Peach blossoms in layers of pale and deep, like a face made up in gradations of blush. The spring wind helps to break one’s heart, blowing the petals down onto white robes.

Feng Lanxi recited the poem idly, his gaze resting on the white-clad little boy playing beneath the peach tree ahead, picking up fallen blossoms. A warm, gentle smile rose on his face.

“Among all the flowers in the world, with their thousand beauties and hundred charms — when it comes to the word ‘delicate,’ only the peach blossom truly deserves it.” He finished speaking and turned to look at Feng Xiyun beside him, only to find her thoughts had wandered — she was staring at the peach tree ahead, lost in a private reverie.

“What is it?” He reached out and drew his beloved wife close, drawing her thoughts back.

Feng Xiyun turned. Her eyes still held a trace of that faraway look.

“Nothing. I simply thought of someone from long ago.”

“Oh?” Feng Lanxi arched a brow.

“Who?” — Whoever it was would be fine, so long as it was not Yu Wuyuan.

“Jiurong.” Feng Xiyun said it softly, as if in a dream. She turned her face away again, her gaze drifting with quiet wistfulness toward the peach tree.

Feng Lanxi paused, looked at her, and said nothing. In this moment he would honestly have preferred she were thinking of Yu Wuyuan, rather than Xiu Jiurong.

In the distance, the hillside was covered in grass as green as a carpet, peach blossoms pink as clouds. A seven-year-old boy sat beneath the tree, gathering fallen petals and piling them into a small mound. When the wind came through, the petals scattered and drifted, landing on his white clothes and settling in his dark hair. He pinched a petal between his fingers, tilted his head back, and smiled — that smile unhurried and refined, poetic as a painting.

“The first time I met him, he was the same age, the same look.” Feng Xiyun watched the child beneath the tree with a smile of quiet recognition. In her eyes was equal measure of tenderness and remembrance.

The tenth year of the Jingyan reign, spring. In the outskirts of the royal capital of Qingzhou, several wild peach trees were in bloom, their branches full of pink blossoms, deepening the colors of the season.

A small boy in plain hemp clothing lay curled up asleep beneath one of the trees. Beside him rested a bamboo basket, inside which lay a collection of medicinal herbs. From the distance, a white-clad girl hummed a little tune to herself as she walked lightly along the path. She must have spotted the boy sleeping under the peach tree, because she broke into a skip and ran over. When she saw him clearly, her eyes went wide with astonishment.

Beneath the peach tree flushed with pink, the sleeping boy had features as fine as a painting, skin whiter than snow — as beautiful as a translucent, flawless glass figurine. The girl crouched beside the tree and looked at him, the longer she looked the more she liked what she saw, and the more she liked what she saw the less she could bring herself to look away. After a while she noticed her legs were getting tired, and sat down and kept looking. After sitting for a while she lay down to look. And after lying down for a while she felt drowsy herself, and curled up beside the boy and fell asleep.

Golden sunlight fell through the branches. Pink petals drifted in the spring breeze. The two children beneath the tree basked in the warm sun, wrapped in peach blossoms, sweetly dreaming.

Time passed — how much was impossible to say. The boy woke, opened his eyes in a daze, and found a face directly in front of his own. He was somewhat bewildered. Was he dreaming? He turned his head — above him was the same peach tree he had seen before falling asleep, around him the same familiar hillside. So he was not dreaming. With this established, the boy came fully awake, turned back, and looked at the face that had not been there before: a small, snow-white, rosy face, long black brows, a straight little nose, lips like peach petals — unmistakably a lovely, bright little girl.

The boy stared at her for some time before he thought to try to sit up. The moment he moved, he felt a heaviness at his waist — the girl had wrapped her arms around it. He looked at her peaceful, sweet sleeping face, considered, and found he could not bring himself to wake her. He reached quietly to loosen her hands. His hand had barely touched her when the girl’s eyes snapped open — sharp and clear, not at all like a child’s gaze.

The boy looked at those eyes and was caught there for a moment. Such clear and bright eyes — they made him think of a phrase he had read in a book: brilliant as starlight.

