Ancient Chinese invented solar terms by meticulously observing the natural world in relation to solar movements. Even today, farmers in different parts of China rely on them to guide their agricultural practices throughout the year. While this story is fictional, it incorporates some elements that deviate from traditional Chinese customs. The story is for the season of spring, which has now fully blossomed. It consists of six parts, each named after one of the spring solar terms, namely Beginning of Spring, Rain Water, Awakening of Insects, Spring Equinox, Pure and Bright, and Grain Rain. I hope you enjoy the last one of the Spring solar terms and the last entry for Spring.

Spring VI: Bright and Clear

In Chinese, “Qing” meant clear, and “Ming” meant bright, a perfect name for a typical spring

day. But as the only solar term doubled as a holiday, Qing Ming far transcended just the day

when the sun crossed the celestial longitude of 15°. It was the day for the dead. The living

flocked to graveyards to pay respects to their departed loved ones. Unbeknownst to them, they

were not alone. On Qing Ming, the dead returned to the living world, reuniting with their

descendants and participating in the liveliest events ever witnessed in a cemetery, celebrating

love, life, and legacy. Qing Ming protected the dead from all forces that threatened their fragile

existence, the Yang, the monsters, and whatever it was that drove them insane. They walked

among the living, felt their presence, and restored a year’s memories to live their lives

underground.

Memory was crucial for successfully sending dreams, since for most people, it was the

foundation for imagination. Gu was one of the most skilled dream senders, with a magnificent

imagination that surpassed the limitations of his very young memories. Sending a message

through a dream was no science and often resulted in confusion, if not sheer failure. Even

conjuring an image to be sent was a challenge for many of the dead, whose memories were too

choppy and bland to make an impact. In contrast, Gu focused on the recipient of the dream

rather than the message. He recalled his target by their quirks and imagined them in motion,

creating such detailed and lifelike visions that it was almost as if he were the dreamer. He often

didn’t even have a message in mind before he started, yet somehow he always managed to get

his point across. Gu was eager to teach the boy. They were going to have so much fun with

dreams.

“Think of your mother in the kitchen, her back facing you, slightly hunched. She is cracking eggs

into a bowl. She seems in a hurry, because the oil in the pan has already started to smoke. She

still needs to whisk the eggs before pouring them into the hot oil, which will splatter, and she

hates that. She is onto her last egg now. Call her attention. She says, “One minute!”. Call her

mom. Tell her that you want the egg. Tell her you are running out of time.” Gu paused, for Kai

squinted his eyes in distaste.

“That was mean. I just died. Also,” Kai enunciated, “my mom doesn’t cook.”

Gu only wanted the boy to elucidate his urgent need for an egg. But before he could explain,

Kai’s gaze drifted away. He was imagining.

The next day, Kai’ mother arrived with a basket of eggs. They were both excited, Kai at the trick,

and Gu at the boy’s natural talent. After Kai‘s mother left, Gu picked out an egg and carefully

placed it on top of Kai’s headstone, positioning the rounded end downwards. It took a few

attempts, but eventually, he found a small flat surface on the shell that allowed the egg to

balance securely on the headstone. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, Gu couldn’t help but

think of his young master. Together they used to do all the egg tricks. He missed him.

Kai was still sniffing from his mother’s earlier visit. But he felt a lot better. Just yesterday, his

chest bore such a weight it pained him. When he finally managed to shake it off, he then was

overcome with fear, that he was trapped here forever, invisible, unheard, and eventually

forgotten once his mother stopped visiting. He was still upset, but he felt less desperate.

Kai stared at the egg. He thought it was a joke. It was really just an egg standing upright, more

foolish than his truck. Puzzled, he glanced at Gu, who appeared lost in his own thoughts. A

playful vengeance sneaked on Kai. He grabbed the egg and threw it at Gu. To his surprise, the

egg passed through Gu’s body and shattered on the tombstone behind him. Gu snapped out of

his reverie and realized that the egg had splattered on Major Zhao’s headstone. He giggled at the

thought of how angry Major Zhao would be if he saw it and approached Kai with a grin.

An egg fight erupted. Kai swiftly evaded the flying egg, running and ducking while letting out a

string of screams. But he soon realized it was unnecessary. He could run through anything. To

his relief, he still had his sense of touch. He ran his fingers across the surface of a headstone,

feeling its coolness.

“Isn’t it amazing？” Gu shouted from afar. Kai turned around. Before he could react, an egg

smacked into his face. It pierced through his left eye and shattered behind his ear. The crisp and

loud crack was what Kai needed to snap out of his melancholy. The two darted between and over

the gravestones, taking turns pursuing each other. Kai thought he would inform his mother

through a dream that he had got company.

Using puddled rainwater, Gu wiped the egg off tombstones while Kai lay on his back, limbs

wildly stretched, pulling young grass from the ground with one hand. Gu stole a glance at the

boy and was astonished to see blades of grass sprouting from Kai’s stomach. He blinked and

looked again, but the grass was gone. Kai opened his eyes and caught Gu’s gaze, who averted

quickly. “Maybe we should leave.” Gu murmured. Kai returned to his previous position and

replied with a lazy sigh, “Whatever you want”

The next day, Kai’s mother didn’t show up, but he seemed fine. The boys continued their wild

chase. Once, Kai ventured too far beyond the graveyard borders and nearly collapsed from the

lack of Yin. To Gu’s concern, the boy seemed to be fading away at an alarming pace. Many times

Gu struggled to keep up with Kai, only to discover that he was merely a few feet ahead, each time

more blended into his surroundings. At night they lay next to each other. Gu rambled about

Qing Ming, the dog that almost talked to him, the flowers he received last year. Then he turned

to Kai, who had dozed off. It was hard to trace the outline of Kai’s chest, the rise and fall of his

breathing almost imperceptible. Gu knew that the boy wouldn’t last here. He would soon vanish

and never make it down. Gu woke him up.

“Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“To your new home. In another world.”