scratches are embedded in the copper surface one after another, like a map that no one can understand. His fingers never reached out and turned over. The wind is still blowing. The ashes are still falling.