The moment the girl saw him, the sharpness in her eyes softened. A sweet smile broke across her face.

“You’re awake.” The boy nodded.

The girl looked at his dazed expression, paired with his extraordinarily fine features and eyes as clear as glass beads. She found him impossibly endearing, and on impulse leaned forward and planted a firm, resounding kiss on the boy’s cheek.

“You are so handsome — be my little brother.”

The boy’s face immediately went scarlet. Snowy white flushed through with red. He opened his mouth. Not a single word came out.

The girl looked at him and could only like him more by the moment.

“Pink and soft — truly like a little peach. Let me have a bite.” And before she had finished saying it, she leaned over and gave a gentle nip to that white-and-red cheek.

At this, it was not just the boy’s face that burned — his neck went red, and even the tips of his ears turned a blood-bright crimson. He no longer resembled a peach — he resembled a fully ripened white peach.

The girl could not possibly contain herself. She flung herself forward again and pressed another firm kiss to his cheek, then said cheerfully: “Come home with me. Be my little brother.” And she kissed his other cheek for good measure, then sat back and looked at him with a happy smile.

The boy sat with his mouth slightly open, looking at the girl with an expression of pure blank bewilderment.

“Hahaha — you are so adorable!” The girl stood up and reached out to pull the boy to his feet as well. He stood up, and was still visibly at a loss. The girl plucked a peach blossom from his hair and said:

“My family has many women and few men — just my father and my brother. I liked you the moment I saw you. Will you be my little brother?”

By now the flush had not entirely left the boy’s face, but his mind had cleared. He heard her out, then shook his head, bent down to pick up the bamboo basket, turned, and walked away quickly. He had no idea how to deal with this girl.

The girl was deeply disappointed. Had she frightened him? She watched him go, and feeling reluctant — for such an agreeable and adorable person was not easy to come by — she followed behind him.

“Don’t go yet — think about it a little more. I’ll look after you once I’m your elder sister. Is that medicinal herbs in your basket? From now on I can go herb-picking with you! You see, I can help you gather herbs. Be my little brother, won’t you?”

All along the way, the boy walked ahead with his basket, saying nothing. The girl followed behind him, chattering endlessly, with “be my little brother” woven into every other sentence — until the boy reached the small courtyard of a village at the foot of the hill, and the girl finally fell quiet.

In front of the small fence-enclosed yard, the boy turned around and looked at the girl who had followed him all this way. His lips moved, and after a long moment he finally spoke.

“I am home. You go back.” His voice was soft — but very clear and pleasant to the ear.

All along the way, this was the first time the boy had spoken. The girl was immediately delighted.

“So you do speak! Not only are you good-looking, but your voice is lovely too.” The boy’s blush crept back.

The girl looked at him with a sigh of admiration — truly beautiful — and added: “Why do you blush so easily? Are you a boy or a girl? If you were a girl, I’d have you as my little sister instead.” The flush on the boy’s face deepened a shade further. He glanced at the girl, then lowered his head — not in anger, but seemingly with a faint embarrassment at looking so much like a girl. The girl gazed at him in sheer delight. To think there was a boy like this in the world. He was too adorable.

“My name is Feng Xiyun. What is yours?”

The boy was quiet for a moment, then answered in a voice barely louder than a mosquito’s hum.

“My name is Jiurong.”

“Good — I’ve remembered it.” The girl nodded with great solemnity. “I am going home for today. I’ll come find you tomorrow.”

Feng Xiyun did indeed come back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. She came to find Jiurong every day. When Jiurong went to the riverside to do laundry, she came along. When Jiurong went to the fields to pick vegetables, she came along. When Jiurong went up the mountain to collect herbs, she came along. When Jiurong went to buy oil and salt and firewood and rice, she came along. She always had so many things to say. She told him her brother was very clever and capable. She told him her family’s father had too many women, and seeing them all at once was enough to exhaust half a person’s life energy. She told him she had met a spirited jianghu wanderer on the road here. She told him she had bought a roasted chestnut chicken and saved half for him. She told him that one day she intended to go out into the world and see how wide the earth was and how high the sky…

And she always ended with: “Be my little brother, won’t you?”

