Flowers in the Ashes

She said she was going back. Chu Guang only smiled—apologetically, almost helplessly—and made no move to stop her. She lifted her eyes and gave him a quiet, sorrowful look, then turned without a word. In that look he saw disappointment settled deep in her heart. He could only watch, a bitter smile on his lips, as her figure dwindled into the distance.

When her silhouette finally vanished at the end of the road, he stayed where he was, alone beneath a withered willow on the lakeshore, seized by a faint desolation. He knew the vague entanglement between them had run its course, though he had not expected it to end like this. He had invited her here to confess his feelings; for over an hour they had walked the rim of Weiming Lake. More than once she had cast him an expectant look, hinting in careful phrases. More than once he had steeled himself, the words rising to his throat—yet they would not cross his lips.

It was not lack of courage, he knew, but too much honesty. He did not feel that kind of love for her, and so he could not say “I love you.” He would not deceive her, nor himself. Had passion overruled reason for a moment, the ending might have been different. He had long read the answer in her eyes. But between them there was nothing that could truly be called love. She had chosen him for lack of a better choice; had he not done the same? What bound them was not love but need.

He wandered along the water, replaying the muted reproach in her eyes, and could not help finding her pitiable. In truth there was little to fault. She was not beautiful, but neither plain; by any measure she was a fair match for him. Given his circumstances, he could not be sure of meeting someone “better.” Yet he felt no regret. He could not imagine, as so many did, spending a lifetime with a woman he did not love. He had long understood how hard true love is to find, and for now he had no wish to compromise with life.

It was early March: bright sun, a faint chill. The lakeside lay quiet; only the leaves murmured in the wind. He moved along the path, a solitary shadow trailing at his feet.