The Wulingnuo flower fields spread out before us, hundreds of acres of tulips, lavender, and galsang flowers cut into three massive ribbons of color.
The wind poured in from the far end of the field, and purple and golden petals tumbled across the ridges. I changed into a jet-black maxi skirt. She changed into a moon-white maxi skirt.
She grabbed the hem of her moon-white skirt and hiked it up to her waist, glancing back at me. "Sister, hurry up. At your speed, the flowers will be dead before you even get there."
"You're running so fast the butterflies are too terrified to pollinate. If this field goes barren next year, that's on you." Tsukago was already running into the galsang field.
In the direction she ran, a cluster of white butterflies startled up from the flower hearts, their wings beating as they scattered above her head, like a small cloud shredded by the wind.
She spun in a circle in the middle of the field. "Sister, the flowers are taller than people."
[chat] Flower sea
[chat] Daughter is running through the flowers
[chat] The butterflies got startled up
[chat] This is so beautiful ✨
I walked deeper along the field path. At the end of the path was a cluster of purple tulips, dew still clinging to the petals. The sunlight passed through the petals and turned the dew drops into transparent amber.
I crouched down and moved my phone lens close to a purple tulip. The petal's edge had a small notch bitten by an insect, and a dew drop was caught exactly in that notch.
At the other end of the field, an old farmer was crouched on a ridge pulling weeds. He wore a dark gray jacket, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. The hoe rose and fell in a steady rhythm.The blade cut into the soil with a dull thud, and the uprooted weeds were tossed onto the ridge in a small pile.
I stood up and walked toward him. Tsukago also ran over from the flower field, still clutching a galsang stem in her hand.
"Sir, how many years has this flower field been planted." The old farmer lifted his head and wiped the sweat off his chin with his sleeve.
"Three years. Before this, we grew wheat. Made three hundred yuan an acre. Now we grow flowers, and the subsidy is five hundred an acre." He rested the hoe on the ground and rubbed the back of his hand against the handle.
"Flowers can't be eaten. They're pretty, but you can't eat them. Last year the company that bought the flowers went under. The flowers rotted in the fields. The five hundred subsidy comes from the government. No one knows how many more years it'll last."
He bent back down and kept pulling weeds. The hoe blade sliced through the soil, cutting a newly sprouted weed in half. The leaves flipped over onto the ridge.
Tsukago tucked the galsang stem behind her ear, the pink-purple petals pressed against the curve of her ear. She looked at the fallen weed beneath the old farmer's hoe.
"Sir, lots of things can't be eaten. Roses can't be eaten. Diamond rings can't be eaten. Marriage certificates can't be eaten either. But all those things sell for more than wheat."
The old farmer looked at her, his gaze pausing on the galsang flower before moving to her face. The hoe loosened in his grip, the handle resting against his shoulder.
"Pretty. The little miss is prettier than the flowers."
——They planted hundreds of acres with things you can't eat, because the things you can eat can no longer keep farmers alive.
I continued walking along the path. A blue butterfly flew out from the lavender and circled around me. Its wings gleamed with a metallic blue sheen in the sunlight, its flight path erratic, dipping and rising.
I stopped walking. It stopped too, landing on the back of my hand. Its wings folded and spread. Folded, they were gray-brown. Spread, they were blue. I raised my phone, and Tsukago came running over from the field. She stood on her tiptoes and tucked a galsang stem into my hair, her fingertips still resting on the petals.
The butterfly did not fly away. I pressed the shutter.
The butterfly flew off. It sprang from my hand, its wings beating twice before it melted into the lavender, impossible to tell apart from all the others.
Tsukago leaned against me, her chin on my shoulder. The galsang tucked behind her ear brushed against my earring. I turned the phone screen toward her.In the image, her fingertips rested on the petal, and the butterfly had just spread its blue wings.
"Keep this one. This girl ran across half the flower field just to find a stem the bugs hadn't bitten." She took the galsang from behind her ear and placed it in my palm.
💬 Daughter in the flower field looks like a flower fairy
💬 A butterfly landed on wifey's hand
💬 That selfie is incredible
💬 The moment daughter tucked in the flower was so gentle
I tucked the galsang into my phone case. A small section of petal stuck out from the edge of the case, pink-purple, faintly translucent in the light.
The Bluetooth speaker sat on the wooden chair at the entrance to the flower field. I pressed play, and the music beat thumped out of the speaker, the drums dense and crisp, bouncing across the sky above the flower field.A few more butterflies startled up from the lavender and flew toward the galsang field.
I walked to the ridge line where the lavender and galsang met. Tsukago followed. We stood facing each other and, with the drumbeat, began to rotate our hips in sync.
The drums accelerated. I opened my knees outward and sat down onto the petals. The flower stems bent beneath me, springing back and scattering pollen into the air. Core engaged, my pelvis bounced up from the ground.
Tsukago mirrored the movement from the opposite side. The light through the flower field passed through the stems and cast our two shadows onto the blossoms.
We transitioned into a body wave from hips to chest. Hips, belly, chest, shoulders pushed upward segment by segment. The wave completed.Our movements were perfectly synchronized, like two flower stems bent by the same gust of wind, springing back together.
[chat] Their synchronization is unreal 👏
[chat] Sisters dancing together in the flower field
[chat] Core strength is incredible
The final drumbeat fell, and the music stopped. The butterflies did not return. The pollen stirred up by the dance drifted in the sunlight, a small glowing mist slowly settling.
The bent stems were gradually springing back upright, a few dew drops knocked loose from our clothes still caught in the flower hearts.
Tsukago bent down and picked up a galsang stem that had been snapped off and fallen onto the ridge. She placed it on the wooden chair. A tiny bead of sap seeped from the broken end and clung to her fingertip.
The old farmer stood on the ridge leaning on his hoe, looking toward where we had been dancing. The blade of his hoe still held the uprooted weeds, the leaves already wilted, drooping softly against the metal.
A stretch of gravel road still lay between us and the exit from the flower field. Tsukago got into the cherry-blossom pink sports car and pressed the jump button. The chassis bounced up and settled back down.
She reached her hand out the window and gestured toward me. I leaned against the door of the obsidian black car and watched her play, the headlights flipping up and flashing twice.
I pulled the door open and got in. The engine started, the dashboard screen lit up. The gravel road crunched beneath the wheels, and in the rearview mirror the flower field slowly shrank.
That blue butterfly did not appear again. The old farmer still stood on the ridge, his hoe resting by his feet. In the distance, the boundary line between the lavender and the galsang swayed gently in the wind.