Delicate water lilies glow in red,
The reeds stand silent by the marsh’s edge.
A sorrowful west wind sighs through misty haze,
And scattered rain descends in fleeting sprays.
Midsummer was gradually drawing to a close. Life at Anle Palace continued in its well-worn groove; since the affairs at the Imperial College had concluded, they had enjoyed a rare period of tranquility. Jiang Cangyue was no longer busy watering flowers or feeding rabbits, primarily because the flowers were gone. Tingwu had filled every inch of the palace courtyard with green onions. In square wooden boxes, each about half a person high, he had planted over a dozen batches, three rows of onions in each, leaving Anle Palace a sea of vibrant green.
Jiang Cangyue now found it hard to keep up with the harvest. The tallest stalks grew a head taller than she was, and having to cut them down and tie them into bundles felt somewhat absurd. Tingwu had taken the harvested onions to a stall in Bianjing to sell them for breakfast.
Chapter 70