Time heals all wounds.
But why does Weizhen fail to heal?
He ponders this listless as the haitang flowers trickle down from wiry branches. The sky is clear, sun bright. An aromatic mix of floral and herbal scents delights his senses. Summer is just around the corner, a subtle warmth having swept through the land and yet Weizhen feels oddly listless.
Defeated.
A persistent melancholy that hangs ceaselessly.
It haunts him every day, around every corner.
Weizhen's courtyard is of peak aestheticism. There's a koi fish pond resting beneath the painted beams of a quaint pavilion and a delicate wooden bridge that parts the tranquil waters and leads him back to his study.
It's a place of serenity, carefully tended to by the flock of servants at his attendance. Weizhen rests against silk pillows and closes his eyes, trying to listen to the sound of bird song.
