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“Long live the Crown Prince on this Lantern Festival.”
The moon hung high in the night sky, and lanterns burned as brightly as daylight. The streets were alive with the constant sound of flutes and drums. The imperial procession passed through Zhuzhuo Street, and the crowd knelt and bowed, their voices echoing with well-wishes.
It was the third year of the Tian Shou era, on the night of the Lantern Festival.
Su Luowei knelt beneath a carousel lantern hanging from an old tree, looking up.
The crowd knelt in unison, and even the accompanying palace attendants kept their heads bowed, rarely raising their eyes.
A deep green imperial flag fluttered in the night breeze. Luowei’s gaze shifted from the carousel lantern, over the bustling crowd, and met squarely with the Crown Prince seated in the central carriage, atop the jade chariot.
He was strikingly handsome, dressed in vermilion ceremonial robes and wearing a distant traveling crown. He held a red gilded incense burner, exuding unparalleled nobility. The golden and silver floral patterns on his crimson ritual attire shimmered faintly, and the crystal beads and glass strings clinked softly, blending into the harmonious symphony of music filling the streets.
Through the light of the lanterns held by the palace attendants, he saw her. For a moment, he looked surprised, then a faint smile graced his lips.
Amidst the kneeling crowd, she alone remained upright, staring intently at him.
She knew she should lower her head and join the chorus of well-wishes for the Crown Prince’s safety, but in that moment, amidst the grandeur and beauty, she couldn’t resist the urge to steal another glance.
The fragrant smoke from the incense burner in the Crown Prince’s hands rose upward, veiling his face in a misty haze. As the wind dispersed the mist momentarily, Luowei felt a sharp pang in her chest.
Clutching her chest, she raised her head again. The carousel lantern paused briefly, then spun faster.
The cacophony of the crowd abruptly faded from her ears. When she came to, the distant Crown Prince had somehow appeared beside her. He took her hand and led her through the bustling throng.
His palm was warm, and Luowei still felt dazed. Before she could speak, a flash of light caught her eye.
She stopped at a stall filled with bronze mirrors, staring at her reflection—a young girl, still retaining traces of innocence, with a white mourning flower pinned in her hair.
From a distant tower came a faint voice.
“On this Lantern Festival of the first year of Tian Shou, His Majesty grants three days of festivities, day and night without restriction. Ward off illnesses, celebrate with lanterns, may the winds be gentle and the rains timely, and may the harvests be bountiful!”
This was the first year of Tian Shou, three years ago.
That year, she had just come of age. Her father had passed away, and at his bedside, she received the emperor’s sword, being bestowed the title of Crown Princess. She was to marry the Crown Prince after completing her three-year mourning period.
Under the blossoming trees in the garden, she had received a piece of棠花 jade personally carved by him as a token of affection. From then on, it became her most cherished possession, never leaving her side.
A familiar voice rang in her ear.
“Hurry, don’t let them catch us and drag us back!”
Luowei, hand in hand with the Crown Prince in his pearl-white robe, made their way to the banks of the Bian River. He bought two lanterns, urging her to write down her wishes. Then, like the men and women around them, they clasped their hands together and prayed devoutly.
Luowei scooped up a handful of cold water from the Bian River, but failed to grasp the drifting river lantern. She only vaguely saw her own handwriting on the lantern—it read, “Long live the Crown Prince on this Lantern Festival.”
What wish had he made?
Before she could take another look, he pulled her away from the waterside, back to the familiar Imperial Street.
The once bustling street was now eerily empty. She lifted her skirts and ran with him until she was out of breath. Pausing, she glanced at a nearby ancient tree and noticed a familiar carousel lantern.
As if sensing her gaze, the lantern paused, then spun faster.
The person holding her hands vanished.
Luowei hesitated, stopping in her tracks. Raising her head, she realized she was sitting at a desk, a bronze mirror placed before her. In the mirror, she wore a peach-colored gown, appearing younger than before.
It was still the night of the Lantern Festival.
The flower-decorated window beside her opened, and a youth dressed in white waved at her. “The two pots of night-blooming cereus I’ve been nurturing have finally bloomed tonight! Change your clothes and escape the banquet—let’s go admire the flowers and moon with Shu Kang and Zi Lan. It’s my birthday today; Father won’t scold us.”
She finally understood that she was caught in a surreal, ever-shifting time loop, repeatedly returning to past Lantern Festival nights.
At thirteen, during a snowy Lantern Festival, Luowei and he built a small clay stove in the garden, imitating the courtiers drinking the newly supplied Mei Shou wine.
At twelve, he sat beneath the golden hall listening to ministers’ congratulations throughout the night, while Luowei arranged lotus-shaped red candles in the rear palace.
At eleven, they tied a red ribbon together on the largest crabapple tree in the palace.
...
The carousel lantern spun rapidly, finally rewinding to their first meeting. That year, Luowei was only five, and her older brother, who was taller than her, picked a cluster of crepe myrtle flowers to adorn her hair.
It was spring. The crabapple blossoms in the garden were fading, while the crepe myrtles were just beginning to bloom.
He said his nickname was “A Tang” (meaning crabapple).
On the crabapple tree hung the familiar carousel lantern. This time, it reversed its direction, spinning noisily back to its original place.
Luowei reached out to touch the Crown Prince’s face, only to realize that at some point, he had transformed back into the Crown Prince clad in vermilion robes from the Lantern Festival of the third year of Tian Shou.
She studied his face carefully, afraid to miss a single detail, yet her heart ached, and her fingers trembled.
