Billion to One

What Dreams May Come

In death, a soul must enter nine courts and kowtow before nine kings. Each time virtue is measured and punishments are served. In the tenth court before a king and his queen consort, a souls' virtue is cleansed and the life's memories, forgotten. This can be a blessing for those who have lived exceptionally tragic lives.

Reincarnation can occur within a small generational gap. Sometimes personality traits remain, like in muscle memory. However, there are also things that if kept in heart, mark the soul, eternal. Like how a laundered cloth used to rinse ochre remains stained. Forever the Guardian, Zhao Yunlan's soul bares such stains.

Zhao Yunlan walks languidly down a mountain path. He is heading towards a grove of flowering trees. Only his soul remembers this place but he can envision himself standing beneath the flowering bows waiting for... someone. He is not sure whom, but knows this is the perfect place to wait for them.

Above him, there is an expansive blue sky pierced by towering jagged snowcapped mountains. Below him, lush green foothills blanketed by an early morning mist. On the nearby lakeshore sits a large boulder. He lazily reaches out and allows his fingers to brush its rough surface as he walks by. A feeling of nostalgia curls his lips into a gentle smile.

Zhao Yunlan does not know how long he has been walking but has watched the sun and moons' celestial love affair many times over. The sun dawns, rises, then sets: chased across the sky by its moon consort whom, as fair maiden grows heavy with child then withers like a crone into the dark night. For these celestial beings, their moments together are fleeting, their love eternal. Time exists only in theory.

Here in the valley, there is a slight chill in the air. A gentle breeze carries snowflakes from the mountain clouds in the distance. Fallen leaves crackle beneath his heavy boots as he enters the grove.  He takes a deep breath, basking in the familiar scent of crushed peach leaves in the crisp snow kissed air. He is sure this is the perfect place to wait and begins to explore.

In the center of the grove, stands a large tree. Unlike the other trees in the grove that were bare but blooming and showing signs of renewed life, this tree looked as if its journey was near end. Its skeletal limbs giving the impression of years of neglect.

The trunk was wide and aged. The branches, both thick and thin, stretched in every direction. Some grew skyward, twisting and turning into each other. Others grew independently unbound, curving, and arching downward. Offshoots wound over and under the raised roots sometimes piercing its exposed flesh.

Zhao Yunlan's heart aches at the pitiful sight. He places a hand gently on the gnarled trunk and whispers, "You grew up well, Xiǎorén." Without lifting his hand, he circles the trunk. Coming to the lowest limb that curves about a foot above the ground, he climbs up.

Never one to stand when he could sit, sit when he could recline, he props his booted feet up onto an adjoining branch. As he does so, a small book falls from his pocket. He bends to retrieve it. As his fingers brush the soft worn leather of the tiny volume, he is overwhelmed with a feeling of melancholy. He turns it over in his hand. The spine reads 'Shakespeare.'

Zhao Yunlan , chuckles. He believes that he was once an avid reader, but never read for the pleasure of reading. The book must have held some importance to him. He opens it and it naturally falls to a place marked with a small folded piece of paper. The paper's edges are thin as if it was folded and unfolded many times. He gently opens it. As he reads, a soft smile plays on his lips.

"I went back. Let's meet soon - Zhào ;)"

It seemed like such a strange note to treasure. He does not fancy himself the nostalgic type, so wonders he why he would keep a note written to someone else. Well, for whatever reason he did and although he cannot recall the context, it brings him a deep sense of longing. Curious, he reads the passage it marked.