Fang Siying stepped onto the bridge.

  Standing beside the bridge railing, she silently gazed at the flowing water below.

  Beneath the bridge, the river channel was not very wide, but the banks, scattered with stones and small pebbles, stretched far and wide. The stream murmured softly as it flowed, with many towering rocks jutting out of the water, standing tall and proud with a defiant air. The water rushed around the rocks, creating countless tiny bubbles and whirlpools. The May sunlight spread across the river, radiating endless sparkling beams of light. The sound of the flowing water, like a gentle, soft song, echoed in the air.

  Fang Siying stood there for a long while. The flowing water, the foam, the rocks, and the swirling eddies captivated her, moved her, and mesmerized her. She ran her hand along the bridge railing and took a deep breath of the countryside air, tinged with the mingling scents of pine, bamboo, and soil. Then, she slowly began to walk to the other side of the bridge.

  On the far side, the city was left behind. A wide dirt road stretched out before her. To the left of the road, a slope was covered with pine forests and bamboo groves. To the right, vast fields sprawled into the distance, dotted with scattered small farmhouses.

  After crossing the bridge, she turned back and looked. Carved into the bridge pilr were the words: “Songzhu Bridge, Rebuilt in 1955.”

  She frowned slightly.

  “Songzhu Bridge”—the name was rather pleasant, but why hadn't they used wood to build it? A concrete bridge was such an eyesore! Still, it was practical. From the tracks left on the dirt road, she could see that vehicles passed through here frequently. This was the outskirts of Taipei City, where many wealthy people, disliking the bustle and cmor of the city, preferred to build homes in its nearby suburbs. Besides, this pce was a renowned scenic area.

  She was certain that if she continued walking, she would come across many luxurious residences, even pavilions, terraces, and intricately decorated buildings with carved beams and painted rafters.

  She walked on. A few steps ahead, a signpost stood by the side of the road. It read: “Songzhu Temple.”

  The arrow on the sign pointed toward a narrow path leading up the hillside, fnked by tall, straight pine trees.

  Songzhu Temple! That was the somewhat famous temple often visited by both worshippers and tourists. And her? Should she take a look too?

  At the entrance to the small path, she paused for a moment. Then, shaking her head, she turned away from the path and continued along the wide dirt road.

  The afternoon sun was bright and scorching. May was no longer a cool season. Fang Siying unconsciously slowed her pace until she couldn’t go any slower. Beads of sweat had begun to form on her forehead. She stopped and wiped them away with a small handkerchief.

  Ahead, several white buildings came into view. They were new, clearly just recently built, and designed with care and elegance. She gazed at those houses, then gently furrowed her brow and said to herself softly, “What are you doing? Where do you pn to go?”

  She gave herself no answer. Yet, mechanically, she kept walking forward—so slowly, so heavily. Beyond the garden vils, the surrounding fields turned into tea pntations.

  Tea gardens! She gazed, entranced, at the rows of tea bushes. It must be almost tea-picking season, she thought vaguely.

  She continued walking for a long while, until suddenly, she stopped abruptly. Her gaze had been drawn to a structure by the roadside. A building? No, it could only once have been called a building—it was now nothing but a pile of broken bricks and rubble, the ruins left behind after a fire.

  She stared at the remnants of the structure. From the surviving bricks and the ornate wrought-iron garden gate, this must once have been a luxurious residence. A gravel path led from the main road to the intricately designed iron gate. Inside, there was still a tall willow tree. The gate now stood half-open, wild grass growing thickly along the base of the surrounding walls. Unknown vines had crawled over the wrought-iron gate, their tendrils hanging long, green leaves sprawling in every direction.

  Beside the gravel path, a wooden sign stood, almost swallowed by the overgrown weeds. Compelled by an unseen force, Fang Siying walked closer. She brushed aside the grass and saw the engraved words on the wooden sign:

  "Hanyan Vil"—was it this elegant name that moved her? Or was it the natural curiosity of humankind that guided her? She could not expin her emotions. Yet, the moment she id eyes on the four characters “Hanyan Vil,” a strange feeling surged from deep within her heart.

