The weather was freezing, and the cold wind cut like knives.
Because his grandfather, Song Gudú, disliked the bustle within the city, he had moved to the Deer Garden outside the Song residence with several old servants.
The Deer Garden was vast and open, with no buildings nearby to block the wind or shelter them from the rain. As a result, the place where they sat was bitterly cold, with waves of chill air rushing in from every direction.
The grandfather and grandson crouched beneath the corridor eaves, like two old country farmers waiting for plump rabbits that might crash into a tree stump at any moment.
Song Tao gazed at the wintersweet tree displaying its branches beneath the cold moon and said, "It's pitch-black out here, and who knows when they'll bloom. Why don't you go back to your room and sleep first, Grandfather? If you wake early tomorrow and see the whole tree covered in flowers, wouldn't that be a wonderful surprise?"
"It's not the same." The old man was curt and stubborn.
Song Tao smiled. "How is it not the same? Don't you just want to admire the plum blossoms? Plum blossoms love the cold, and their blooming season is long. They won't wither in a moment. Didn't you say there would be a heavy snowfall tomorrow? 'In the ice-and-snow forest, this one stands alone, unlike the peach and plum mingling with dust and fragrance. Suddenly, overnight, its pure scent bursts forth, scattering across ten thousand miles of heaven and earth.' This bearing, this mood—isn't that exactly what you want, Grandfather?"
"I want to hear the sound of the flowers blooming," Song Gudú said.
Song Tao chuckled. "Grandfather, how could there be any sound when flowers bloom?"
"Look at you. You really don't understand, do you? And