Love in the Tang Dynasty: Poet Immortal, Please Stay!
Some say that everyone harbors a demon within their heart, and Chen Yage has long since become possessed—though her demon is of a different kind. She loves Li Bai with a passion bordering on obsession. One could say she lives for him, would die for him, and has devoted her life to reading his poetry. She cherishes every poem Li Bai ever penned, making it a daily ritual to read at least one, finding comfort only then to eat or to sleep. To the world, Li Bai is a poet of unmatched freedom and boldness, a soul unbound and unrestrained. Yet in Chen Yage’s eyes, there is a melancholy woven through his verses, a sorrow he strives to conceal beneath an exuberant facade, burying all his grief within the lines of his poetry. In the realm of love, there are no victors; the moment you fall, you have already lost. Those who claim that another’s love is too absurd simply do not yet understand what love truly is.
Love in the Tang Dynasty: Poet Immortal, Please Stay!
Ancient streets wound their way through the city, eaves towering above, bustling shops alive with clamor—vendors’ cries, laughter, whispers—all blending into a kind of ordered chaos.
Beneath a pale, weathered wall, a woman huddled in a corner, hugging her knees. Her clothes were tattered, her gaze lifeless as a dead fish, her lips quivering as she uttered babyish, inarticulate sounds. Suddenly, a snow-white steamed bun rolled to a stop before her. Her eyes lit up; she snatched it and devoured it ravenously.
Before her stood Hua Wu, clad in blue, around twenty, his square face and small eyes set in a dusky complexion. A cunning smile played on his lips as he watched the woman eat.
The woman looked at Hua Wu in terror. Hunger had dulled her caution, so she lowered her head and continued to gnaw at the bun. In moments, white foam frothed at her lips, her eyes glazed over, and her legs convulsed as she died.
“No!” Chen Yage jolted awake from the nightmare, cold sweat beading her brow. The look of terror on the dying woman’s face left her deeply unsettled—did she want to say something? Or was it merely unwillingness to die?
A midsummer night, tranquil and profound, the heavens spangled with stars, the moon casting a gentle, silvery glow. Occasionally, a cool breeze drifted by, bringing with it a welcome freshness.
Chen Yage sat down in the corner of her room with a volume of Li Bai’s poetry cradled in her hands. Her mind was in turmoil, and for her, nothing soothed the spirit more effectively than Li Bai’s verse—a thousand times more potent
