In the second year after settling in the Demon World, Feng Qingyun finally welcomed his first blooming season. Only, his flowers did not bloom in the Demon Palace, but in the City of Mirrors.
Ever since that night when he dreamed of that person, Feng Qingyun had recalled his voice, his tone, even fragments of words he had once spoken.
At first, he was overjoyed, as though the shore of light lay just ahead.
But half a year passed in a blink. Little Beichen had grown from knee-height to reaching his waist, yet Feng Qingyun still failed to recall anything more about that person.
Day after day of fruitless searching weighed heavily on his heart.
During the first New Year’s Eve after he lost him, even the chaotic Demon World was filled with festivity and cheer. Only Feng Qingyun sat alone beneath the vast snowfall, gazing at the bright moon beyond the Demon Palace.
In the end, he made a decision.
It was said that the City of Mirrors could reflect a person’s inner demons. But the first time Feng Qingyun had gone there, that mirror, clear as water, had reflected nothing but himself.
Still, he wanted to try again.
Bringing Beichen, who could now walk on their own, Feng Qingyun journeyed from the Demon Palace to the City of Mirrors.
The city’s Lord, who had met him once before, hurried out to greet him. After a few polite exchanges, Feng Qingyun explained his purpose and temporarily entrusted the little merfolk to the Lord of the City of Mirrors… and his other form, the heart demon.
Ming Jingtai looked much healthier than the last time Feng Qingyun had seen him. At the very least, his coughing had lessened.
“…A heart demon is the manifestation of one’s deepest obsession,” Ming Jingtai hesitated but still warned. “If Sword Venerable Feng truly manages to reflect yours… what it says may not be entirely true. More than half of it may be words meant to drag you into the abyss. Please discern carefully.”
Feng Qingyun paused, instinctively lifting his gaze, yet the identical heart demon beside Ming Jingtai said nothing, only lowered its eyes toward its original body, making no attempt to defend itself.
Ming Jingtai clearly knew his heart demon harbored ill intent, yet he still willingly sank into the abyss it wove.
After a moment of silence, Feng Qingyun thanked him and stepped into a room specially prepared for him, a chamber lined entirely with mirrors, without a single window. Closing the door behind him, he raised his eyes. The countless mirrors reflected clearly, yet still, there was nothing within them except himself.
This was within his expectations.
He knew it was unlikely he even had a heart demon. And even if he did, it would be so faint as to be nearly imperceptible, impossible to awaken by ordinary means.
But just as Ming Jingtai had said…
A heart demon was the embodiment of one’s deepest, most obsessive desire. If he could see it, perhaps he might glimpse truths no one else knew. Even if the chance was one in ten thousand, even if awakening it might damage his cultivation, Feng Qingyun did not hesitate.
So he did not leave.
Instead, beneath the reflection of countless mirrors, he sat down like one entering meditation, lifting his gaze to stare directly at his own reflection. Time slipped away like sand through fingers.
Faintly, Feng Qingyun felt that the entire room seemed… familiar. Was it just his imagination? But he had no time to think further. Because what came first was not his heart demon, but his blooming season.
Spring burst open in the room without warning, and even Feng Qingyun himself was stunned.
Layer upon layer of roses bloomed, their reflections multiplying endlessly in the mirrors. Feng Qingyun bit his lower lip, tears gathering in his eyes as he forced himself to look at his own disheveled reflection.
The budding petals and his flushed face intertwined, casting countless shades of tenderness and ambiguity, yet no one was there to witness them.
During blooming, spiritual plant demons were always more sensitive, more volatile. As he stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes suddenly reddened. A vague sense of grievance rose in his chest.
The last time… it wasn’t like this.
The moment that thought surfaced, the obsession buried beneath his reason finally broke through. As if echoing the saying misfortune never comes alone, within the sea of mirrors, not only was Feng Qingyun’s flushed figure reflected, but…
Another “person” appeared.
