Ten years after my death, the young crown prince had grown up. Clutching my memorial tablet, he announced that he wanted to marry me.
His father beat him to tears with a court memorial.
The august emperor roared, “Wake up! She’s dead!”
You’re the dead one. Your whole family is dead.
I drifted back and forth, then kicked over his most treasured seal.
It landed with a clack, stamping half an impression onto the memorial—right where my name appeared.
Ruiniang.
The crown prince held up the memorial. The tears on his cheeks had not even dried, yet he was laughing and crying all at once. “Ruiniang! Look, Father, it’s Ruiniang! She’s still alive. She’s still alive!”
The emperor was plainly startled, but did his best to look composed. “Nonsense! I simply lost my grip on the seal!”
I kicked it again. The seal that had just settled flat went rolling across the desk and stamped half a crimson impression onto his dragon robe.
Ruiniang.
The emperor panicked and bolted for the door. Halfway there, he remembered something, ran back, and grabbed the crown prince by the nape.
At least he had some paternal feeling. He knew enough to take his son when he fled.
“Guards! There’s a ghost!” he shouted.
The crown prince, meanwhile, was sobbing as he cried into the empty air, “Ruiniang, is that you? You’ve come back, haven’t you?”
Even in tears, he held my memorial tablet tight against his chest.
I looked at him fondly and reached out to wipe his tears, only for my fingers to pass through empty space.
My fingertips felt hollow. My heart ached a little.
Of course. I was a ghost. I could not touch the living; only the things of the dead would answer me.
