romantic love stories: maiden youthful charm
Beside the Changliu River, a silent bamboo hut stood quietly under the moonlight.
The moonlight was bright, illuminating the person in front of the courtyard.
A forty-year-old maiden was sitting in the courtyard, dressed in a pink dress. Yes, a forty-year-old maiden. An unmarried woman remains a maiden, whether she is forty or even four hundred. Some women, no matter if they are forty or four hundred, will stay modest maidens waiting for their beloved ones.
So, the maiden dressed in a pink outfit wasn’t surprising, and wearing a red flower in her hair was naturally not out of the ordinary. Moreover, people are different, flowers are different; azaleas bloom only in early spring and turn to dust in mid-autumn. But some flowers, having endured the trials of spring, summer, autumn, and winter, remain radiant and charming, like crabapples and osmanthus.
The maiden was named Osmanthus, over forty but still possessing the youthful charm of a maiden, as radiant as a flower. The pondering Osmanthus maiden smiled gently, her dimples instantly brighter than the stars in the night, her rosy cheeks adding to her allure.
Like the osmanthus flowers under the slim moon, she exuded a faint fragrance, standing quietly and eternally amidst the world.
The moon was slender, only a faint semicircle remaining. The moon was incomplete, likely a waning moon. Even if it was as bright as jade, it couldn’t hide the desolation and longing from all directions. It was long forgotten whether the moon became incomplete first, or if people wandered the world unable to reunite. The moon and people silently gazed at each other this night, exchanging their loneliness, resonating with one another.
In the courtyard, pink feathery flowers fell, named Albizia. Albizia flowers, joyous when together, how could one be joyful if separated for twenty years? It was late summer, and the Albizia flowers had just passed their peak blooming season, hence falling more than usual during these few nights each year.
Perhaps the Albizia tree also felt some sympathy for the Osmanthus maiden, as the large canopy dropped flowers all around her. Countless flowers fell on her head and dress, resembling a rain of red dandelions. If not for the clear sight of the tree, the Osmanthus maiden might have thought someone was sprinkling flowers from the top.
Lost in thought, she was taken back twenty years, lost in the sea of memories.
Twenty years ago, the Osmanthus maiden lived in a small courtyard in Hanfei City, making a living by selling paintings. Her legs had been weak since childhood, making walking difficult.
Osmanthus’s paintings were simple, without colorful pigments. Seven wolf hair brushes of varying sizes were laid out on the desk, a purple inkstone on the right emitting an ink fragrance. Her paintings were simple black and white, with delicate brushstrokes outlining grand landscapes, springtime scenes, and ordinary rural life. Simple, but with depth, though few understood.
Regardless of understanding, there were always buyers. Famous paintings were beyond the reach of ordinary people, and the residents of Hanfei City weren’t wealthy. Hence, some cultured people bought her inexpensive paintings to decorate their homes. Her paintings were not only beautiful but also affordable.
In front of the courtyard, Osmanthus was painting when a wealthy young master approached. It was clear he was of noble birth, with a jade piece worth a fortune at his waist. He nonchalantly fiddled with the paintings on the desk, smudging the ink on a freshly painted June forest scene without realizing it.
Osmanthus frowned. She could sell her beloved works cheaply, but she couldn’t allow them to be destroyed for no reason. Every stroke was her heartfelt effort, even if sold cheaply, she never compromised on quality.
But she merely frowned, knowing she couldn’t offend someone like the noble young master.
The young master carelessly said, “I’ll take all these paintings. How much are they?”
Osmanthus softly replied, “A total of 129 paintings. Sixty-three are ten coins each, sixty-five are fifteen coins each, and one is not for sale.”
The young master threw a heavy embroidered money bag onto the table, gold ingots spilling out, amounting to about twenty taels. He seemed very generous.
With a wave of his hand, he said grandly, “I’ll take all 129 paintings,” completely ignoring the not-for-sale piece Osmanthus mentioned.
Osmanthus calmly said, “Not for sale. Please leave.”
Twenty taels of gold were more than enough to buy one hundred and twenty-eight paintings, exceedingly generous, with the price being ten or a hundred times the original. However, it was far from enough to buy one hundred and twenty-nine paintings. There was one painting that wasn’t for sale; it was the only thing left by Osmanthus’s father.
The painting wasn’t just valuable because her father left it; her father’s name alone was worth a fortune. The character “Drunk” was worth five hundred gold, and the character “Wolf” was worth five hundred gold.
