In the alley.
The doors of the two ancient houses opened opposite each other.
From time to time, there was a cool breeze, overflowing from the courtyard, blowing to the tips of the hair, blowing the weeds on the ancient stone path one after another.
"Young man, what's your name? I don't seem to remember anymore." The woman turned her head, and the water in the bucket rippled.
"Sheng Bei." Standing back to face against her, Ye Bei still told her calmly.
The woman replied softly, "Oh!"
Soon, the woman seemed to think of something again, "Young man, I probably remember that in your yard, no one has been here for almost 80 years. The person who lived there in the past looked very much like you. Are you his descendant?"
"If you think it is, then it is. If you think it is not, then it is not." Ye Bei uttered.
Full Poem:
“Butterflies Lingering Over Flowers” – Wang Guowei
I have tasted the bitterness of parting at the world’s end.
Little was I aware, before my return,
How the flowers would be scattered.
When we look at each other without a word beneath the flowers,
Spring, by the green window, fades with the passing day.
I would like to tell of my feelings by the lamplight:
One skein of new joy,
A thousand skeins of old regret.
Things hardest to keep in this human world,
Rosy cheeks which fade in the mirror and flowers that fall from the trees.