The Flower Spirit

In Luoyang there was a noble household with a garden, and in that garden a single tree-peony of the "Wei Purple" kind, an hundred-years growth. Its master set a young lad named Apricot to sweep and tend it, and each day he drew well-water to pour upon its roots. When late spring came, the blossoms opened as broad as a plate. One night Apricot, weary, lay asleep beneath the flower, and awoke to a warm fragrance stealing over him. He opened his eyes and saw a maiden in crimson gauze standing in the heart of the bloom, who smiled and said, "You have watered me three years; I know the warmth of your hand." Apricot started up, but the maiden had already vanished into the flower, leaving only dew upon the petals. Thenceforth, on every moonlit night, she came forth and spoke with Apricot—of nothing else, only asking whether the well-water was cold or warm, the east wind early or late. Apricot feared her not, but only grieved that the flower's season passes swiftly. When autumn came and the Wei Purple fell, the maiden took her leave: "The root lives, and my soul lives. On this day next year, my scent shall still be upon your robe." With that she turned to light and sank into the earth. The next year the flower bloomed again; Apricot opened his chest, and found his old robe indeed carried a lingering fragrance that would not fade for ten days. The Chronicler of the Strange remarks: Plants and trees have no knowing, yet can love so deep and true. Man, endowed with a conscious heart, so often proves faithless—should he not blush before the flower-spirit?