Early February, the beginning of spring. The garden was filled with fresh greenery. White robes gleamed like snow, embracing red garments as vivid as fire.
The maidservants presented a pair of small silver scissors.
Duan Fei smiled and gently pushed the person in his arms. “A beautiful flower deserves a beautiful woman. Go pick two flowers to wear.”
The air was still cold. The flowers had just awakened from their slumber, their buds yet to fully bloom. The late winter plum blossoms had only just withered, while the peach blossoms were on the verge of unfurling. A few early apricot flowers had bloomed, but the rest were merely inconspicuous wildflowers. Only the camellias on the sloping ground were in full bloom. The morning’s light drizzle had deepened their hues, making them redder and more vibrant—like clusters of burning flames from a distance.
As if drawn by some mysterious force, Hong Ning felt a stirring in her heart and walked over slowly.
The closer she got, the more vivid the camellias appeared, as if they had come to life.
She bent down as if to select a flower, but in truth, she was lost in thought. Ever since stepping into this garden, she had been haunted by a strange yet familiar unease—an unshakable sense that something was amiss. And yet, she could not pinpoint what was wrong. Every detail—the scenery, the people, the daily happenings—was as normal as ever, with nothing seemingly out of place. But the Tingzhu Pavilion, these camellias… They felt inexplicably familiar, as though something unseen was calling to her.
She was still dazed when Duan Fei reached out and pulled her to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
Hong Ning quickly shook off her thoughts and smiled. “There are so many… I can’t decide which one to pick.”
Duan Fei glanced at the flowers, then at her. “These flowers suit you. I’ll choose.”
Just as the silver scissors reached toward the branch, an inexplicable pang of sorrow struck her. Hong Ning instinctively grabbed his hand. “Forget it. Why pluck them needlessly? They look better when they bloom longer.”
Duan Fei lowered his head with a knowing smile. “If a flower is meant to be plucked, it should be plucked at its prime—lest it withers and all that remains is a barren branch.”
Given the moment, it was unsurprising that he would quote these lines of poetry. But coming from his lips, they carried a teasing undertone. Hong Ning couldn’t help but laugh. This was an unknown era, yet even here, these verses existed. Fate had its coincidences. Even more coincidental was how the two of them had shared a connection in their past lives, only to meet again in this one. What would happen next? Was it truly as Jin Xiu had said—that once a bond ended in one lifetime, there would be no further entanglements?
Feigning ignorance, she replied, “I haven’t read many books. I can’t compare to Young Master Duan’s refinement.”
Duan Fei did not press the matter. “So, no flowers after all?”
Hong Ning pointed toward the apricot blossoms atop the wall. “Let’s pick two of those instead.”
Duan Fei handed the silver scissors to a maidservant.
The two freshly plucked apricot blossoms were exquisite, perfectly chosen. The maidservant who picked them clearly had a discerning eye. Yet, the moment Hong Ning held them, an inexplicable irritation welled up in her chest. Without a second thought, she tossed them aside. “I won’t wear them.”
Duan Fei showed neither surprise nor annoyance. Instead, he chuckled. “So I was mistaken. I thought you were one to cherish flowers.”
Just as he finished speaking, a well-dressed, elderly servant—Han Steward—approached.
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