“I was born as the third daughter of a samurai family,” Snow Plum-hime began to speak softly, as though the words were falling like the delicate scattering of plum blossoms.
“I was raised to be a butterfly, a flower. A daughter of a samurai family, born to be a gift from the very beginning. I was treated with utmost care, so as not to bear a single flaw.”
She bit her lips, then relaxed them, continuing, “So, I never imagined I would fall in love now.”
“I wanted to remain a bud,” Snow Plum whispered, her voice soft. “A bud that does not bloom, and therefore does not scatter. I wanted to be a flower that only scattered a fragrant aroma, awaiting the day I would bloom in glory, like a flower that everyone desires to see in full bloom. It had to be that way. Even so, there is no bud that does not bloom.”
Her spring had just begun to break.
“After I exchanged feelings with Yán Chūn, not long after, His Majesty passed by. It was like a dream, truly. After all, I was raised for that very purpose. My elegant dance, my carefully cultivated beauty—everything was meant to earn His Majesty’s favor. But when I was touched by him, my skin froze.”
When touched by frost, flowers wilt. Yet, had I been a firm bud, I should have been able to endure the cold.
“I should never have fallen in love.”
Even if she regretted it, the petals that had already fallen could not return to being a bud.
A concubine and a eunuch cannot be together. And once becoming the emperor’s favored concubine, there was no turning back. Thus, the two entrusted their hopes to the afterlife.
“We promised to meet on the evening of the first day of the month. In the spring garden, under the most beautiful plum tree,” Snow Plum said, her voice tinged with nostalgia.
Fei Ling could imagine it: Snow Plum, sneaking out of the palace under the light of the stars, heading towards the plum tree. Even as she approached death, she would have her lips adorned with rouge, her hair elegantly styled, and her red silk robe perfectly tied, just like when she ascended the stage, as radiant as ever.
To say there was no regret would be a lie. She would have to betray everything—her family, her parents, her brothers, the love she had received, the power, the wealth, the honor, the position, even her life. She would have thrown away all of it just to love. She only wanted to be loved.
“The plums were in full bloom, their branches hanging low. Through the night’s shadow, they looked deep blue. There was no moon, yet the fragrance was so strong it almost choked.”
The evening in the second month was freezing. Snow Plum must have waited for so long, exhaling onto her numb fingers, all while worrying about her hair being tousled by the wind that scattered the petals.
“But he did not come,” she whispered.
She must have spent time, counting the blossoms, one by one, as they bloomed.
“I waited until morning. When the first light of dawn started to break, I realized—ah, his love was nothing but a beautiful lie.”
“However, it was not a lie,” she continued, her voice heavy with sorrow.
Fei Ling finally spoke, breaking her silence.
“The man known as Yán Chūn also waited under another plum tree and, in the end, despairing, took his own life. A death filled with strong regret brings forth poison to the earth. His blood seeped into the ground, and the plum tree’s roots absorbed it, turning it into poison. This poison became the root cause of the illness that afflicted Snow Plum.”
The poison of blood belongs to “metal poison.” Thus, the “metal medicine” used to counteract “wood poison” was neutralized by the “metal poison,” dulling its effect. Therefore, in order to detoxify, the impurity of death first needed to be purified.
The mercury bee, as the name suggests, carries poison like mercury.
It is now known that mercury is a deadly poison, but if we go back a hundred years, mercury was believed to be an elixir for immortality. Powerholders competed to drink it, only to lose their lives. It was said that if mercury was applied to a corpse, the body could be preserved for hundreds of years without decaying. This led to the superstition of immortality.
(However, if we use the wisdom of Bai Ze, it is possible to create an elixir for immortality from mercury. In other words, the poison of mercury can also turn into medicine.)
Mercury is “the deadly poison of the sun.” If handled properly, it can become a medicine capable of overcoming the strong poison of death. However, mercury poison mixed with honey is in very small amounts.
Therefore, the flower nectar must be from Mizushikimi (water-acorn), a plant that is poisonous.
Mizushikimi is a toxic plant, but its fragrance is believed to drive away evil, and its leaves are sometimes used to line coffins for funerals.
(However, the flowers are too toxic, and just bringing them into the city could result in being arrested. Of course, planting them is also forbidden.)
Yet, there is nothing more suitable for warding off “yin poison” than this.
After detoxifying the “yin poison,” the final step is to administer “fire medicine.” Like burning a corpse, fire is used to overcome “metal poison” and “wood poison.”
“That’s… impossible,” Snow Plum-hime muttered, shaking her head, perhaps unable to accept that her beloved had poisoned himself.
“If I had not come into contact with the earth poison, I shouldn’t have been afflicted by the poison plague. I still visited the plum tree after that. But the plum tree he died by and the plum tree I waited for are different. I should not have been affected by the poison of his death.”