The very thing he had longed to see.
His heart demon.
Just as his wish was fulfilled, his body burned beyond control. Feng Qingyun instinctively pressed his legs together, his eyes filling with helpless tears. His mind, scorched by the blooming, could barely function. He struggled upright, dazed, locking eyes with the figure in the mirror.
The heart demon stood before him, dressed in black-and-gold robes, the complete opposite of Feng Qingyun.
Feng Qingyun rarely wore black. For a fleeting moment, as he stared at the figure approaching him, it felt as though he were seeing another version of himself from a different world.
The heart demon stopped beside him, looking down at him, as he lay there, softened, almost melting into the floor. Then, it reached out and gently cupped his burning face, smiling warmly as it gazed at its original self, who had been reduced to pieces by desire. It was an almost tender, kind gesture, so much so that Feng Qingyun faltered for a moment. But the next second, the heart demon leaned close to his ear and whispered:
“You will never… remember what he truly looked like. So who are you putting on this pitiful display for?”
Feng Qingyun’s pupils shrank, and he snapped back to himself, but before he could glare in anger, he saw the heart demon hook a finger at his collarbone and pull out a pendant hanging with a dragon scale from his otherwise empty neck.
“Look,” the heart demon raised a brow, shaking the pendant lightly, smiling from above, “you don’t even know what this is anymore…”
“So what use is remembering his voice?”
There was a trace of malice in its tone as it watched Feng Qingyun’s tear-filled gaze, flushed with anger and desire. Anyone else, faced with such a glare from the renowned Lord Feng, would tremble and fall to their knees.
But his own heart demon only smiled, voicing the fear that had plagued him for half a year:
“Since you remembered his voice, it’s been over half a year, hasn’t it? Have you made any progress beyond that? No, right?”
“So maybe… he’s already dissolved because of your helplessness. Even if you remember him, he won’t remember you anymore.”
“So, what’s the point of keeping his scale?”
The heart demon smiled, patting his burning cheek, then deliberately lifted the scale high, brushing it across the trembling rosebuds and stirring an indescribable shiver.
“You don’t even know how much it hurt when he tore it out. This is his reverse scale. Do you even recognize it?”
Feng Qingyun’s whole body trembled. His pupils constricted as he stared at the dragon scale, eyes brimming with tears.
That… was his reverse scale.
“See? You didn’t even know that,” the heart demon laughed, gripping the scale as if to pull it away. “Why not give it to me?”
“I’ll go find him for you…”
But blood splashed, and in the next instant, the mirrors shattered into pieces.
Feng Qingyun gripped the Linshuang Sword, leaning against the wall, the corners of his eyes flushed red, and his clothes in disarray as he panted for breath. In his hand, he tightly clutched the dragon-scale pendant he had just seized back.
He bit his lower lip and gently wiped the blood that had dripped onto it. After a long pause, he slowly closed his eyes, lifted the scale to his lips, and kissed it.
Amid the blood scattered across the floor, Feng Qingyun held that single scale as though it were a priceless treasure, gripping it with all his strength as he entered his first blooming period on his own.
Of course, he knew that heart demons could not be killed and that they did not bleed. And of course, he also knew that blood was his own, drawn when the sharp edge of the scale had cut open his palm during the struggle.
His heart demon still sat within the countless mirrors, watching him from behind the glass, aloof, mocking, amused at his struggle within desire.
But Feng Qingyun didn’t care.
He didn’t care whether the heart demon had dissipated or not. All he cared about was that, after exhausting every effort, he had finally gained a fragment of progress worth something.
That alone was enough.
Yet this blooming came at the worst possible time. Clutching the dragon scale, Feng Qingyun shut himself inside the room for ten full days before he finally endured that searing and hollow stretch of time. The bloom drained all his strength, yet afterward, there was none of the comfort that should have followed. The suffocating pressure from a year without blooming wasn’t relieved in the slightest by this sudden release. Instead, it only made things worse.
