Мечта Цзяншаня

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"Ghosts, huh? Well then, I'll let you see more of them." The witch stared at him coldly with ill intent, silently chanting a spell. With a flick of her finger, she sent the spell flying towards him. "Dare to be rude to a witch? You impolite and ignorant fellow, it'll be time to broaden your horizons."

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [12]: As I expected, in no time, the reckless man who didn't know the immensity of heaven and earth looked around, his face filled with fear, and he started to wail and howl, shouting "Ghost!" as he stumbled out of the dance hall, with two companions chasing after him.

Holding my orange juice, I returned to my seat in a cheerful mood. It was just a small punishment, nothing more than one night. Butterfly was already dancing on the dance floor, her partner the handsome man I'd seen earlier. As she twirled, her white dress billowed in a beautiful arc, like a white lotus blooming in the dark night. I could almost see the smile on her face. Tonight, the witch seemed more like a savior of good and evil, I thought to myself with a self-deprecating smile.

When the song ended, Die'er returned to her seat to rest. Her forehead was glistening with sweat, and the corners of her mouth were upturned, revealing her undisguised joy.

"Butterfly, you danced very well."

Butterfly lowered her eyes, looking somewhat dejected: "It's a pity that miracles only last until midnight." I couldn't help but burst into laughter. Greed, that's human nature; we're never satisfied.

Die'er felt a little ashamed after I laughed at her, and looked up at herself with a self-deprecating smile, "Am I too greedy? Angel, do you know that I used to be a regular at dance halls? I loved to dance and loved to twirl on the dance floor and be the center of attention. But ever since that car accident, my boyfriend abandoned me, and I have become an object of ridicule, pity, and sympathy."

She sighed softly, "Tonight's dance has helped me regain my confidence, as if I were still the confident, beautiful, and beloved Butterfly I used to be."

“But you are still you. If you are no longer you, it’s only because you think you are.” I said it in a slightly awkward way, but Die’er understood. She lowered her head and thought for a moment, then suddenly smiled: “You’re right, I am always me.”

The music started, and the same man from before invited Die'er to dance. She happily went to dance, fluttering gracefully on the dance floor like a beautiful white butterfly. She danced with such abandon, as if she were dancing with her very life, spinning and turning, gracefully retreating, as if flowing water. I watched Die'er quietly; she was so beautiful and dazzling, undoubtedly the focus of everyone on the dance floor.

I glanced at my watch; it was already 11:35. The song had ended, and Die'er came back to my side, wiping her sweat with a tissue while laughing and saying, "It's been almost two years since I last danced, and I'm almost rusty."

I praised her, "You danced very well; almost everyone here is watching you."

"Can we go outside the dance hall and I'll return the necklace to you then? Forgive me for being a little vain; I don't want to ruin this night." She hesitated.

I smiled and said, "Of course, but it has to be before 12 o'clock."

What time is it?

"It's almost 11:40," I reminded her.

Butterfly nodded: "Then let's go."

I was a little surprised: "There's still some time, don't you want to dance one more time?"

"I'm already content. Besides, I'll have to face disappointment sooner or later. It's better to face it sooner than later." She stood up and smiled calmly.

This butterfly is quite different. I admired her and got up to leave the noisy dance hall with her. The moment we stepped outside, a night breeze blew in, refreshing and comfortable. It seemed like we were in two different worlds. The butterfly took a deep breath, reached out and untied the chain, returning it to me: "Thank you, angel."

I took it and thought for a moment: "It's not an angel, it's a witch."

Butterfly paused for a moment, then smiled brightly: "To me, they are all the same. The one who gave me a miracle is an angel."

"Thank you for giving me such a beautiful night," she said sincerely again. Then she waved goodbye with a carefree air, and in the night, I watched her drag her limping leg further and further away, like a butterfly with injured wings, unable to fly again.

Just as I was about to leave, the dance hall door opened, and a man rushed out, standing anxiously looking around as he asked me, "Have you seen a woman in a white dress just coming out of the dance hall?"

So it was him? The handsome dance partner of Die'er from earlier. I hesitated for a moment, then pointed to the departing Die'er: "She's right there."

The man immediately looked over and scoffed disdainfully, "No, how could it be her? The woman I was talking about wasn't a cripple; she dances with the grace and beauty of a butterfly."

I burst out laughing: "What if she's lame?"

He paused, seemingly unsure how to answer me, and after a long while rolled his eyes at me: "Are you crazy? How could such a healthy and beautiful girl be a cripple?"

