Beautifully Tragic Love Story: the Peach Blossoms Bloomed
When she was a child, her parents were busy and had no time to take care of her, so they sent her to her grandmother’s house in the mountains.
She cried and refused to let her parents leave, but her grandmother’s home was surrounded by beautiful mountains and rivers, with flocks of chickens and ducks, and many children her age to play with. In a few days, she was as happy as a fish in water and didn’t miss home at all.
The children she played with loved this city girl with fair skin and big eyes. They would come to her grandmother’s house early every morning to play with her. Together, they picked wild fruits on the mountains, caught fish in the river, or played hide-and-seek.
Among these children, he always came the earliest. Sometimes, even before her grandmother opened the door, he would be sitting quietly on the stone slab at the entrance, watching the sunrise and the birds flying by as he waited for her.
During these times, her grandmother would invite him to have breakfast with them. They drank porridge, ate steamed buns or eggs, and then ran off to play.
He had a whistle, shiny and beautiful, which could make various lovely sounds when he put it to his lips. The whistle was quite ordinary, made from a peach pit. Making it was laborious: one had to carefully bore holes on both sides of the pit, ensuring they weren’t too large, or the whistle wouldn’t sound.
Then, the seed inside was painstakingly removed bit by bit through the holes, and the pointed parts were polished off to avoid cutting the lips. Making one whistle could take an entire day.
When the peaches ripened, almost all the children would make one or two whistles to play with, but they would lose them after the season and make new ones the following year.
But he didn’t. Once his whistle was made, he carried it with him and could make various sounds with it—bird calls, chicken and duck calls, and even simple mountain songs.
She was mesmerized by the sounds and always followed him, asking him to make different sounds and teach her. He was happy to oblige and proud to do so. The other children envied their inseparable bond. When she learned how to play the whistle, he gave it to her. She loved it and carried it with her day and night.
Their favorite place was the peach orchard behind his house, where peach trees covered the mountains. In early spring, the peach blossoms bloomed tree by tree. In the morning mist, the blossoms looked like clouds resting on the slopes, creating a stunning view. They ran happily in the orchard, catching water buffalo and playing hide-and-seek, completely absorbed in their joy.
One early morning, she sat on a low branch of a peach tree, blowing the whistle. Flocks of sparrows flew overhead. As the wind rose, her white dress fluttered, and delicate petals flew around her, landing on her head and shoulders.
Everyone was amazed, staring at her in awe, forgetting what they were doing, only knowing she looked truly beautiful, like a fairy in the peach blossoms. He was among them, standing by another peach tree, his whistle forgotten in his hand.
Time flies in the mountains, with no awareness of the years passing. The only unhappy memory she had was the day she lost her whistle.
They searched everywhere but couldn’t find it. She cried uncontrollably, and he promised to make her many more whistles when the peaches ripened. She smiled through her tears and spent her days waiting in the orchard for the peaches to ripen.
However, before autumn arrived, her parents came to take her back to the city. Soon after, she started school.
For a long time, her parents were too busy to take her to her grandmother’s house. She gradually got used to city life and stopped thinking about the mountains. Eventually, her grandmother was brought to the city by her parents, completely cutting off her connection to the mountains.
Years later, she returned when her grandmother passed away and was buried in the mountains according to her last wish. She came with her family to pay respects.
The mountain people were simple and kind, remarking on her beauty and recalling how she looked like a little fairy back then.
She was young then and couldn’t remember much of the past. Her childhood playmates were also vague in her memory. She only had a hazy recollection of the peach orchard and thought of him. She visited his house but didn’t see him; he was out driving long-haul trips and would be back in a few days.
His truck was his own, and his life was well-organized. The old house had been replaced by a two-story villa.
His wife warmly greeted her and said kindly, “You’re so beautiful; no wonder everyone still talks about you.”
She smiled but said nothing. The peach orchard behind his house was still there, with green peaches hanging on the branches. His son and her son played happily on the hillside.
When she left, he hadn’t returned. She didn’t feel much; childhood memories had long faded.
As she was about to get into the car, his wife came running, handing her a small cloth bag. “He wanted to give this to you himself, but he couldn’t make it back in time. He called several times, asking me to give it to you.”
She asked, “What is it?”
His wife smiled and said, “He said it’s some children’s toys.”
She didn’t pay much attention and casually put it in her bag.
On the way back, she remembered the gift and opened it, only to find a bag full of exquisitely crafted peach pit whistles.
She was stunned. The memories of the past suddenly became clear: him sitting on the stone slab at her grandmother’s door, blowing various mountain songs; her losing the whistle; his promise to make many more for her; him spending the entire season by the creek, patiently making whistles…
The car had the air conditioning on. Her husband, worried she might be cold, handed her a shawl. Startled, she dropped the bag, and the peach pits spilled out, reminiscent of the blossoms in full bloom back then.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