The painting sage Drunken Wolf was the pinnacle of the art world in the Minfeng Kingdom, unmatched by anyone. His final masterpiece, “Drinking with Mountains and Rivers under the Moon,” would make any literati willing to bankrupt themselves just for a glimpse.
Yet, Osmanthus wasn’t refusing to sell the painting because of an unreasonable price.
From this, it was evident that the noble young master, whether he knew the last painting’s value or not, was looking to get a great bargain. No wonder people often say the richer someone is, the more stingy they are, while the poorer someone is, the more generous they are.
So, a generous person appeared at this moment. A travel-worn young man dismounted from his horse.
He confidently said, “One hundred and twenty-eight paintings for one thousand taels of gold. I’ll take them.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was irresistible.
Osmanthus looked up to see a young man with a full beard, dressed in a tattered blue robe. He had no possessions except a gray sword. Although unremarkable in appearance, it had a mysterious sense of weight.
Osmanthus immediately liked this man. Perhaps it was because of his beard, perhaps because of his untidiness, perhaps because of his irresistibility, or maybe for no reason at all. She simply liked him.
The young man was Cang Xiaolang, the head of a small escort agency. He was carefree, but his escorts were steady and reliable.
The noble young master sneered, “A shabby beggar dares to boast about having a thousand gold. If you have a thousand gold, I’ll change my surname to yours.”
Cang Xiaolang glanced at the noble young master, and the icy feeling penetrated the young master’s heart. What kind of gaze was that? The killing intent was so strong it made every fiber of his being tremble.
Cang Xiaolang gently placed his sword on the painting table and said, “He is worth a thousand gold.”
Cang Xiaolang used “he” instead of “it,” indicating that the sword wasn’t just a weapon but a life, a brother.
The noble young master didn’t know, but Cang Xiaolang’s sword truly was worth a thousand gold.
However, the noble young master, remembering the stories of highwaymen infiltrating Hanfei City, taking lives and spilling blood, turned pale. He fled in terror.
Cang Xiaolang, of course, couldn’t use his sword to buy paintings. It was his second life.
So naturally, he had no gold to buy paintings. He didn’t buy paintings, but he understood them, which was enough.
Osmanthus quietly watched him, seemingly waiting for him to respond, to see how he would come up with a thousand gold to buy the paintings.
Cang Xiaolang pondered for a moment, then carefully moved aside the treasured landscape painting on the table, revealing a blank space. He picked up a wolf hair brush, dipped it in ink, and casually wrote eight crooked characters: “Owe one thousand gold, to be repaid later.” He then signed his name and pressed his thumbprint.
Finished, he mounted his horse, whipped the reins, and rode away in a cloud of dust.
A fast horse needs a smooth road. If the path is rugged, it won’t be a pleasant journey. Cang Xiaolang, riding on the winding mountain road, couldn’t help but shake his head. Solving an injustice in Hanfei City cost him dearly. In an instant, a thousand gold had changed hands. He took a deep breath and sighed, “So be it, as long as my heart is at peace, it’s worth it. Money comes and goes, but honor is priceless. I’ll slowly repay the debt.”
Cang Xiaolang wasn’t being frivolous. A man’s word is worth more than gold. Moreover, the reputation of Canglang Escort Agency in the martial world was built on trust and loyalty. No matter what happened, they would fulfill their promises as long as they were alive.
Three days later, Osmanthus was still painting in front of her courtyard, oblivious to the world. She had long forgotten about the IOU. She was grateful to the man who helped her, and the IOU was just a joke to her, dismissed from her mind.
Limited by her physical condition, she found solace in painting landscapes, both as a livelihood and a passion.
Suddenly, the white paper was covered by something, and a strong smell of alcohol hit her.
Osmanthus looked up to see Cang Xiaolang standing beside her, casually handing her a dark money bag. His hand was covered in thick calluses and scars from his sword.
Osmanthus hesitated slightly but accepted it. She took not just the silver but also a promise. She understood that for some people, silver was far less important than honor. That’s how it is with people; some acquaintances are superficial, while some, even at first meeting, understand deeply.
So, she put away her unfinished painting and, with difficulty, made her way into the courtyard. She poured a cup of rough tea, leaving water stains on her dress, making the task seem even more arduous.
Cang Xiaolang frowned but accepted the hot tea, blew on it, and drank it all in one gulp, smacking his lips.
