Tang Xie Jintang

Everyone looked up and marveled at the breathtaking profusion of blossoms on the tree. Only Shen Yanci remembered his grandfather's warning: Don't just admire the splendid flowers. Turn over the leaves and look closely at the wormholes.

Back then, he was still a young man among the flowers, and he didn't believe that a house full of splendor could ever fall into ruin.

But beneath the blossoms, the accounts were quietly running into the red, the younger generation had grown arrogant, his father had staked the family estate to curry favor with the powerful, and his second uncle was eyeing the family's offshoots, waiting for a chance to seek another spring.

He picked up the pruning shears and did everything he could to protect this fading begonia, believing there was still time to turn the tide.

Then the storm came, and fallen blossoms covered the ground.

Old friends turned against each other. Brothers snapped branches. Iron chains dragged his father away, and notices of seizure were pasted across one shop after another.

The splendid hall, which had just been filled with guests, was reduced overnight to muddy water and tattered petals.

Many years later, Shen Yanci returned to the wall outside the old garden.

The former owners were long gone, and new begonias bloomed just as brightly. Music and feasting continued as before.

There are no flowers in this world that never wither, nor powerful families that never decline.

Can you see the worm beneath the leaves, the one that's been gnawing away at the roots all along?