  Hanyan Vil... Hanyan Vil... Who had once lived here? What kind of stories had unfolded within these walls? Who could tell her? And the fire—how could there have been a fire?

  She walked toward the wrought-iron gate and looked inside through the open entrance. What she saw was a garden ravaged by weeds. Amidst the overgrowth, one or two red roses still bloomed. Several rge banyan trees, long unpruned, hung their aerial roots like the flowing beards of ancient old men. The dense shade of the green trees gave a sense of "How deep does this courtyard go?"

  Behind the banyan trees stood the burned remains of a building. The walls had crumbled, the roof had colpsed, and most of the gss windows were shattered. Yet the delicate design of the house was still visible. It was a two-story structure with many rooms, curved corridors, dainty balconies, intricately carved railings, and colored gss windows. One could almost imagine the scene of prosperity that once filled this pce—the garden teeming with rare and exotic flowers, and inside the house... Who had lived here? What kind of people were they?

  She stared, lost in thought, at the shell of the house—the walls bckened with soot, the door and windows charred like coal, and the fallen beams lying on the ground. Wild grass grew unchecked, and thorny vines crawled in and out of the windows, weaving together from the inside out and outside in.

  Ah! This house! This ruin!

  Now, there wasn′t a soul left. She let out a deep sigh. All ruins inspire a sense of desotion, an inescapable mencholy and solitude.

  She stepped into the garden (if it could still be called a garden) and walked over to the two red roses. May was the season when roses bloomed in full splendor, and these two were vibrant and brilliant. Yet, surrounded by wild grass and thorns, they seemed to carry a fragile, pitiful beauty.

  Bending down, she plucked two roses and held them in her hands. Gazing at the delicate, vivid petals, she couldn′t help but sigh again. The scent of the roses was rich and intoxicating. Holding the flowers, she walked toward the ruins.

  She was quite exhausted. She had been walking in the countryside for nearly the entire afternoon. When she had left the inn, it had been two o'clock, and now the sun was already leaning toward the west.

  She climbed a few stone steps and then sat down on a colpsed section of the stone wall. Holding the roses, resting her chin in her hands, she looked around. The desotion of the scene surrounding her deeply overwhelmed her.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there, but dusk had crept in without her realizing it. The setting sun cast a soft golden hue over the ruins, and the evening breeze, carrying a faint chill, brushed against her. She wrapped her arms around her bare arms for warmth, watching as the shadows cast by the standing remnants of the walls stretched longer and darker across the ground. A long-tailed lizard darted through the vines, and the roses among the wild grass trembled under the evening breeze.

  As she watched, a thought arose unbidden, and she remembered two lines of poetry she had once read:

  "So here once bloomed a riot of purple and crimson,

  And now, all is given to broken wells and crumbling walls..."

  A sudden, inexplicable wave of heat surged into her eyes, and her vision blurred. She began to imagine—imagine the joy that once filled this house, the ughter that echoed through its halls, and… the love that once lived here.

  Her imagination became so vivid, so real, that it seemed as if she could see it all unfold: a story, a forgotten story buried in time. She could almost believe in its reality, could see the lives of the man and woman who had lived here—their love, their pain, their struggles, their tears, their misunderstandings, and their explosive emotions...

  Tears slid down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and, unable to control herself, let out a long, deep sigh.

  Suddenly, she was startled by the sound of a man’s voice. Opening her eyes, she turned toward the source of the sound and was shocked beyond measure. There, in the shadow of the broken walls and rubble, a man was slowly rising to his feet.

  She was so stunned, so taken aback, that she almost screamed aloud. She had never noticed, until now, that there was someone else here. And this person had clearly arrived before her, silently crouched in the corner of the wall like a ghost.

  She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, stifling the cry that almost escaped. Her eyes widened as she stared at the man. The man stepped out of the shadow, holding a cane in one hand, while the other hand supported himself against the wall, facing her.