Naturally, those who repay their debts are treated with some favor, so Osmanthus made a simple meal and carefully brewed a pot of clear wine.
Wine loosens tongues, and Cang Xiaolang began to speak incessantly. He spoke of practicing martial arts since childhood, hoping to sell his skills to the imperial family for a bright future. He spoke of his journey from an escort to the head of an escort agency, of the three days of relentless fighting in the Western Desert against the Eight Poisons, of years of bloodshed across the four seas without losing a single shipment. His tales of the martial world were always accompanied by his unrestrained laughter—coarse, bold, and free-spirited.
Osmanthus always remained silent, quietly listening, sometimes intently, sometimes covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. When she laughed, she was happy. Yes, Osmanthus was very happy.
Gradually, Cang Xiaolang would visit Hanfei City three to five times a month, sometimes once or twice, paying back varying amounts of money each time.
Osmanthus’s paintings were no longer just landscapes, rivers, and sunrises. She painted old people, children, and even wine. When she was in a good mood, her works seemed to come alive, and her reputation began to grow.
Cang Xiaolang occasionally observed Osmanthus painting in her serene manner, and even his martial skills seemed to improve. Whether it was Osmanthus’s influence or something else, such moments of enlightenment were elusive. Sometimes, after days of hard practice, nothing is gained, but a sudden moment of clarity can happen anywhere.
If time remained peaceful, everything would be perfect.
However, some people are never content with peace. They would rather walk through storms than live in safety. Cang Xiaolang was one of those people. His escort work was steady, but he himself was not.
This time, he stayed at the courtyard longer than usual. On the seventh evening, the setting sun waved goodbye, sinking behind the mountains.
Cang Xiaolang drank more than usual. Perhaps it was the glow of the sunset or something else, but his rugged cheeks were flushed, looking almost shy.
Cang Xiaolang was unusually silent, unlike his usual talkative self, mirroring Osmanthus’s quiet demeanor. He forcefully picked up the last fried broad bean and chewed it fiercely, as if chewing tough beef tendons. Then he wiped his face and regained his composure.
He looked into the distance and said, “The martial world is vast. I will take you to see it.”
Then he turned back, his eyes bright, gazing at the freckles on Osmanthus’s face.
Osmanthus was doing needlework, her hands paused, seemingly startled by his sudden words, accidentally pricking her fingertip. She quickly lowered her head to suck on the bleeding finger.
Both fell silent simultaneously, but it seemed as though the air was filled with countless rapid heartbeats. The atmosphere was tense, and both were afraid. Cang Xiaolang felt a twinge of regret; he had faced life and death many times, always calm and composed, yet now he felt inexplicable fear. He didn’t realize that fear comes from not understanding something. The unknown is scarier than life and death.
Osmanthus was also very scared. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since her father left, and she had not left the courtyard. She didn’t know what the outside world was like. Her greatest concern was her physical limitations. Traveling would require care, and needing care meant being a burden. She sighed deeply at the thought. Silent people are often not good with words, so she gently shook her head.
Cang Xiaolang panicked for a moment, then forced a smile and said, “I will take you to see the vast land of the Nine Provinces, the Three Mountains and Five Peaks, and the splendid, colorful world.” But his eyes couldn’t hide their dimness.
Osmanthus paused and shook her head again.
Later that night, Cang Xiaolang disappeared, taking a part of Osmanthus with his desolate silhouette. Since then, Cang Xiaolang was never seen in Hanfei City again.
Afterwards, Osmanthus immersed herself in painting, drawing while awake and in her dreams. She painted mountains, rivers, and the desolate world. When a person is truly focused, their energy is boundless. Gradually, Osmanthus’s fame spread to the capital and throughout the Minfeng Kingdom. Her paintings were worth more than a thousand gold, but she always remembered someone who repaid three hundred sixty-nine taels of gold and still owed six hundred thirty-one.
Since the debt was unpaid, it had to include interest. Later, the interest and principal became too complicated to calculate, leaving Osmanthus occasionally staring blankly, still figuring out how much the debt had grown.
In the second year of Cang Xiaolang’s wanderings, a famous mountain doctor came to treat Osmanthus’s leg ailment. Osmanthus had no hope, as even the imperial doctors sent by the empress of Minfeng Kingdom, who liked her paintings, couldn’t cure her. She treated it as a last-ditch effort.