The feeling lodged stubbornly in his chest, swollen, oppressive, impossible to dispel.
And yet, none of it showed on his face.
With the flush still lingering on his cheeks, he steadied his breathing and adjusted his robes. After carefully placing the hard-won dragon scale inside his clothes, close against his chest, he took a deep breath, composed his expression into something blank, and pushed the door open as if nothing had happened.
After thanking Ming Jingtai for caring for the child during these days, Feng Qingyun took little Beichen by the hand and set out once more.
“Daddy…” the merchild, however, was sharp enough to notice something was off. “What’s wrong? Are you unhappy?”
Feng Qingyun paused, then lowered his head and lifted the obedient little merchild into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to their cheek. “Thank you for worrying about me, baby. Daddy’s fine.”
But some lies could fool others, not oneself.
It didn’t take long, after a fruitless summer, for Feng Qingyun to realize that his heart demon had been right. Even after reclaiming that dragon scale, he still had nothing.
He still couldn’t remember how he had obtained it. Just as he still couldn’t recall that person’s face. Whether it was the emotional aftermath of his bloom or the frustration of long effort without results, a faint but persistent restlessness began to rise in his heart.
His mind was unsettled. His body was unsatisfied. Both reached their peak at once, and then, the dream came again.
This time, Feng Qingyun felt none of his earlier embarrassment. Instead, within the dream, he grabbed the faceless man, straddled him angrily, his eyes red with grievance, and scolded him outright:
“You bastard…!”
[What did I do this time?] The man seemed even more aggrieved at the accusation. [You’re the one who can’t remember, and yet you come scolding this Lord for no reason…]
It was pure misdirected anger, but in dreams, reason rarely held.
Hearing him talk back only made Feng Qingyun more furious. Pressing down on his shoulders, he slammed himself down, and the man immediately fell silent, his breathing turning heavy. Still, the frustration in Feng Qingyun’s chest wouldn’t dissipate. Clutching the man’s shoulders, eyes reddened, he threatened:
“If you still won’t come back… I’ll…”
The man leaned down and kissed his lips, warm with agitation: [If you still can’t remember, does the Little Palace Master plan to abandon your humble husband?]
Feng Qingyun turned his face away, eyes still red, not knowing whether he was provoking himself or the other:
“If you still refuse to come see me… then I’ll go find…”
He didn’t even finish the sentence.
With a startled cry, he was suddenly grabbed by the waist and pressed hard into the bed. Even in the dream, the impact left him dazed. When he finally regained awareness, he felt something cool press between his thighs, smooth and hard like jade, slipping in where his trembling legs couldn’t hold it back.
“What the…?!”
Feng Qingyun looked down in shock and saw a delicately carved jade hairpin trapped between his legs.
A rose hairpin.
The carved rose at its end pressed against the soft flesh of his thigh, leaving behind a faint, suggestive red mark. The sensation was so vivid, so real, that even the slight sting felt unmistakably lifelike.
The visual alone made him wish he could faint from shame. Yet the sharp clarity of the sensation left him confused.
…Could dreams really feel this real?!
Somewhere deep down, he realized that as time passed, the dreams were becoming clearer. But what sharpened was not his memory.
It was the sensation.
Before he could think it through, the man behind him leaned close and whispered threateningly in his ear:
[Hold it tight. If it falls, face the consequences.]
“Mm…!”
Feng Qingyun tried to resist, but his waist was pinned firmly in place. Panicked, he had no choice but to obey, clenching tightly around the hairpin.
A tidal wave surged through him, and yet, for reasons too complicated to speak aloud…
The hairpin still slipped free. It hit the floor with a sharp, ringing sound, like a death knell.
“!”
Even within the haze of the dream, a flicker of fear flashed through Feng Qingyun. But just as he tried to turn, the hairpin was picked up and pressed into his mouth.