It was as though she sensed an impending loss.
He gazed back at her and suddenly asked, “Where is the jade pendant I gave you?”
Luowei looked down blankly, reaching to touch the pendant.
But her waist was empty—there was nothing there.
At some point, she had lost the pendant.
When she looked up again, the man before her had vanished into thin air. The jade chariot receded into the distance, and she stood alone on the chaotic street, wanting to scream, “Don’t go!” But it was as if someone had gripped her throat, silencing her.
“During the third year of Tian Shou, on the Lantern Festival, His Majesty grants three days of festivities. The Crown Prince performs the grand sacrifice at the Bian River, day and night unrestricted. Ward off illnesses, celebrate with lanterns, may the winds be gentle and the rains timely, and may the harvests be bountiful!”
The carousel lantern fell from the tree, crashing heavily at her feet.
In an instant, flames erupted along the street. The crowd surged backward, and the clashing of armor grew louder, drowning out her desperate cries.
“The Crown Prince has been assassinated! The Bian River is under martial law!”
“The Crown Prince has been assassinated! The Bian River is under martial law—”
Luowei finally found her voice, tears streaming down her face as she screamed.
“Don’t go! Don’t go!”
—At least stay with me through this Lantern Festival.
She couldn’t move, but she strained to look up at the sky.
In the void, the young Crown Prince stood atop the sacrificial platform on the Bian River, smiling brilliantly at her. His dark pupils reflected the flickering flames.
•
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty—”
“...”
Luowei abruptly awoke from the dream she had experienced countless times.
A palace attendant gently wiped the sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief.
Winter was nearly over, and Luowei turned to look at the barren crabapple trees outside the window. Slowly, she realized this was already her third winter as Empress.
Initially, when she began having this dream, cold sweat would soak her pillow. Seeking answers, she visited the reputedly efficacious Xi Qing Temple to draw lots and interpret her dreams. She received a cryptic yet seemingly profound divination.
“The life of a person is like a fleeting dream or a transient blossom, flourishing in spring and vanishing when the revelry ends. Foam-like pearls and hibiscus-like beauty should not be overly cherished.”
Beautiful and sorrowful to the extreme.
On the reverse side of the wooden lot, she noticed a crooked scribble, seemingly added carelessly.
—The moon shines eternally upon the spring night.
Its meaning was unclear, and no one could decipher it. Nevertheless, Luowei chose to believe in her own interpretation and brought the wooden lot back to the palace, placing it before a glass vase in her private chambers as a subtle comfort.
Raised on Confucian teachings, Luowei did not believe in Buddhism or Daoism, yet her chambers were now adorned with portraits of various deities.
Her emperor husband once teased her, saying that since ancient times, Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism could not coexist. Why did the Empress show no hesitation? Wasn’t she afraid the deities might disapprove of each other?
Luowei paid it no mind, smiling faintly, her heart cold. If any deity truly existed, they wouldn’t have allowed the world to fall into such a state.
Since gods and Buddhas could not protect humanity, they surely wouldn’t blame her for her lack of reverence.
“Your Majesty, the Emperor has arrived.”
Someone lifted the curtain, entering her narrow, incense-filled little world.
Luowei slowly turned around.
At the sight of the visitor’s face, all the illusions of her youth shattered like soap bubbles. Through the swirling incense, a youthful face emerged—one that bore a resemblance to the Crown Prince from her dreams, yet was entirely different.
She knew this was no longer a fantasy, so she solemnly clasped her hands and performed a deep bow.
He quickly reached out to steady her arm, signaling for her to rise. He wore a deep blue robe with a glossy pattern, revealing a circle of crimson at the cuffs.
She looked at him.
He was a young, handsome, and vibrant emperor.
But the man from her dreams lay buried in eternal darkness, reduced to ashes.
How absurd the world was.
“Dear Sister, your health has only recently improved. The northern inspection tour will be arduous, so please stay behind and rest. Upon my return, I’ll leave the spring banquet in your capable hands.”
Luowei swallowed all her intense emotions, replying gently, “Alright.”
After the emperor left, Luowei brought out an ancient zither and played Jiang Shenzi before the portraits of various deities.
“...Where do the two white egrets come from, seemingly admiring graceful figures? Suddenly, mournful sounds of a zither drift across the river, filled with bitter emotion. Who is there to listen?”
“When the melody ends, I seek to ask where the person has gone—only the green peaks remain.” [1]
As her fingers plucked the strings, she closed her eyes, recalling the fallen carousel lantern.
Few flowers bloom in the celestial realm; in spring, storms are frequent.
Where has the face of the beloved gone?
Dreams are blown into rivers and mountains.
The carousel lantern was blank, its red candle broken into several pieces. On the empty silk surface, a flower spontaneously bloomed petal by petal—pink and white, a crabapple blossom.
A sound like shattering porcelain pierced the silence, followed by blood spreading outward. The crabapple was soaked in crimson, engulfed in a sea of red and black, eternally extinguished.
________________________________________
[1] A reference to Su Shi’s poem Jiang Shenzi.
[2] • 刺 (cì) means “thorn,” “prick,” or “stab.” It can also refer to an act of criticism or assassination in certain contexts.
• 棠 (táng) refers to the crabapple tree or its fruit, which carries symbolic meaning in Chinese culture. It is often associated with beauty, elegance, and sometimes nostalgia or loss.
Together, 刺棠 could literally mean “Thorned Crabapple” or “Piercing the Crabapple.”
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