Jiurong did not talk much, and his face always went red before he could find words — his delicate, shy manner was more like a girl than a girl. Every time Feng Xiyun watched him, she had to restrain the urge to take a bite of him, and dearly wished she could just spirit him home with her. Sometimes even she herself didn’t quite understand it. Given who she was, she had seen countless beautiful children over the years, boys and girls both — and yet this particular blushing boy appealed to her in a way she could not account for, made her feel an unusual closeness.

Of course, she could not truly come every single day — only when she had a free moment, and when her father wasn’t watching too closely. Sometimes she could come several days in a row. Sometimes a half-month or a whole month would pass in between. There were even times when the better part of a year went by without her being able to get away. But no matter how much time had passed between visits, she never once forgot the boy who lived in that little courtyard.

The sun rose and the moon set. Flowers bloomed and fell. Time slipped by, and three years passed.

Another day of peach blossoms glowing like rose clouds, and Feng Xiyun stood once more before the little courtyard. In those three years, Jiurong had grown much taller, his face still fine and beautiful, but no longer like a soft ripe peach — now more like a slender, graceful orchid. She had come to say goodbye. After persistent effort on her part, and the counsel of Elder Brother Xie Yue, her father had at last agreed to let her go out and travel the world. Tomorrow she would leave the royal capital and venture alone into the wide world beyond.

When Jiurong heard she was leaving on a long journey, he went inside and came back a moment later with a small wrapped bundle in his hands — some medicine pills his father had prepared, he said. She should take them with her for protection. Feng Xiyun accepted the bundle, thanked him, waved farewell, and walked away.

A year later, Feng Xiyun came back. When she went to see Jiurong, she found he had grown taller again, and had exchanged his hemp clothing for a light blue cloth robe. He stood at the fence like a slender, upright orchid.

Their reunion after such a long absence was naturally a joyful one. Feng Xiyun came to find Jiurong several days in a row, telling him about the people and things she had encountered in the world outside, her eyes bright and animated, her whole bearing radiating warmth and life.

On the seventh day, Jiurong invited Feng Xiyun to come inside and sit for a while.

Feng Xiyun looked at him in complete surprise. She and Jiurong had known each other for years now, and she had come to find him more times than she could count — yet she had never once stepped inside the fence, and Jiurong had never once invited her in. She had, of course, heard from the neighbors that Jiurong’s family name was Xiu, that his mother had died three years ago, and that his father was a physician of considerable skill but an extremely reclusive nature who seldom went out except to see patients.

Seeing Feng Xiyun hesitate, Jiurong thought she was unwilling. With a slight flush he said: “Father said he wants to meet my friend.”

“Of course.” Feng Xiyun would hardly decline, and nodded with pleasure.

She followed Jiurong into the Xiu household. The moment she saw Jiurong’s father, she was rather startled. He was very young — around twenty-five or twenty-six — and his features were very handsome. But he was thin, his face pale, with a faint air of illness about him, which reminded her of Elder Brother Xie Yue, and she immediately felt well-disposed toward him.

Xiu’s father, for his part, was clearly surprised to see Feng Xiyun. His son was quiet and shy — the two of them sometimes went a whole day at home without exchanging more than a few words. Yet he had heard his son mention a certain little girl many times — one who loved to smile and talk and play and jump. His son seemed happy whenever he mentioned her, and after hearing about her so often, Xiu’s father had grown curious too. His son was still young, but their family’s circumstances were unusual — finding a wife took many years of careful searching, for they looked only for a girl with a clean heart and an uncomplicated spirit. And so he had wanted to meet her — to judge her character and decide whether to accept this girl into their world, or to eventually put a stop to his son’s friendship with her.

“What is the girl’s family name?” That was Xiu father’s opening question — rather abrupt, even a little impolite. Feng Xiyun raised an eyebrow, but took no offense.

“Feng.”