[Since my little Miss Yu can’t hold it… Then don’t blame your husband for being merciless.]
…Miss Yu?
Feng Qingyun blinked in confusion, unable to recall where he had heard that familiar form of address. But if he couldn’t remember, someone would help him.
The next moment, a massive dragon surged into existence.
Before his widening eyes and trembling breath, it coiled around his body, wrapping him completely. The slick, cold hardness of its scales, together with the inverse scale the heart demon had drawn forth, suddenly awakened a hidden memory buried deep within him.
Frozen and trembling, he bit down on the jade hairpin and looked up at the enormous dragon eye descending before him.
The dragon God pressed against the tip of his nose and asked:
[What were you saying just now? Who were you planning to go find?]
“No one…” Feng Qingyun couldn’t speak clearly with the hairpin in his mouth. His lashes were wet, his whole body trembling pitifully. “I didn’t mean it… please… mm…”
But apologies were useless. As more fragments returned, the dream grew ever more real. Only now did Feng Qingyun truly understand what it meant to be faced with a “God.”
That shameless dragon God whispered against his ear:
[If it falls again… I’ll go in with it.]
“!!!”
No… impossible…!
Terrified by the threat, his entire body broke into a sweat. Tears filled his eyes, saliva slipping from the corners of his mouth as he clamped down desperately on the rose hairpin, not daring to let it fall.
In the end, the pitiful beauty was tormented in the dream as though blooming once more. The carved rose at the tip of the hairpin was licked unconsciously by Feng Qingyun’s tongue until it glistened, vivid and lush like a real flower.
Even when he finally fainted within the dream, he still held the hairpin obediently between his teeth, docile beyond belief. Tears and sweat soaked his face, and even in sleep, Feng Qingyun cursed that man viciously in his heart.
Yet just before sinking fully into unconsciousness, he failed to notice that this absurd, overwhelming pleasure had washed away all the frustration and restlessness in his heart, leaving behind only quiet satisfaction.
Much later, he vaguely felt a soft kiss fall against his cheek.
Then the man seemed to rise.
Feng Qingyun frowned, struggling to open his eyes, trying to keep him there. But when he finally managed to open them, all he saw was the moonlight outside the window and the little merchild asleep in his arms.
He stared at the moon for a long time, feeling the agitation in his body completely dissipated by the dream.
For a long while, he couldn’t come back to himself.
The little merchild stirred as well, rubbing sleep from their eyes and looking up at him in confusion:
“Daddy…? What’s wrong?”
Feng Qingyun came back to himself, lowered his gaze, and pulled the child into his arms. “It’s nothing… Daddy just dreamed of your Father.”
“Then why are you crying…?” the little merchild asked worriedly, reaching up to wipe the corners of his eyes. “Did Father bully Daddy in the dream?”
“…Mm.” Feng Qingyun gently pinched the soft, bun-like cheeks. “Your Father was very mean. He always bullies me in dreams.”
“…How could Father be like that?!” Little Beichen immediately took it seriously, puffing up with righteous anger. “When Father comes back, we’ll bully him back!”
“…Alright,” Feng Qingyun couldn’t help but laugh. “When he comes back, we’ll bully him together.”
But the little merchild was clearly exhausted. After saying that, it let out a small yawn, snuggled into Feng Qingyun’s arms, found a spot that smelled faintly of flowers, and closed their eyes again. Even so, just before drifting off, they still murmured softly, “But… in this whole world, besides Daddy and me, no one remembers Father… Father is so pitiful. We should bully him a little less…”
That single sentence made Feng Qingyun pause.
A surge of emotion rose in his chest, and under the moonlight, he stood there in a daze for a long while before finally holding the child closer and whispering, “…Mm. Go to sleep, baby.”
……………………
In the autumn of the following year, Feng Qingyun took Little Beichen to the Underworld.
