Autumnal Melancholy
When Miss Yiqiu was little, she cried a lot. She had a small, delicate, pink face, and when she cried, her small nostrils would flutter like a yellow butterfly, making her very endearing.
The wet nurse who looked after her always said it was a pity that the child was so beautiful, yet she cried endlessly, wasting her good fortune.
Those who had toiled their whole lives prayed for a better birth in their next life, so they wouldn't have to suffer hunger and hardship again, thinking that their toil in their previous life hadn't been in vain. Therefore, when they saw this pampered young lady who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth but always had a gloomy face, they couldn't help but find it difficult to get along and had to say a few more words to her.
"Tsk tsk, how can such a small person shed so many tears? He's practically crying himself dry."
One New Year's Eve, her nanny wiped her face, held her little hand and kissed it, and said with a smile, "Miss, don't cry again in the New Year, or your good fortune will be washed away."
She listened, bewildered. At such a young age, she didn't fully understand such words, but she was afraid. A sudden jolt ran through her heart; she was always afraid that happiness would slip away in vain. People always want happiness, even if they don't know exactly what it is, they still yearn to hold on tightly.
She never met her father after she was born. She only heard the servants occasionally mentioning him. She only knew that he had always been in poor health, otherwise he wouldn't have died so young.
Yi Ling didn't like to talk about him much either. Whenever asked, she would just smile and give a few words of response. She was a person who doted on her children and used to always answer questions without hesitation. But when this topic came up, it was as if she didn't want to look back. Later, she learned not to ask anymore.
At that time, men all over the world loved to smoke opium and frequent brothels. They were either never home or had a bunch of concubines. The constant clatter of mahjong tiles hitting the table echoed throughout the house. Parties were held every few days, and when entertaining guests, the hall was noisy and chaotic, the air filled with the sweet smell of opium, the musty scent of cosmetics, and the unique damp moss smell of the old house, making one's scalp tingle.
The women were all incredibly fashionable. The fingers of the wealthy ladies were adorned with jewels. In the time it took to drink a cup of tea, a mere glance around revealed that each woman's pale hands displayed pink diamonds, jade, and thick gold rings the size of pigeon eggs. One woman, her nails painted a somber pink and sapphire blue, took a light drag on her cigarette and grumbled, "My husband, Old Li, I talked to him for so long before he'd even bought me this tiny thing to appease me. All that money he uses for funerals goes to support his pretty young ladies; he wouldn't even look at a middle-aged woman like me."
"Oh dear, Chief of Staff Li is known for his generosity towards you. Are you trying to embarrass us by saying these things?"
After saying that, they burst into laughter, it was hard to tell whether they were lamenting their own misery or simply found it quite ridiculous.
Humans naturally exhibit a lack of interest in anything positive, but if you demand that someone prioritize entertainment and order them to indulge in sensual pleasures, almost everyone can achieve remarkable success, even becoming a leader. A fondness for decadence and indulgence is an inherent characteristic of human nature. People worldwide try to avoid conforming to their natural instincts, but inevitably, some with weak wills completely abandon their original selves in a world full of alluring men and women, turning towards the realm of their primal, natural desires.
A city that has lost its core, a group of citizens who have lost their fighting spirit, look up in despair and gloom at the dim, yellow lights that are half-hidden above the deep ruins, as if they are praying deeply to the humble moonlight seeping through the thick clouds.
A city is about to die, but history marches on relentlessly, overcoming all obstacles. No matter how much horrific bloodshed and sorrow there is on today's battlefield, tomorrow people will still dance with joy at the sunrise. You see, as long as the sun rises as usual, no amount of suffering can overwhelm a lowly life, as long as the sun rises.
The Earth is suffering, and humanity bears the primary responsibility. Even the most inseparable lovers are ultimately bound by fate. After all, every attack and defense comes with a price.
Clichéd love stories always end tragically. One waits to be begged to stay, the other ultimately lets go with heartache—not because of human inadequacy, but because of a flawed destiny. Years pass, and when they meet again in the vast sea of people, they find themselves speechless. Even a farewell kiss lacks the necessary justification.
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