I shook my head and sighed. Perhaps he was right about one thing: compared to some people, Die'er was indeed healthy and beautiful, a truly rare woman. And he would never know what he had missed.

In the darkness, the witch walked home alone. The night breeze lifted her silk dress. The streets were deserted. Suddenly, her mood brightened. She hummed a song softly and danced with her shadow under the streetlights. One, two, three, one, two, three, spin, spin... Her skirt rippled in an arc, swirled, and gently fell, like a flower blooming and fading unseen in the night...

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [13]: On a rainy night, the witch found a coffee shop to kill time. Sitting on a comfortable fabric sofa, with a cup of fragrant latte and a laptop, the coffee shop was playing soft classic English songs. The witch calmed down and typed on the keyboard, writing her memoirs. One by one, the witch dug out seemingly plausible stories from her mind and posted them on a website called Lotus Ghost Stories. Seeing that no one took her stories seriously, the witch felt relieved and continued to dig out those old stories from hundreds of years ago.

Someone sat down opposite the witch. Without looking up, my fingers continued to nimbly tap the keyboard. "So she begged me: 'Give me beauty, and I'll pay any price...' That was a sure win for the witch, so after a moment's thought, I demanded a hefty price..."

The sound of a couple arguing interrupted my thoughts. I frowned slightly, picked up my cup, and took a sip of coffee. The coffee was already a bit cold. I softly chanted a spell, watching the wisps of steam rise from the cup, and then took a satisfied sip. Looking up, I saw that the couple were both around twenty years old, very young. Their argument grew louder and louder, attracting the attention of passersby. I heard the woman sob, "Go away, don't come looking for me." The man was stubborn; he actually abandoned the woman and left on his own.

The woman stood there, stunned, then rushed into the rain. Through the transparent glass of the cafe, I could see her getting soaked, running alone in the night, going in the opposite direction from the man, getting further and further away.

"When you're young, you always think you're right, but you don't realize what you've missed because of your stubbornness," the person opposite sighed.

The witch then noticed that the man sitting opposite her was a middle-aged man with a weathered face. She was deeply moved and replied, "That's right. It's a pity that once you miss it, you can't get it back."

The middle-aged man gazed at the rainy night outside for a long while before looking away, picking up his cup to take a sip of coffee, and looking at my laptop: "Still working so late?"

Looking at the screen full of words, I couldn't help but laugh: "No, I'm writing a story."

"What story?" he asked, intrigued.

I hesitated for a moment, then told him frankly, "It's a story about a witch."

He laughed too: "That's what you young people like. I'm old, I don't understand those things." I chuckled inwardly. A witch? A young person? She must be an immortal monster.

"And you? Are you waiting for someone at the coffee shop so late?"

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded: "You're right, I'm waiting for someone. I've been waiting for 15 years, and I'll continue to wait."

Who is it? Your lover?

"If you have time, I do have a story to tell you, and you can write it into your story if you're interested."

The witch's eyes lit up, and she replied, "Yes, I need more inspiration."

The middle-aged man coughed lightly and began to slowly narrate the story: "About 15 years ago, there was a young man named Lin Yiwen. His father passed away when he was young, and his mother raised him with great difficulty. He also worked hard and managed to get into university through part-time work. After graduating, he was assigned to work in a company. Through work, he met a girl named Shanshan. Shanshan was a beautiful and proud girl from a wealthy family. Her parents lived abroad, and she had many suitors. The first time he saw Shanshan among the crowd, he felt that he had fallen in love with that lively and lovely woman. But he dared not have any illusions and secretly kept his feelings to himself, only interacting with her as an ordinary friend."

He seemed lost in memories, a gentle expression on his face, as if he could see the young, beautiful woman who had once captivated his heart. I remained silent, waiting for him to continue his story. In truth, compared to the witch's life, his story might not have been particularly exciting, but somehow, the witch couldn't bear to interrupt a middle-aged man's beautiful recollections of the past.

“Sometimes he would go for coffee with Shanshan after finishing work. The more he saw her, the more wonderful things he discovered about her. So he would find all sorts of excuses to see Shanshan, but no matter how lame or flawed those excuses were, Shanshan would never expose him. She would always smile and go for coffee with him.” As he said this, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly, as if recalling the naivety and absurdity of his youth.

I interjected, "Then Shanshan must also like Lin Yiwen, otherwise she wouldn't go out for coffee with him so many times."

