Peach Blossoms Bloom, Warriors Set Out

This morning, when I went to work, as soon as I stepped out the door, I saw that the peach blossoms in the courtyard had suddenly bloomed overnight. On the way out of the house, there was a long row of greenery with some lush pines, Japanese black pines, fragrant jasmine, and some low-growing shrubs, with a few peach blossoms scattered haphazardly in the middle. This is something that you wouldn't usually see in model cities; only small places like this would allow such a wild and unrestrained appearance.

The peach blossoms in Yunnan came early. Even before winter had completely left, they had climbed onto the branches, appearing among the evergreen trees. They poked their heads out, seemingly mocking the bare Ginkgo trees and flamboyant jasmine on the roadside. If some snow fell, looking at them would be like a young girl who isn't good at makeup, with a blush that was very real, half-hidden from view, swaying secretly in the still-cold wind. After the beginning of spring, the peach blossoms were at their most vibrant, in clusters, in trees, in rows, like young ladies in pink tulle passing by a group of bearded men, attracting everyone's attention and filling the city's seasonal color gaps.

These flowers left quickly, as if they were rushing to say goodbye. When the spring breeze came, they fell in a shower; when the spring rain came, they were beaten down from the branches and mixed with the soil, disappearing without a trace. The branches of the trees were then dressed in green.