The brush moved without hesitation, its ink traces clear and vivid as it composed a poem of love.
By the window where the evening sun streamed in, there was a woman writing a love letter to the emperor. Her name was Li Sha. Her calligraphy, graceful and flowing, reminded one of the murmuring spring streams.
At her side stood a eunuch, wearing a mask. He leaned against the earthen wall, gripping his sword tightly while glaring into the darkness.
“I’ve completed the rhythm poem suitable for the first snow. Hehe, I wonder if His Majesty will be pleased. I would be happy if he could come to me tomorrow evening,” Li Sha said, holding up the letter to the light. She smiled like a flower. On her finger was a gold ring given to her by the emperor.
The eunuch, narrowing his single-lidded eyes, replied.
“I don’t understand the fine arts of poetry, but any man wouldn’t be pleased to be adored by a woman like you. If there were such a man, he must either be impotent or a eunuch himself.”
“Why, Guaran!” she exclaimed.
Li Sha furrowed her brows at the eunuch, called Guaran, who used such coarse language, but then, she relaxed and smiled happily, her eyes softening. She folded her fingers and blushed shyly.
“You are the only one who speaks such kind words to me.”
Although she was often praised for her beauty, those compliments were mere flattery or calculated praise, not words that carried any true meaning. She was not foolish. The praises were meant for the empress or for the Yao family, a prominent noble house.
“Could you prepare some medicine for the night His Majesty will come to visit? A medicine that can bring pleasure during… intimate moments…” she asked.
“For the emperor? What, is he not able to perform?” Guaran responded.
“No! His Majesty is in good health. But… I cannot give him the medicine. It’s for me to take,” Li Sha explained.
Realizing something, Guaran furrowed his brows and looked away, feeling embarrassed.
“No, it’s no good. It was scattered by the storm, and that’s how it ended. But… I am a flower. If I don’t bloom, then… I must ensure that His Majesty is truly pleased,” she said, her cheek resting against Guaran’s broad chest as she closed her eyes. Her fingers gripped her long robe, trembling slightly. The gold ring on her finger shimmered.
“… I am the only one who can touch you,” she whispered.
As if to protect the fragile bud from the storm, Guaran pulled Li Sha close, holding her head gently.
“I would do anything for you, my lady,” he said.
With the rough yet tender touch of his hand combing through her hair, Li Sha’s eyes distorted with pain, and she smiled sadly, as if trying to swallow the guilt of being loved and accepting it completely.
The sun had set.
Fei Ling was on her way home to Li Sha’s residence, carrying a lantern, when she passed through the plum garden. Lan Xin, who had been commuting from the government quarters at the summer palace every morning, had already parted ways with her.
“Fei Ling.”
When she heard her name from behind, she turned around to find Xue Mei, the concubine, chasing after her.
“I wanted to thank you properly once more.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble. You’re still recovering from childbirth, and it’s quite cold this evening. If you catch a cold for my sake…”
“I have something I want you to hear, just from you.”
Xue Mei spoke, her breath turning to white mist as she spoke, as if to release the feelings she had kept hidden in her heart.
“I was raised to be a flower. If I were to say I was bound by that, it would be true. But I will raise Xingru, just the same.”
“I understand,” Fei Ling replied.
That, too, was a mother’s love.
Perhaps surprised, Xue Mei widened her eyes.
“I thought you would blame me.”
“I don’t believe teaching someone to be like this is a curse. It can be both poison and medicine. However, when one denies and rejects everything when it cannot be, that… is poison,” Fei Ling said.
She recalled the time when Little Bell had lamented that she had been told she could have been abandoned at birth. When those words were spoken, her heart had already been abandoned. A child, even when abandoned, still clings to the parents. The poison that is planted at such a time — “Repay the favor, or else.”
That was a terrible poison.
“When Xingru has someone she loves, I will tell her to bloom in the season she desires. Whether in midwinter or midsummer, I don’t know if she will bloom beautifully, but… even if she falls or withers, choosing the season is also part of being a flower,” Xue Mei continued.
Just as she had been.
She was a plum that bloomed even in the snow, but truly, she had only bloomed once — for the man she loved most. Was it Yin Chun? He had died for love, and Xue Mei’s love had become eternal.
“Xue Mei, you will make a good mother.”
“Thank you.”
Her red lips parted in a smile, and she laughed.
“One last thing, something I will take to my grave… but only to you.”
Xue Mei leaned in close to Fei Ling’s ear and whispered the secret of flowers, a beautiful secret.
“I will raise this girl as if she were the child of Yin Chun. A woman can do that, after all.”
She had loved someone, and that was all. If she were to reveal it, it would seem trivial. But if revealed, it would scatter. Thus, a flower blooms, holding onto its secret until the very end.
Xue Mei smiled quietly as she waved her sleeve, pointing behind Fei Ling.
Fei Ling turned around, gasping, and saw plum branches blooming with snow-like blossoms from the corridor. White plums out of season. Perhaps it was due to the lantern light, but the area shimmered with a soft glow.
Ah, that was the plum where Yin Chun had taken his life.
“You love him, don’t you?” Fei Ling whispered.
Even as the seasons changed, a woman’s love was strong. Fei Ling, for some reason, began to think of her own mother. The woman who had loved the late emperor, or perhaps only the late emperor.
Xue Mei lowered her lashes in silence.
“…Are you not in pain?” Fei Ling asked.
Confused, Fei Ling tilted her head, a strand of hair falling onto her collar.
“Just as I was raised to be a decorative flower, you were born to be medicine, and you have remained medicine. You have staked your life, broken your heart, and dedicated your body. Isn’t that painful? I cannot speak because I have always been saved by your medicine,” Xue Mei said.
Poison, flower, medicine — being born and raised to be like this was equally heavy.
“I pray that one day, someone will come who will love all of you, even if you are no longer medicine. You are… truly a girl deserving of love, even without the need for medicine,” Xue Mei said, her gaze full of compassion.
(Xue Mei is a kind person.)
Yet, despite her kindness, Fei Ling felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if a thorn had pierced her. She smiled vaguely, but in her mind, she thought:
(I want to remain medicine. Even if they say I don’t need to be medicine, I don’t know what to do.)
The words whispered to her by Zhen, the poisoner, swirled in her mind.
(If you knew, you wouldn’t be medicine, and that’s why you’re scared, right?)
Zhen had accurately pecked at the wet wound deep in her chest. She couldn’t deny it. He was her understanding, and terrifyingly, he knew her wound. Perhaps it was because he, too, was hiding the same wound somewhere.
