Peach blossoms flaunt their red, apricot flowers their pink, and plum blossoms their white. Spring willows sway in the breeze, while crab apple trees bloom freely.
It was the second month of the year. Spring flowers covered mountains and fields, a season’s passion finally unleashed. In a wasteland, a solitary grave lay hidden beneath sprawling forsythia, unmarked yet not desolate.
A man stood before the grave, holding a horsewhip. He wore dark clothes under a silver-white robe, with an apricot-colored sachet hanging quietly at his waist, faintly emitting the scent of dried roses. A large white horse grazed nearby. Further away, beyond the apricot grove, a handsome youth waited silently with another horse, occasionally casting uneasy glances toward the grave.
The man raised his hand as if to touch something, then stiffly lowered it. His eyes flickered with complex emotions, quickly replaced by intense rage.
“Woman, is death so easy?” he smiled, suddenly striking the lone grave. Flowers shook and branches snapped; fallen petals fluttered like butterflies.
The youth, seeing this from afar, rushed over in alarm. In that brief moment, the man had already struck the grave repeatedly, sending soil flying and leveling half the mound.
“Master…” the youth wanted to intervene but dared not.
Ignoring him, the man continued his assault until he exposed the woman’s decomposing body. There was no coffin, not even a reed mat. She lay quietly in the soil wearing only tattered clothes, insects scurrying away from her form.
The man’s hand tightened, unable to deliver the final blow he had prepared.
“What happened?” he asked, staring at the woman’s unrecognizable face, his voice harsh and grating.
From where he stood, the youth could see his master’s eyes, red with anger or perhaps something else. He shuddered, suppressing his fear to explain hastily: “Master, it was Miss Meilin’s dying wish. She said…” He glanced cautiously at his master, seeing no impatience, he continued, “She said rather than be confined to a coffin or mat, she’d prefer to merge with the soil, nourishing the spring flowers. She hoped to bask in their glory.”
Silence fell. Only a cool breeze carrying the mountain’s floral fragrance gently brushed over the corpse, masking any hint of decay.
“What else did she say?” the man finally asked softly, his hand at his side trembling slightly.
The youth, not noticing this, thought carefully before shaking his head. “Nothing else, Master.”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He suddenly broke into a smile more painful than tears. “Nothing… nothing more? Even at the end, you didn’t…” He swallowed the rest of his words, letting them rot inside him. Then, with a swift motion of his whip, he pulled the corpse from the earth.
“Master!” the youth cried out, falling to his knees. “Master, please… whatever Miss Meilin’s faults, death settles all accounts. Let her rest…”
A bloodthirsty glare silenced the youth. The man lashed out at the corpse.
“You wished to nourish spring flowers? I refuse!” Another lash sent tattered cloth flying.
“You sought peace? I deny you!”
His vicious oath carried a barely perceptible choke. A silver-white robe floated down, covering the mud-stained, decaying body. The man suddenly bent to lift the corpse, leaped onto his horse, and galloped through the apricot grove toward the horizon.
In the second month, peach blossoms turned red, apricot flowers white, rapeseed blossoms covered the land, and willow leaves shimmered like jade…
In a daze, he seemed to hear the woman singing softly in his ear, just as she had in that remote mountain village last year. He lay quietly on the bed while she hung laundry in the courtyard, sunlight piercing through worn window paper, dancing before his eyes like golden discs.
(End of Chun Hua Yan – Chapter)