Forgotten childhood memories
The sound of the night wind gradually subsided, and I drifted off to sleep, clutching my orchid handkerchief. The "drip-drip" sound in my ears seemed to be blended into my dream, transforming into the "humming" of an old electric fan. Before me was no longer the carved canopy of a cold palace, but a ceiling painted off-white, a few yellowed cartoon stickers on the walls, and a small wind chime hanging in the corner—it tinkled in the wind, the most familiar sound from my childhood bedroom.
"Ah Zhao! Come out and see! I've made a straw rabbit!" Ya Huan's voice came from outside the door, but it lacked the timidity of ancient times, replaced by a childlike crispness. I threw off the covers and got out of bed, stepping onto the cool wooden floor. Pushing open the door, I saw a little girl with pigtails waving at me under the old locust tree in the courtyard, holding up a straw rabbit. She was wearing a pink dress, the hem of which was stained with mud. Her smile was exactly the same as Ya Huan's in the Cold Palace, only without the constraints of the traditional dress, and with the liveliness of a child.
"And me! I embroidered a forsythia flower for you to use as a bookmark!" Consort Rong's voice came from beside the stone table. She sat on a small stool, holding a piece of light blue cotton cloth in her hand, her fingertips pinching colorful embroidery thread. She wore a light blue T-shirt, and her jeans were embroidered with small orchid patterns. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and a shy smile graced her face, overlapping with the shy yet brave Consort Rong in the Cold Palace. Even the slight trembling of her fingertips when handing over the item was exactly the same.
I took a few steps forward and suddenly saw the Empress Dowager sitting in a wicker chair, holding a fairy tale book in her hand. She was wearing a beige knitted sweater and reading glasses, and was smiling and waving at me: "Ah Zhao is here? Come here quickly, Grandma will read you a story." Her voice was gentle, just like the Empress Dowager's tone in the Cold Palace, except that there was a thermos cup next to the wicker chair, filled with light chrysanthemum tea—my favorite taste from childhood.
"Ah Zhao, try my osmanthus cake, it's just out of the oven!" Consort Su came out of the kitchen, wearing an apron with small floral prints, carrying a white porcelain plate with several round osmanthus cakes on it, exactly the same as the ones she made in the Cold Palace. The only difference was that she was no longer wearing a ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress), but a simple white shirt and black trousers, with the cuffs rolled up to her forearms, revealing a red string on her wrist—exactly the same as Aunt Su, the neighbor who made pastries in my memory.
"I'll play a tune for you!" Consort Li sat under the grape trellis in the courtyard, holding a children's electronic keyboard. She wore a light purple dress, her hair draped over her shoulders, and her fingertips danced across the keys. The melody she played was "Spring River Flower Moon Night," a piece she often played in the Cold Palace, only now it lacked the ancient simplicity of the pipa and possessed the bright clarity of the electronic keyboard. When she looked up and smiled at me, the light in her eyes overlapped with that of the resolute Consort Li in the Cold Palace, even the curve of her lips was exactly the same.
"Come on! Let's plant rose seeds together, and they'll bloom in the fall!" Consort Hui's voice came from the flowerbed. She was wearing sportswear, holding a small shovel, and was loosening the soil with Qin Lan, who had her hair in a ponytail. Qin Lan held a small bag filled with flower seeds and said with a smile, "Sister Zhao, Consort Hui and I bought these specially. Let's plant them together, and there will be lots of roses in the yard!" Their movements were perfectly synchronized, just like how Consort Hui and Qin Lan supported each other in the Cold Palace, only now they were free from the constraints of the palace walls and had the freedom of childhood.
I stood there, looking at the scene before me, and suddenly my eyes welled up with tears. This was the little courtyard of my long-forgotten childhood—the old locust tree, the rattan chair, the grape trellis, and the people who had accompanied me as I grew up: my neighbor's little sister Ya Huan, my sister Rong Fei who could embroider, my grandmother Xian who loved to read stories, my aunt Su who could bake pastries, my sister Li Pin who could play the piano, and my sister Hui Pin and little sister Qin Lan who always protected me. We used to play here all the time when we were little, weaving grass insects, embroidering handkerchiefs, making pastries, and planting flowers and grass. These daily routines in the cold palace were actually replicas of my childhood memories.
"Ah Zhao, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?" Consort Rong came over, handing me a tissue, her eyes full of worry. I took the tissue, wiped away the tears from the corners of my eyes, and smiled, saying, "It's nothing, I just feel... it's so good to be with you all." She smiled shyly, took my hand, and led me to the stone table: "Then let's be together every day from now on, and never be apart."
Just then, the buzzing sound in my ears suddenly turned into a familiar beeping sound, and the scene before my eyes began to blur. The leaves of the old locust tree gradually turned into the petals of the winter plum blossoms in the cold palace, the children's electronic keyboard turned into an ancient pipa, and the pink dress turned into a ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress)—I was back in the cold palace, still holding that childhood tissue in my hand, which seemed to still have the fresh scent of modern laundry detergent.
I closed my eyes tightly, and the sky outside the window gradually turned from pitch black to a soft light. I clutched the handkerchief tightly in my hand, the faint scent of laundry detergent lingering on the fabric. A continuous "drip-drip" sound came to my ears, as if through a thick fog, blurry and distant. My consciousness floated in chaos, unable to escape this endless darkness.
I sat up, looking at everything familiar in the Cold Palace: the winter plum tree, the small peach tree, the stone table, the rattan chair. It turned out that everyone in the Cold Palace was the most precious person in my childhood memories; every ordinary day there was the warmest moment of my childhood. What I longed for wasn't the fictional ancient Cold Palace, but those childhood memories hidden deep in my dreams, memories I had forgotten but never truly lost.
"Sister A-Zhao, you're awake? A lot of the snow has melted, we can go pick forsythia today!" Ya-Huan's voice came from outside the door, carrying the familiar tone from the Cold Palace. I pushed open the door and saw her wearing a ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress), holding a grass rabbit and smiling at me. Behind her were Consort Rong, Consort Su, Consort Li, and Consort Xian, each with a warm and genuine smile.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
