Da Tang Si Zi: My Six Super Rich Little Nuggets!

Chapter 401 Pear Blossoms Fall at Zhaoling, Flowers Bloom on the Liao River

The pear blossoms at Zhaoling Mausoleum bloomed earlier than usual this year. A gust of wind sent petals fluttering down onto the stone steps, like someone gently knocking on the door. The old eunuch guarding the gate listened intently, as if he could hear that soft "Yes, yeah" again. But looking up, all he saw was a sky full of pure white blossoms.

In the twenty-third year of the Zhenguan era, Princess Jinyang, Li Mingda, died in the palace at the young age of twelve. The emperor and empress were deeply grieved and she was buried in Zhaoling, alongside her mother.

Thirteen hundred years later, in Lianzhucun Village on the Liaohe Plain, a baby's cry pierced the spring mist. Old Liu held his newborn granddaughter, his withered hands stroking the shallow dimple on the child's left cheek, when suddenly his heart trembled: "This child... is like she stepped out of a painting."

The baby girl was named Zhenning.

When Zhenning was three years old, her grandmother dragged an old spinning wheel out of the storeroom. The wheel creaked and turned, and she froze, reaching out her little hand to touch the faded wooden wheel, uttering a single, indistinct word: "Mother..."

Grandma dismissed it as childish talk and laughed, "Little girl, do you miss your mother? I'll go to the city to buy you some floral fabric."

Zhenning, however, lay on the spinning wheel and suddenly burst into tears, tears streaming down her face. No one knew that at that moment, her mind was filled with images of pear blossoms at Taiji Palace, her father's dragon robe, and the warmth of her mother combing her hair for the last time.

At the age of twelve, fate once again cut short her childhood.

Her father, Liu Wang, fell to his death at a construction site, and her mother fell seriously ill. That day, Zhenning knelt before her mother's bed, just as she had knelt before Zhaoling a thousand years ago, and whispered, "In this life, it's my turn to protect you."

From then on, a small, thin figure appeared on the banks of the Liao River:

At four in the morning, she stepped into the fields, her feet wet with dew, and carried the first load of water home.

When the sun was scorching, she would fan her mother with her tattered straw hat, and while fanning herself, she would fall asleep.

At night, her mother coughed up blood. She carried her mother, who weighed 20 pounds more than herself, barefoot across the cornfield to knock on the door of Uncle Zhao, the only person in the village with a car.

In April 2018, Lianzhucun was hit by a sudden rainstorm.

Zhenning was painting her son's wedding room when her mother was bent over in pain by the stove.

"Stomach bleeding; any later and it would have been too late." Under the incandescent lights of the city hospital, the doctor's words were as cold as ice.

Clutching the payment slip, she paced back and forth in the hallway twice before pulling out her phone.

"Let's postpone the wedding... my mother's illness comes first."

Nine days later, her mother was discharged from the hospital. She was so thin that her cheekbones were high, but she still carried her mother onto the car, as if carrying the moonlight of the entire Tang Dynasty.

In 2021, Zhenning was elected as a member of the village committee.

The wind at the epidemic prevention checkpoint brought tears to her eyes; but as soon as she turned around, she carried the oxygen bag to her mother's bedside.

At midnight, she was entering poverty alleviation forms into her computer when her mother reached for a glass of warm water and handed her.

She took it and suddenly remembered the last time she ground ink for her father in her past life—the fragrance of the ink and the warm water were both scalding hot.

This year during the Qingming Festival, she repaired the old house and moved the old spinning wheel to the center of the main room.

The little granddaughter ran around the car, asking, "Grandma, what's this?"

She sat down, her foot stomping lightly, making a creaking sound—

The cotton thread between her fingers was snow-white, like the pear blossoms at Taiji Palace that year.

"This is what my grandmother's mother from her previous life left to me."

The little granddaughter blinked: "Then where is Mommy?"

Zhenning looked up and saw pear blossoms falling like snow outside the window.

"She has always been there, in the wind, in the thread, in the smiles of you and me."

As night deepened, the spinning wheel fell silent. Zhenning, carrying an oil lamp, went to her mother's bedside and tucked the old woman in.

The mother asked vaguely, "Daughter, are you tired?"

Just like a thousand years ago, she pressed her face against her mother's palm and gently rubbed it:

"With Mother here, Zhenning is not tired."

The wick popped open with a "pop".

In a daze, she seemed to see the moon over Chang'an again, shining on a person in a dragon robe reaching out in the distance—

“Sizi, come here.”

With tears in her eyes, she quietly responded:

"Grandpa, in this life, I have taken good care of Mother."