In the peach blossom city, where petals whisper secrets, stands a solitary peach tree. Its branches, like arched bridges, lead to a hidden garden—a realm where time dances with the wind. Within this haven, the Peach Blossom Fairy tends her tree. She plants hope in the soil, watered by moonlight, and harvests fragrant blossoms. Each petal, a sip of wine, intoxicates her senses. Yet sobriety finds her, perched alone among the blooms. Drunk on solitude, she rests beneath the floral canopy. Half- awake, half- dreaming, she witnesses seasons unfold—the fallen petals, silent witnesses to eternity. “Better to age with wine and blossoms, ” she muses, “than to bow before fate’s chariot. ” Her pleasures are not gold or silver, but the dust kicked up by hooves—the imprint of existence. And I, a wanderer of humble means, raise my cup to her. Poverty, my companion, offers its own vintage: wine and blossoms, a bittersweet symphony. We compare wealth to the sky, and mediocrity to chariots. While the world hurries, we linger, savoring life’s leisurely pace. The one who departed—did they laugh at my folly? The wind roared, but I laughed louder. They see no hero’s grave, no grandeur—only fields plowed by forgotten hands. So let the peach blossoms fall, let the wine flow. In this fleeting dance, we find our truth—a cup raised to the wind, a heart unburdened. And so we bloom, ephemeral and wild, in the peach blossom city. 🍑🌸🌿 detail eyes, magic eyes, de01