Surprisingly, after using various strange ointments and acupuncture, she gradually regained feeling in her legs. Nine months later, she could walk with difficulty, and soon after, she was like any other person.
Thus, Osmanthus’s daily routine became more varied, not just painting and daydreaming, but also growing flowers, plants, and trees. She even brewed fruit wine, which was fragrant and intoxicating.
And so it went, with time rushing by. In the blink of an eye, twenty long years had passed. Osmanthus still remembered someone who owed her six hundred thirty-one taels of gold for twenty years, five months, and ten days. Occasionally, she thought, people should keep their promises. Even if they can’t repay the interest or the principal, just paying back a few copper coins would make her happy.
Osmanthus picked up a fallen Albizia flower and returned to the courtyard to take out a small jar of her homemade fruit wine. Having brewed more wine, she started drinking a little herself. The green fruit wine was not only fragrant and sweet but also mild, and Osmanthus grew fond of it.
A sip of fruit wine slightly alleviated her loneliness.
Suddenly, Lady Osmanthus caught a faint whiff of alcohol, and she panicked, urgently searching in all directions. The smell was not the rich fragrance of fruit wine but the scent of sake and rough clothing. She clearly remembered the first time she smelled this scent; it was the aroma of the robe when he handed over the silver taels in front of the painting desk for the first time.
Lady Osmanthus felt as if the world was collapsing. She hurried to the back room, woke up the sleeping kitchen staff, gardeners, and stable boys, and frantically instructed the servants to search the courtyard. She even sent the cook to report to the authorities, asking them to help find the person.
Everyone lit all the lanterns, illuminating the courtyard brightly, and searched for an hour. They almost turned the ground upside down but found no trace. One by one, they dispersed. Lady Osmanthus, disheartened, sat on a bamboo chair in front of the courtyard, shook her head as if trying to shake something out of her mind, and walked up the pavilion, climbed the wooden ladder, intending to look at the stars and the moon from the rooftop.
Whenever her longing became overwhelming, Lady Osmanthus would habitually look at the sky. The vast, infinite sky always broadened her mood.
But this time, she was suddenly startled, as she found someone sitting on the eaves, almost falling off the wooden ladder in fright.
Lady Osmanthus grabbed the ladder, focused her eyes, and suddenly her heart seemed to float, her limbs momentarily weak.
That familiar silhouette had long been etched in her heart; even after ten or twenty years, she would still recognize it. She climbed up to the rooftop and sat beside him, remaining as silent as she had back then. Her initially panicked heart became incredibly calm when she sat beside him.
The two were silent for a long, long time. Finally, Lady Osmanthus spoke, “Hiding for so long, do you know how much money you owe me?”
Cang Xiaolang opened his mouth, his voice hoarse, “I can never repay it.”
“Then why did you come back! Why did you leave without a word back then?” The always composed Lady Osmanthus unexpectedly questioned him, filled with resentment, anger, and unwillingness… there were too many emotions to express.
“Falling flowers have no intention; flowing water can only drift.” Cang Xiaolang said despondently.
“How do you know the falling flowers have no intention?” Lady Osmanthus’s voice rose slightly.
“I asked twice, but you didn’t want to go with me.” His voice was full of helplessness.
“That was for fear of becoming a burden to you.” Tears glistened in Lady Osmanthus’s eyes.
Cang Xiaolang was momentarily stunned. He turned his head, looking at Lady Osmanthus in disbelief, his eyes turbulent with emotion.
Mumbling, he said, “I didn’t know…”
Lady Osmanthus held Cang Xiaolang’s hand, “Do you know now?”
Cang Xiaolang suddenly embraced Lady Osmanthus, as if trying to make the moment last forever, until dawn.
Not long after, Lady Osmanthus learned who the mountain healer was, why Cang Xiaolang had lost his martial arts and become an ordinary person.
Why every year when the flowers of the Albizia tree blossomed, they always fell beside her, how the fallen bamboo fence stood up by itself, and so on.
Cang Xiaolang drank fruit wine in the courtyard, while Lady Osmanthus painted at the desk. It was not landscapes or the mundane world, sunsets, or sunrises; it was Cang Xiaolang drinking wine in the courtyard.
Later, Lady Osmanthus got married. On her wedding day, with her face flushed red, she held a jar of sake buried twenty years ago and said, “Although much of the wine has evaporated, it is even more mellow and long-lasting.”
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