In the courtyard near the Pool of Reincarnation, the snow still fell heavily. Holding the child’s hand, Feng Qingyun stood at the gate for a long time. Suddenly, little Beichen exclaimed, “Ah! I remember now! Father made Daddy cry right here!”
Feng Qingyun, who had been lost in the falling snow and the sorrow of remembering nothing, flushed bright red to the tips of his ears. He hurriedly covered the child’s mouth, mumbling, “Baby, things like that…”
Saying such things in front of a child filled him with unbearable embarrassment, but he still forced himself to continue, his face burning hot: “Things like that… shouldn’t be said outside.”
The little merchild blinked innocently, mumbling, “…Daddy crying can’t be talked about outside?”
Feng Qingyun couldn’t very well explain that it was that kind of crying that shouldn’t be mentioned, so in the end, he just gave a vague acknowledgment.
Little Beichen nodded obediently. “Got it!”
After that interruption, the faint anxiety that remained in Feng Qingyun’s heart dissipated completely. He led the child through the Ghost Gate, wandered through Fengdu, then passed through the gate again, arriving at the Ghost Market.
And perhaps it was just as the saying went…
Flowers planted with intent fail to bloom, while willows grow where they were never meant to1.
Feng Qingyun had once thought that when he finally remembered that person, it would be a grand, unforgettable day. Perhaps like the day he descended the mountain for the first time, with clear skies and countless flowers in full bloom.
But when that day truly came, he realized it wasn’t grandness that made a day worth remembering. It was because it was worth remembering… that it became grand.
Even without the sour-faced fox heavenly Patriarch and his taciturn Dao companion, the Ghost Market was still lively as ever. After glancing casually over a few stalls, Feng Qingyun suddenly stopped.
Little Beichen had already grown tall enough to reach the stall. Seeing the jade displayed there, it exclaimed in surprise, “Daddy used to have a hairpin made from this kind of jade!”
Feng Qingyun stared at the piece of jade without blinking.
Yes… he did have a hairpin carved from Tianshan jade.
Not long ago, he had even seen it… in a dream.
“Little girl, this is Tianshan jade!” the vendor scoffed. “If you’re going to brag, at least make it believable.”
Little Beichen immediately got angry, puffing up their little chest and saying, “My daddy does have one!”
The vendor, perhaps bored out of his mind, actually argued with a child: “Then have your daddy take it out and show me!”
The child faltered, then looked up at Feng Qingyun as people around them turned to watch. The veiled beauty finally came back to himself and gently explained, “I did have one… but I lost it two years ago.”
“If you don’t have it,” the vendor snorted, “you don’t have it. Don’t make excuses.”
Little Beichen glared at him fiercely, but they knew the hairpin had been given by Long Yin. Losing it probably meant it had disappeared together with his Father.
…After Father left, Daddy was already sad enough. I shouldn’t bring it up and make him sadder.
Thinking this, the sensible little merchild withdrew their gaze and said nothing more. The onlookers, seeing no more drama, also lost interest. Only Feng Qingyun remained, staring at that piece of uncarved jade.
Because of what he had just said, a strange daze settled over his heart.
So… it’s already been two years since he left my memory.
He looked at the raw jade, as though looking at a past that had once been as beautiful as a dream, now reduced to scattered fragments.
The time I’ve spent waiting for Long Yin… has already exceeded the time we were together. I even promised him a Dao companion ceremony… I wonder when I’ll ever repay that.
A deep, aching sorrow rose within him. And just as he was lost in those emotions, he suddenly froze.
Wait… just now… did I remember something?!
For a moment, the world seemed to lose all color, turning gray and silent, leaving Feng Qingyun alone in an endless stillness. Then, all those scattered fragments, those broken phrases, suddenly came together, outlining a single figure.
“…”
“I heard the Little Palace Master has welcomed a new bloom. I present this hairpin as my congratulations.”
