Pei Wenyuan loved to listen to the tales veterans told about Chang'an. He imagined the gentle streams carrying…
Pei Wenyuan loved to listen to the tales veterans told about Chang'an.
He imagined the gentle streams carrying the breeze and moonlight past elegant pavilions and grand halls.
They said the lotus was beautiful, but no match for the exquisite peony, the "beauty of the nation."
Pei looked down. He'd never seen a peony nor even been to Chang'an.
"One day, I want to see Chang'an too," he said, eyes shining with hope.
But amid the smoke and blood of war, that light flickered, fragile and faint.
Blood bloomed across every soldier's body, friend and foe alike.
"Is the peony's color... truly this vivid?"
"Is its fragrance... just as intense?"
"Is its warmth... this fiercely burning?"
As blood spilled from his neck, Pei felt his life draining fast.
His blood blossomed into a peony.
The last thing he saw was red splattered before his eyes, like spring flowers swaying in the gardens of Chang'an, full of life and fleeting beauty.