Matchless in breeding and beauty, a fine lady has taken refuge in this forsaken valley. She is of good family, she says, but her fortune has withered away; now she lives as the grass and trees. When the heartlands fell to the rebels her brothers were put to death; birth and position availed nothing-- she was not even allowed to bring home their bones for burial. The world turns quickly against those who have had their day-- fortune is a lamp-flame flickering in the wind. Her husband is a fickle fellow who has a lovely new woman. Even the vetch-tree is more constant, folding its leaves every dusk, and mandarin ducks always sleep with their mates. But he has eyes only for his new woman`s smile, and his ears are deaf to his first wife`s weeping. High in the mountains spring water is clear as truth, but when it reaches the lowlands it is muddied with rumor. Her serving-maid returns from selling her pearls; she drags a creeper over to cover holes in the roof. The flowers the lady picks are not for her hair, and the handfuls of cypress are a bitter stay against hunger. Her pretty blue sleeves are too thin for the cold; as evening falls she leans on the tall bamboo.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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