Evergreen Yankui

Beneath Mingguang Peak, in a little house, Gu Yeqi dreamed of death.

In the dim night, she stood beside the birthing room at the medicine manor and heard her own newborn cries. Her father cheered with delight, and her mother laughed wearily.

Then rosy light brightened the horizon. She saw herself running through the manor's courtyard, chasing dragonflies like a boy. Her mother, boiling medicinal herbs, watched helplessly from the window, while her father prepared to leave for work, ruffling her hair before he went.

The blazing sun hung overhead, then was swiftly swallowed by wind and snow. In an instant, the towering mountains surrounding the manor were blanketed in ice. Clouds and winds churned around peaks that pierced the heavens, and the rosy light beyond the horizon became the fading glow of sunset.

Day and night flipped in the blink of an eye. Wind and snow blinded her; heaven and earth roared. A black column struggled along a pale, ancient road. She saw her mother fall and never rise again. She saw her father carry her mother's stiff corpse on his back and clutch her to his chest as he fought onward. The weight on his back made him buckle again and again, while the warmth in his arms made him rise again and again.

The man ground his teeth to pieces, yet not a single tear fell.

But in the end, everything still returned to loneliness.

In the darkness, her mother was gone, and then her father was gone too. Only she remained, surrounded by a vast sea of wild grass, unable to see the stars or moon or make out which way to go.

This was death: an eternal parting, a past she could never return to, helpless fury, and a shuddering sensation that made her sometimes