“Today, we’ll both die here. Since you’re willing to accompany this Lord in death, don’t be so fierce.”
“Take my heart… and give it to the one you love.”
“Perhaps even the already-dead Heavenly Dao has someone it favors.”
“…Don’t cry. I’ll keep watching you, until the day you remember me.”
“…”
The past surged back like a tidal wave, and the gray world regained its colors in that instant, all because of him.
Feng Qingyun’s eyes filled with tears. All the hope he had been holding onto finally settled into something real, swelling and aching in his chest until it hurt. Only after a long while did he manage to steady himself, but he stood there with his head lowered, veil still covering his face. No one could see his expression.
The vendor only assumed he was still staring blankly at the jade and snapped impatiently, “If you can’t afford it, then get lost!”
Little Beichen glared at him angrily, about to speak, when someone else stepped forward first.
“It’s just a piece of Tianshan jade. What are you barking for?” someone said with a slight frown. “This Lord will buy it for him.”
The clear voice rang out, instantly drawing attention. People turned, curious to see who dared call themselves this Lord at such a young age, but the moment they saw him, many changed expressions in shock.
A Golden Core cultivator?!
Since when had such a powerhouse appeared in the Underworld?!
But as it was often the case, strength commanded respect. The vendor immediately turned pale, not daring to say another word as he took the spirit stones and handed over the jade. Standing so close, that familiar presence brushed against him, yet Feng Qingyun suddenly closed his eyes, not daring to turn.
In that moment, he understood:
The closer one is to home, the more timid the heart becomes.
Until a child’s voice broke everything: “Wow… Daddy, look! It’s Father!”
The crowd froze in shock as Feng Qingyun finally turned, tears in his eyes, and saw that familiar face, filled with equal astonishment. Under the dim ghostly lights of the market, the man looked impossibly handsome, like a young scholar fresh from triumph, radiant and unforgettable at a glance.
The face was exactly the same, every detail unchanged, and yet, somehow… he felt entirely different.
It was obvious he remembered nothing at all. When the little merfolk called out like that, his entire expression filled with stunned confusion. Anyone, after all, would struggle to react if a breathtaking beauty’s child suddenly hugged their leg and called them “Father.”
“Beichen, don’t call people that carelessly,” Feng Qingyun said, lips pressing together as the faintest smile flickered across them. His eyes were still red as he pulled the slightly confused child back to his side and turned to apologize. “The child is young and doesn’t understand, missing their Father dearly. I hope you won’t take offense, fellow cultivator.”
“…No offense, none at all,” the man replied, quickly regaining his composure. He even deliberately put on a mature, composed air, saying, “I feel an instant connection upon meeting you. Let this Tianshan jade be my gift of acquaintance.”
By all rights, one shouldn’t accept such a valuable gift upon a first meeting, but Feng Qingyun lowered his gaze to the jade and looked at it for a long moment before suddenly smiling.
Even his excuse for showing goodwill is just as clumsy as ever.
That smile made the other man pause in a daze, but before he could grasp its meaning, Feng Qingyun had already reached out, taken the jade into his arms, and lifted his eyes to look at him.
“Many thanks, Young Master. May I ask your name?”
For some reason, that gaze felt as though it had crossed mountains and rivers, heavy with unspoken affection. When it fell upon him, it wrapped around his heart and stirred thoughts that bordered on impropriety. He held himself back for a long moment before finally suppressing the strange flutter in his chest, throat moving slightly as he said, “…My name is Long Yin.”
At those words, little Beichen’s eyes widened. He was just about to say, Isn’t that Father?!, when Feng Qingyun swiftly stuffed a date into its mouth.
“…?”
The child looked up in confusion, only to meet Daddy’s gentle smile, so soft it seemed it might melt.
Long Yin, who remembered nothing, tried to appear casual, though he was in truth cautious to the extreme. “There are too many people here… Would you mind stepping aside to talk?”
