Crocodile Tears

Ch. 2: To Dare to Dream of Love

We listen to only what we believe in.

I was rushed home without another word, more amused than concerned. The diviner must have been truly from a foreign place, mistaking the word princess and countess to be the same. I was near sure my uncle would point out the glaring error and sooth my aunt. Admittedly, he was worrisome at times, but he viewed everything from the perspective of logic.

I was gravely mistaken. When I told him of our encounters during supper, I was instead banned from stepping outside the house until the three days were up.

Their attitude towards the engagement took a complete swing. It suddenly became as if I had to wed Brother Liu or the course of my life would turn towards hell.

I played along, helping with various house chores and catching up on reading rather than heading out. After all, it was three days of not having to plaster a fake smile onto my face and engage in small talk. With Brother Liu watching over the apothecary, I wouldn't have gotten any work done anyways. Plus, it was but three days, hardly a lifetime.

Judging from how two uneventful days had already passed without fault, I could sense the tensions gradually waning.

Then, the third day arrived. Before the crack of dawn, we were up and about. My thrifty aunt put on her newest gown, and my punctual uncle delayed heading off to work.

They were sure to be here soon, as morning signified a new beginning, more than fitting for a soon-to-be couple. So we waited....and waited. The tea I prepared lost its warmth. My uncle rushed off for work, concerned that his supervisor would find fault with him if he arrived too late. And I grabbed something to read from the desk as my aunt commented on every motion from the streets to distract herself from her anxiety.

"YouShi dear, I'm sure they're just a bit delayed. You see, sometimes small issues arise..." my aunt started muttering to me. She was trying to comfort me, but she was the one who needed the peace of mind. "No, not issues. Why would I say issues—There are none. I meant like they might have worn the wrong clothes—Wrong isn't a good word either."

I took her hands into mine, slightly shocked at how icy and sticky they were. It was a well-known fact in my household that she was akin to a furnace, both in personality and physicality. If the firewood was dying off, huddle next to her, and you will still be warmed up. Within a few moments, she took her hands back, wiping the sweat on the back of her dress. The wind blew open a window with a creak, and she jumped. Ever since the encounter with the strange fortune teller, her nerves have stood on end.

"I'll be all right," I said. Perhaps I should have had more emotion, but I felt nothing, as if I wasn't the one being wed.

She paced around the room, sat down, stood up, and circled some more before finally deciding to act. The whole time, I was a bit distracted by the Han poetry book in my hand. "Wait here, and I'll be right back." Before I could look up, she had already left, too rushed to put on her veil.

I turned the page to find the famous love poem Till White Hair, a verse so beautiful yet surreal.

Sigh follows sigh, in mismatched marriage is no need to cry.

But if to win a single heart, till white hair shall not part.

As I read over the lines again, this familiar verse suddenly became alien. When I first learned to read, my uncle taught me modern poems, but I never took an interest in those flowery praises of silky dresses and blooming flowers. So he took a different approach, handing me a book of ancient Han texts that he salvaged from the scripture office, and this one just happened to be the first that stuck.

At that time, an old widow was living across from us. She was a watchful one, always wearing the newest dresses and perfectly styling her snow-white hair. As a child, I've always longed for her life since she never had to worry about food or money and could go as she pleased. Sometimes, when she was in a good mood, she would even gift me with a red bean pastry.

I was afraid of forgetting the lines I memorized, so all day long, I would recite it. One day, she must have heard me because she started crying, her face all scrunched up as tears rolled down her cheeks.

I told her not to cry and that the poem said she shouldn't. She only shook her head. "You don't understand. You don't understand," she sobbed, slumping onto the stone stairs in front of her door. I stood there, not knowing how to comfort her as she cried softly to herself.

Years later, I was surprised to find a servant calling me to her deathbed. Of the many people bustling around her mansion, I was the one to accompany her at the very end. "Till white hair shall not part. In the next life, we'll never part," she coughed. I listened without speaking, as I had done so many years ago. Suddenly, as if remembering my presence, she grabbed my wrist, murmuring lightly, "Don't lose that single heart. I... I thought I could forget, but it still haunts me till now. Promise me that when you find your destined one, you'll never lose that single heart."

Not knowing quite how to respond, I nodded.

"You may go now," she smiled, and it lit up her face in a youthful way none of her jewelry could. It was the first time I had ever seen that expression on her. That night, she died alone.

At her funeral, her elderly maid told me her story. When she was younger, she fell in love with a poor merchant. But her family, disproving the mismatched social class, told her to marry an official instead. She lived a life of riches, without a child of her own, trapped by her memories and regret.

Thinking of it now, I had broken my promise to her. Till white hair. Who shall I weep for when I haven't won a single heart nor lost mine? She could look forward to the afterlife where she could reunite with her loved one. At my deathbed, the moments would form just another shadow of a life. There would be no one for me to even forget.

No, I would have the memories of all those I saved with my medicine, a much more valuable matter.

Just then, my aunt slipped back into the room, and the disposition she left with earlier was gone. Without warning, she embraced me, hot tears spilling onto my new dress. "Oh my poor, poor darling, why are the Heavens so unkind to you?" Whether my heart sank or my spirits were freed, I do not know.