There was work to be done, but her thoughts kept wandering - following hoofprints that weren’t really there. Xiuying could not focus on the work, because her mind kept wondering and wandering to the girl she met in the field - Chunhua - who touched the herbs as though each leaf might remember her.

There is only one way for her mind to clear out, only one way to focus straight, only one way for her mind to not wander. And that was, writing Chunhua a letter. It should be an easy task done, for she knows not a lot about her, but the fact that she’s master Li’s helper - at least she knows where to send it.

Xiuying went to her father’s office, and sneakily took a few pieces of xuanzhi - a fine, silky-smooth, clear and almost transparent, yet strong paper. She went to her room, tidied her table, sat down, and prepared her inkstone.  

As she was ready to write, her father snooped into her room.

“To whom are you writing?” he asked, curiously, to figure out why he had a few xuanzhi less.

“A friend…” Xiuying murmured.

“Oh? To where?”

“There’s a new girl in the village.”

“Why are you writing to them, the peasants?” her father asked, angrily.

“I’m writing to master Li, not a stranger, he just has a new apprentice.”

“Oh, master Li, you say. A good man, a good man… Still, why are you wasting my paper, can’t you visit him privately?”

“I will not be present.”

“Tell me you’re not gonna stick your nose where you have no right to again!”

“I’m just going to hunt, father. I know you’re fearful, but there is nothing to fear.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid…” he said and went away.

Finally, she started to write the letter. But as she was writing the letter, each word, line after line, carefully crafted to not misspell even one word, she always stopped herself, for her mind could not pace a letter which satisfies her thought, her emotions, to Chunhua. She had written two letters and torn each one apart. The first was too careful, too cold; the second was too familiar, yet filled with a truth she could not name. Then, the third began with “Dear Chunhua,” and she burned it before she finished the line. Words were supposed to obey her; lately, they refused. It was absurd, how one smile could stay with her longer than the sound of her own horse.

She dipped the brush again, searching for a distance that wouldn’t hurt to cross. Ink blotting because she paused for too long. Finally, she wrote it. She read it. She folded it. She hesitated. Alas, she did not burn it. She placed it inside her notebook, between the pressed jasmine. This letter was for her and her only. She kept it.

She was ready to write her fifth letter, a letter that she could actually send. She shouldn’t waste such a paper - it wasn’t the finest, but also wasn’t something an average countryperson could buy at any moment… Perhaps, she should not write it for Chunhua, perhaps, it should be for master Li. Yes, finally some good idea! As she found another piece of paper, her brush dipped again, ready to be governed by her hand, she paused for a bit. The lantern light flickering.

She finally wrote the letter - held it in her hands for a bit, as if warmth lingered in it - and sent it.

The letter brushed past herds of children crouching in the dust. The children, painting lanterns with their clumsy hands, one boy spilling the ink on himself, trying to blow on his clothes to dry it out.

From an open doorway came the scent of sesame oil and honey. Women sat around low tables rolling glutinous rice into small round dumplings, pressing sweet bean paste inside before dropping them into steaming water. Laughter rose with the steam.

Outside the wine shop, two men argued over the height of the lantern poles to be fixed along the bridge.

The village was living, preparing for the Lantern Festival.

Chunhua in her window, listened and watched the whole village live. Curious yet confused, she asked the old man:

“What is happening?”

“Oh, they’re preparing for the Lantern Festival. It’ll be the first moon of the new year in three days…” he answered the curious girl.

“I-it looks fun.”

“Yeah, yeah it does.” answered the old man cheerfully, when suddenly, a latter-man banged on the door.

The old man Li was confused. A letter? To him?

“It’s from the Liu family…”

From the Liu family? The Liu family, being the steward of the regional war-lord, was quite richer than the rest of the rice-wielding village. It was a small village, so such stewards were not a tradition to rest here, but this village was special - it was in the middle of the Middle Kingdom, where dynasties always met on the battle-field. For this reason, the village temple was erected, to always be prepared for the soldiers to make their prayers. Fortunately, it was peace time and the dynasties were yet unified, so there was no need for a soldiers’ station to be held, but it was still a strategic city with an important history. That is why master Li was so confused about the letter - if mister Liu wanted to talk to him, he would just go to him privately and not send a letter that could be held by an intruder.

Master Li still awaited in the middle of the door-way, thinking hard, when it came to him. It must have been miss Xiuying. But if she’s sending a letter, she’s no longer in the village. That silly girl wants to look for those missing people! The old man Li just sighed, there is no reason to be angered by something that already happened, and just smiled to Chunhua.

“Miss Liu Xiuying sent this.” he said with a smile.

Chunhua just  stared at the old man’s hands, full with the letter and asked:

“X-xiuying?” she asked shyly.

Suddenly, an urge filled Chunhua, and her hands quickly reached for the old master’s.

“W-woah woah, wait there child, for you don’t even know how to read. I shall read it…”

Chunhua calmed and tried to play indifferently, as if no letter could make her move, and she didn't even care actually.

The old man continued:

“The letter reads as follows…”