Under the peony blossoms, to die—and even as a ghost, one remains romantic.
Du Sheng led the guards in gathering up Lu Caiying's corpse. Early in the morning, they left the desolate lodging. Along the way, conversations erupted, full of speculation and conjecture. It was only when Du Sheng sternly commanded them to remain silent that, for a time, the chatter subsided.
Yet the thoughts they accumulated brewed in their hearts, eventually spilling out in exaggerated tales.
Adding embellishments while drinking and playing dice was inevitable; before long, no one would believe the narrative Du Sheng had tried to construct.
Such secrets invariably grew increasingly fantastical with each retelling.