“That is…”
Fei Ling was unsure of how exactly Snow Plum-hime had come into contact with the poison, and hesitated.
At that moment, a butterfly flew through the window’s decorative bars. It was a Poison Butterfly.
It was likely drawn to the lingering scent of the plum flowers in the room. The red plums that had surrounded Snow Plum-hime were fragrant, yet their true nature was that of blood-filled plums. This poison butterfly must have been drawn to them.
(So, it was a butterfly after all.)
A butterfly that carries the souls of the dead—how fitting.
“It was a butterfly. The butterfly connected the two plum trees that had been separated and also carried the earth poison,” Snow Plum-hime said.
The butterfly flew around, as if mourning the fallen plums.
There was one more thing Fei Ling did not understand.
“Forgive my boldness… but there are hundreds of plum trees in this garden. Why did you choose a plum tree for such an important meeting?”
“I thought there was no mistake. There is only one double-flowered red plum.”
Snow Plum-hime was always draped in red silk. If one were to compare her with the plums, she would surely wait by the double-flowered red plums.
However, that was not the case.
Why? Fei Ling recalled. When Snow Plum-hime had danced for the last time, the flower that had fallen was a white plum blossom. In other words, it had turned red from absorbing blood, but originally… Ah, now the understanding was starting to fall into place.
“Did he not see you, but instead, in your heart, saw the plum?” Fei Ling asked.
Not as the glamorous dancer, but as the pure, snow-like flower that he loved.
Snow Plum-hime’s eyes grew wide, and tears began to fall endlessly from her mirror-like eyes. Her rouge smeared, and she broke down crying.
A particularly strong spring wind blew in from the window.
Plum petals fluttered around the room. No, it was not just petals. A flash of light—the group of Poison Butterflies danced around.
Snow Plum-hime suddenly gasped and raised her tear-streaked eyes.
“…Yán Chūn,” she whispered.
Fei Ling quickly turned around, but only the butterfly swarm remained.
The butterflies flew out through the crack in the door and headed toward the corridor. Snow Plum-hime followed, calling out for her beloved, chasing after the butterflies.
Visions induced by the medicine—the words passed through Fei Ling’s mind. The medicine made from Mizushikimi was potent. Even if perfectly prepared, it still carried the risk of causing delirium.
“Please wait, Snow Plum-hime!” Fei Ling called, chasing after her, but Snow Plum-hime did not turn back.
Outside, night had already fallen, and lanterns flickered softly. Snow Plum-hime descended the stairs and walked through the dark garden, crossing the red arched bridge. Fei Ling, still running, glanced to the other side of the bridge and for a moment, doubted her eyes.
“The plums…” she murmured.
The plums that should have been scattered were now blooming, their white petals glowing with a moist light, rising against the evening twilight. The weight of the blossoms bent the branches, and the wind made them dance.
Fei Ling exhaled in surprise.
“Ah… It’s the butterfly.”
The butterflies, carrying the moonlight, surrounded the plums—hundreds, no, thousands of them. The branches and leaves were covered, and it seemed as if the plum season had never ended.
Snow Plum-hime arrived at the plum tree, collapsing to her knees at its base.
“Yán Chūn… listen to me,” she called out breathlessly, as if her beloved were truly there.
“I was truly going to go with you that night. I loved you, and I still love you… so much that it hurts.”
It was not Yán Chūn, but Snow Plum-hime, who had died, weaving words of resentment.
The plums swayed as though stirred by waves.
“But I can’t go now.”
She touched her lower abdomen. There was something pulsing inside. A new life. No matter what lies she told, this was something she wanted to protect.
And so, she continued.
“You may hate me, but please, let me swear this.”
Snow Plum-hime, holding back tears, took the hairpin from her hair. Her loose hair fluttered in the spring breeze, spreading out. Holding the paired hairpins tightly, she offered her final words to the one she was about to leave.
“My love, in this life, you are the only one.”
A particularly strong gust of wind blew, and the butterflies soared into the air.
It was a spring snowstorm. Amid the swirling butterflies, for just a moment, a figure of a man appeared. Fei Ling could clearly see the figure, its outline blurred, but somehow, she knew the man was smiling.
It was as if he was praying for the happiness of his beloved.
Spring fades, leaving behind a faint fragrance.
Snow Plum-hime continued to weep by the plum tree, holding onto the remaining scent of her beloved.
Tears do eventually run out. Just as no flower remains unscattered, the hidden flower within her heart would never scatter. As long as a secret remains secret, the flower would remain a flower.
Love is eternal and will never fade.
Until the day we meet again, on the other side of the bridge.