“You’re right. Shanshan and Lin Yiwen love each other, but one is insecure and the other is too proud. Neither of them is willing to confess their feelings to the other first. When they meet, they always pretend to be nonchalant, but every time they part ways and go home, Lin Yiwen hates himself for not being able to express his feelings to Shanshan.” There was some regret on his face.

"Love cannot be about too many considerations; love is love. If you think too much, you will be constrained by worldly conventions." Thinking of my hopeless love, a pang of bitterness flashed through my mind.

He gazed at me, and said with some understanding, "It seems you've been through this before, which is why you can say these things. Shanshan and Lin Yiwen maintained a superficial friendship, and then one day, Shanshan suddenly asked to meet him. It was raining that day too, and he arrived at the coffee shop with a feeling of unease, wondering what Shanshan wanted to say to him."

"Did Shanshan confess her feelings to him?" I asked curiously.

He gave a bitter smile: "When he arrived, he found Shanshan with a handsome man. Shanshan said she was getting married and was going abroad soon. At that moment, the world seemed to end. He wanted to cry in anguish, but he still forced a smile and kept saying congratulations." At this point, he sighed and looked out the window, looking somewhat lost in thought.

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [14]: "Why doesn't Lin Yiwen tell Shanshan he loves her and try to win her back?"

"It's probably out of inferiority complex."

As we were talking, the lights in the café flickered a few times, and I heard people exclaim in surprise. Then everything went dark—was there a power outage? But thankfully, the lights came back on immediately. When I looked up, I was stunned. Where had the middle-aged man across from me gone? Had I seen a ghost?

But looking around, I was immediately taken aback. All the sofas in the café had been replaced with wooden chairs. What was going on? I stood up, full of questions. Then, the name "Shanshan" reached my ears, and in a flash, I realized what was happening and looked towards the source of the voice.

There were three people sitting at the coffee table next to me. One of them, a man in a white shirt, said with an embarrassed expression, "Shanshan, congratulations."

The woman in the white dress must be Shanshan. Although she was pale, she was still beautiful: "Yiwen, I'm leaving tomorrow. I may settle abroad and live out my days there. Or I may come back."

Lin Yiwen forced a smile: "Shanshan, if you come back, you have to buy me coffee."

Shanshan lowered her eyes and said softly, "Of course. If I come back, I will definitely invite you here for coffee."

"I have to go now, Shanshan. I'm afraid I won't be able to see you off tomorrow. Have a safe journey!" Lin Yiwen stood up, maintaining his composure, and walked towards the door.

I seemed to understand that my appearance was meant to turn things around, and the witch had to do something to prevent any more regrets. I was about to call Lin Yiwen back as he walked out the door, but a soft "Cousin, are you sure this is the best choice?" startled me, and I stopped in my tracks.

Things didn't seem as simple as I thought. I looked anxiously at Shanshan, but she smiled faintly as she looked towards the door: "Should I tell him that my heart disease means I could die at any moment? I don't want him to live in fear of my life or death every day. I'd rather he be disappointed and regretful. Yiwen thinks I'm too proud. Yes, I am proud. I don't want to show him my sick and haggard side. I just want him to remember my good side."

The man sighed, "Cousin, so you'd rather go abroad for surgery, risking your life, and disappoint him with lies?"

Shanshan stared blankly at the rain outside the window, a touch of sadness in her eyes. "Those little disappointments will fade with time. He'll find another woman, start a new relationship, and forget me. Those are far less devastating than facing my death. For over a year, I've been afraid—afraid he'd tell me he loves me, afraid I'd do anything because of his words. But thankfully, he never told me because of his own insecurity. It's all fate, I suppose, to prevent me from making a mistake. This time, I'm going abroad for surgery, my life hanging in the balance. Maybe I'll die on the operating table. If I do, let him continue to misunderstand. If I'm lucky enough to survive, I'll come back and explain everything to him."

Looking at Shanshan's sorrowful and resigned expression, I realized that, compared to what Lin Yiwen thought, Shanshan loved more deeply—to the point of concealing her feelings, to the point of being willing to let the other person misunderstand her. But was what she did right? Or wrong? In that instant, I was suddenly confused.

The lights flickered, and I blinked, realizing I was sitting on the sofa again. The middle-aged man opposite me was still talking: "The year after Shanshan left, I got married, then divorced. That's when I realized that the only person I ever truly loved was Shanshan. Later, I bought this coffee shop, hoping that one day Shanshan would come back." He paused, a hint of regret in his voice: "But all these years, I haven't heard a word from Shanshan. Perhaps she's living a happy life and has forgotten about me, this nobody. But I always hold onto a sliver of hope, thinking that one day she'll push open the door of the coffee shop and greet me with a smile."