Feng Qingyun didn’t answer right away. He only looked at him, eyes brimming with tenderness, before giving a soft nod. At that, Long Yin’s throat tightened; for a moment, he nearly forgot even his own name as he turned and walked toward a quieter corner.
Feng Qingyun followed behind him, holding the little mermaid’s hand, saying nothing as he watched that familiar back. Countless thoughts surged through his mind, but in the end, they condensed into a single realization.
So I’ve made him wait this long… long enough that he’s forgotten everything.
And yet, even so, he had returned, just as Feng Qingyun liked him best, bearing the very name Feng Qingyun had once given him. Through that familiar figure, Feng Qingyun saw yellow leaves drifting down in showers, with withered petals following in their wake.
The scenery of Jiangnan is still as beautiful as ever. And once more, at the season of falling blossoms, I meet you again2.
A thousand unspoken emotions surged up at once. Only now did Feng Qingyun understand how one could truly cry from overwhelming joy.
Long Yin had just stopped walking when he turned around and saw that Feng Qingyun’s eyes had suddenly reddened. He immediately became flustered, and it looked as though he wanted to wipe away the tears, but then he seemed to recall that he had no right to do so. He stood there awkwardly, like a young man just beginning to fall in love.
Feng Qingyun couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He wiped his tears and spoke first, before the other could say anything:
“When you said we met as if we had known each other before, it stirred old memories. I grew a little sentimental. Please don’t laugh at me.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Long Yin hurriedly replied. “Who in this world has no past? It’s only natural to be moved by familiar sights.” Then, he hesitated for a moment, his Adam’s apple shifting slightly, as if nervous.
“…May I ask your surname? The Underworld is heavy with yin energy. Why have you come here alone, even bringing a child?” He spoke carefully, as though afraid his questions might touch upon something painful and cause this beautiful man to turn away, never to look back at him again.
Fortunately, the beauty did not take offense. He simply smiled faintly.
“My name is Feng Qingyun. I came here with the child… to search for someone from the past.”
When he spoke the words “someone from the past,” his tone carried a quiet, lingering affection that made Long Yin’s heart skip a beat. A trace of nervousness followed immediately.
“May I ask… who this person is?”
Feng Qingyun looked at him without blinking. After a long moment, he said gently:
“The one I seek… is the one who holds my heart.”
“I came here… to find my husband.”
- 有心栽花花不开，无心插柳柳成荫, translating to “Flowers planted with care may not bloom, but willow branches planted carelessly may grow into shade,” is a proverb originating from The Classic of Increased Wisdom, compiled and edited by Zhou Xitao during the Qing Dynasty. It originally referred to the difficulty of cultivating flowers and plants with deliberate care, while willow branches inserted casually easily grow into a shady canopy. This proverb metaphorically illustrates that goals pursued with great intention are often hard to achieve, whereas actions taken without such intention may unexpectedly yield successful results. It is now used to describe similar phenomena in fields such as education and innovation. ↩︎
- This “Meeting You Again in the Season of Falling Flowers” is a line from the Seven-character quatrain “Meeting Li Guinian in the South” by the Tang Dynasty poet Du Fu.
Original:
岐王宅里尋常見，
崔九堂前幾度聞。
正是江南好風景，
落花時節又逢君。
Translation:
“One often saw you in Duke Qi’s residence,
And heard you at Cui Jiu’s hall several times.
Right now, the scenery of Jiangnan is beautiful,
And in the season of falling petals,
I encounter you again, my dear friend.”
I just have to say, this poem, and the one from the previous chapter, the “Dreaming of Li Bai”, all of these highly romantic poems were written by men, dedicated to their male friends. I don’t know about you, but I have a feeling there was a lot of “bromance” going on in Ancient China :)) ↩︎
T.N: This novel is now completed on my Patreon, at chapter 88! There are still 12 extras that I will translate in the following weeks, but for now, let us celebrate 😀
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