The lingering spring rain continued until the end of the second month. During that time, Chen Caozhi saw Lu Weiwei twice. Once, she came to Peach Grove Cottage and brought her sketch of "A Few Peach Blossoms Beyond the Window" for him to look over and offer his opinion. Zhang Mo's painting emphasized bearing and spirit, but was somewhat lacking in structural strength, and Lu Weiwei's was the same. Yet too much strength in a woman's painting would instead have been discordant. Bold vigor had its beauty, and soft grace had its own. Naturally, Chen Caozhi praised her.
The other time was at Zhenqing Daoist Abbey, where they went together to see the camellias. Those blooms in their brilliant purples and reds were about to wither.
That afternoon, the light rain fell without pause. Holding an oiled-paper umbrella, Lu Weiwei reached out to touch the "Auspicious Snow" camellia gently. Her slender fingers were as white as its petals. "Master Chen, we've watched these camellias from their blooming to their falling. I wonder whether we'll still be able to come and see them together the next time they bloom?"
Looking at the snow-white, lustrous camellia, Chen Caozhi said, "If we have the will, we can see them."
Lu Weiwei flushed slightly. After a moment's silence, she said softly, "Master Chen, I'm sixteen now. If I become another man's wife, I won't be able to see the camellias with you."
Having summoned all her courage to say this, Lu Weiwei was already too embarrassed to lift her head. She withdrew her hand from the petals of "Auspicious Snow." Raindrops clung to the fair back of her hand like pearls scattered on a jade platter.
Chen Caozhi reached out and gently wiped the rain from the back of her hand, then held it.