The truth was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back. That time rewind was meant to tell me the truth, to let me tell Lin Yiwen everything, so he wouldn't have to wait with illusions. But looking at Lin Yiwen's expression, I suddenly decided to keep everything to myself. Letting him have hope might not be a bad thing. What's truly terrible is living without hope. At least he still has a beautiful dream, so let him continue dreaming that dream.

"Just a feeling I have: would you love me again..." The music in the coffee shop softly recounted a past event. The middle-aged man listened intently, paused for a moment, and then gave me an apologetic smile: "Have I bored you by talking about the past for so long?"

I shook my head: "No, it's a good topic, I'll write it into the story."

The middle-aged man got up and went to the counter. I picked up my coffee, and for some reason, a tear fell into it. The once fragrant coffee suddenly became impossible to drink. The witch quietly wiped away her tears and started a new story on her computer, titled "Waiting."

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [15]: Reincarnation is a very strange thing. After drinking the Meng Po soup, one forgets the past life and starts a new life as a human. The witch does not need to go through reincarnation and is immortal. But in the quiet of the night, she may wonder if her choice was right or wrong?

I carefully arranged the bouquets, trimming away any excess leaves. The little flower shop was filled with a delicate fragrance. The beautiful flowers sat there quietly, hoping someone would appreciate their final, exquisite beauty. The doorbell rang softly. I stood up and saw a lovely, smiling face, peering curiously through the glass door. Her clear, bright eyes were as captivating as pearls.

I smiled and waved to her. She hesitated for a moment, then pushed open the door and slowly walked in. She looked no more than six or seven years old, with two thin braids, wearing a pink sundress that revealed her delicate pink arms. She was incredibly cute.

"You like flowers?" I crouched down and asked her kindly.

The little girl blinked her bright eyes, nodded, and said enviously, "These flowers are so beautiful, Auntie, you must be very happy staying here."

I paused, stunned by her words. Happiness? That was a word I hadn't heard in a long time. My past happiness was like a flower blooming for a fleeting moment, then withering away in the blink of an eye. Compared to the witch's life, it was even shorter than fireworks in the night sky.

A pair of warm little hands stroked my cheek, and I realized that tears had been rolling down my cheeks without my noticing. It happened hundreds of years ago, but for some reason, it's still so vivid in my mind. I remember the focused look on his face as he spoke, how gently he brushed the dust off my skirt, how he risked his life to climb steep cliffs just to gather the herbs I needed…

He would listen to me recount my past in detail, to hear my grievances, and he would simply smile tolerantly at my grand dreams. He wasn't one for sweet talk; his most frequent questions were, "Xiao Luo, are you full?" and "Xiao Luo, are you cold?" Unlike others, he wasn't afraid of me or avoided me. When I was surrounded by a crowd, he would extend his arm to shield me. At that moment, he seemed tall and awe-inspiring, like a god. Perhaps it was then that the witch's heart completely fell for him.

The witch could have cultivated herself into an immortal, becoming another myth passed down among mortals. But I committed a grave transgression, falling in love with him for his words, "Xiao Luo, I love seeing you smile." And so I willingly drifted through the mortal world. Thinking of the past fills me with sorrow. As I lower my head, tears stream down my face, staining a small patch of my skirt.

The little girl looked at me curiously. I hurriedly wiped away my tears and forced a smile, saying, "Here, Auntie will give you a flower." I took a pink, budding, long-stemmed rose from the bucket of roses. Unexpectedly, as soon as I touched the stem, I felt my finger being pricked hard. I cried out, and the rose fell to the ground, a drop of blood seeping from my finger.

It didn't seem like a good omen. I frowned, wiped away the bloodstains with a handkerchief, and then used scissors to remove the thorns from the rose before handing it to the little girl: "What's your name?"

"Qianqian, Mom and Dad call me Little Princess, Grandma calls me Sweetheart, and Uncle Mingran calls me Little Witch." She excitedly told me all the names she was given, counting them off on her fingers.

She's so cute, I couldn't help but laugh: "My name is He Xiaoluo, so we're friends now. This flower is for you."

She carefully took it, seemingly somewhat dissatisfied, "Aunt Luo, I want a blooming flower."

This was a piece of cake for the witch. I gently blew on the flower bud, and the pink rose slowly unfurled its delicate petals, releasing a sweet fragrance. Qianqian's eyes widened as she looked incredulously at the flower and then at me: "Wow, Aunt Luo, you know magic! Can you teach me?"