At this family name, Xiu’s father’s heart gave a jolt. The way he looked at Feng Xiyun suddenly shifted to something peculiar. There were many people in the world with the surname Feng, but in the royal capital of Qingzhou, the surname Feng was uncommon. The most well-known family of that name was only one.

“Feng?” he murmured, repeating it, his expression growing more and more unusual.

“Feng.” Feng Xiyun nodded straightforwardly.

Xiu’s father said nothing more, and reached out to take hold of Feng Xiyun’s hand. Feng Xiyun had practiced martial arts from childhood, and nearly drew back instinctively the moment his hand approached — but she caught a glance at Jiurong standing beside her, and something made her pause. She let Xiu’s father take her hand. Almost the instant their fingertips met, she felt a slight sting at her wrist. She looked down. Xiu’s father had drawn a thin line of blood with his fingernail.

This time Feng Xiyun did frown, and looked at Xiu’s father in puzzlement. But he was not looking at her. He turned to Jiurong and said:

“Take the young miss to get some medicine on that.”

Simple, trusting Jiurong thought nothing of it — assumed his father had accidentally scratched her — and quickly led Feng Xiyun to the adjacent room. Feng Xiyun followed, full of questions she didn’t voice.

Once they had gone, Xiu’s father raised his hand, and touched his fingertip to his tongue where the blood had been.

In an instant, his expression changed completely.

“So it truly is… it really is.” He stared at the bloodstain on his fingertip in a daze. He did not come back to himself until Jiurong and Feng Xiyun returned. He looked up at Feng Xiyun, his eyes holding a mixture of gladness and sorrow.

“You want my son to be your little brother?” He must have heard Jiurong mention it, Feng Xiyun thought, and so she nodded with a smile.

“Yes — I like Jiurong, and I want him to be my little brother.”

“Good.” Xiu’s father agreed. “From now on, you two are elder and younger siblings.”

At these words, both Feng Xiyun and Jiurong were momentarily taken aback. Though it seemed a little strange, both were quietly pleased.

“Don’t worry, Uncle. I will look after Jiurong as though he were my own brother.” She smiled openly.

“I… actually I can protect you too.” He said it quietly, face red.

That was the promise they made, in those days.

In the second month, spring departs in wind and rain. Beneath the jade peach blossoms, one feels the passing of years. The faded reds still fill three thousand trees, yet none can match the freshness of the first to open.

Feng Xiyun murmured the poem to herself, standing beneath the peach tree, tilting her face up to watch the petals drifting down in the breeze. In that half-dreaming state, she seemed to see again the glass figurine of a boy showered in peach blossoms, beautiful beyond all reason.

“Mother, why do you love peach blossoms so much? Father likes orchids best.” The white-clad little boy asked.

Feng Xiyun looked down at her son, and instead of answering his question, she said:

“My son — today I am giving you a name. Your name will be Rong, with the courtesy name Rongfeng.”

The little boy blinked.

“So I’m not called Fengfeng anymore?” His parents had argued for years about whether his surname should be Feng or Feng, and as a result he had still had no proper name — they simply called him Fengfeng or Fengfeng back and forth.

Feng Xiyun still did not answer his question. She only pinched a peach blossom between her fingers.

“Feng Rong — peach blossoms are beautiful, but the most beautiful peach blossom is always the first one you see.” Over the years she had seen many peach blossoms in bloom, and in this life she would see many more. But the most beautiful peach blossom she had ever seen was the one that had fallen on Jiurong’s hair that day long ago — the tree beneath which Jiurong had lain sleeping.

“The faded reds still fill three thousand trees, yet none can match the freshness of the first to open.”

Feng Lanxi’s graceful voice came to her.

“Feng Rong — that is why your mother loves peach blossoms.”

Feng Xiyun turned. Feng Lanxi was strolling toward them through the drifting petals.

In the flowering brightness all around them, the two looked at each other and smiled.

The mournful song of Luoying Mountain had at last faded away. From now on, it would only be the two of them, hand in hand, looking out together at —

The whole tree in warm and gorgeous red, ten thousand branches of crimson glowing, melting the spring.