"I remember the day you were born, during that terrible drought year. Nothing would grow in our fields; the earth was cracked and dying. But right outside our door, a single red poppy pushed through that unforgiving soil. It bloomed the very morning you arrived—small but fierce, refusing to bend even in that blistering heat. Your mother said it was a sign, and she was right. You've grown into someone who faces every challenge with that same quiet strength, bringing beauty and hope even in the darkest times."
Li Hua smiled brightly and hugged her father's arm, a rare display of affection that made both her parents' eyes widen slightly. "Thank you, Bàba." The words carried more weight than usual, filled with gratitude not just for the name's meaning, but for everything—this peaceful life, this loving family, this second chance she'd been given.
