The Flower-Seed and the Flower

Hamel 黄婉歆230110127

There were no flowers in Blacksand Hollow. Only an endless desert and the stubborn poplar forests that grew within it. People called it a cursed land, where even birds refused to linger. But Ning Yibu had known since childhood that the duty of a Flower-Seed was to leave home, to plant blossoms in foreign soil, and one day, bring spring back to this barren land.

At nine years old, he set out alone, a bag of seeds slung over his shoulder. Ten years passed. He lingered in many places, learning languages, reading books, but never staying long—until he opened a small flower shop in the Holy City and grew the most vibrant blooms on the street.

Then one day, the wind chime rang, and a boy stepped inside.

“Such beautiful flowers!”

Ning Yibu looked up, and his pruning shears clattered to the floor. The boy’s eyes—they were so much like those of the Sacred Lord of Blacksand Hollow.

Later, he learned the boy’s name was Chuan, the Holy City’s most beloved young leader. Kind, gentle, yet unaware of his true origins. Ning Yibu did not tell him immediately. Instead, he became his friend, weaving stories of Blacksand Hollow into their conversations—how its sands shimmered like obsidian under moonlight, how its poplars lived a thousand years without dying, yet never bore a single flower.

“Why do you always move?” Chuan asked one day, fingers brushing the petals of a bluebell.

Ning Yibu’s hands stilled. “Because a Flower-Seed cannot take root in one place for too long.”

Chuan fell silent, thoughtful.

In the third summer, the Holy City faced a drought unlike any in a century. Ning Yibu’s flowers withered one by one, their yellowed leaves like the poplars of his homeland. Worse still, whispers spread—that the famine was a curse brought by someone from Blacksand Hollow.

On a night, as Ning Yibu counted his last seeds in the cellar, shouts erupted outside. He rushed out to see an angry mob, torches raised, screaming for the execution of “the outsider who brought the curse.”

“They’ve taken Young Master Chuan!” a trembling baker’s wife gasped. “They say... they saw the mark of Blacksand Hollow on his arm.”

Ning Yibu’s heart sank.

When he slipped into the dungeon, Chuan was drawing flowers on the wall by the pale moonlight through the bars.

“My lord, come home with me,” Ning Yibu urged, knocking out the guard and unfurling an escape plan.

But Chuan shook his head. “I’ve found a hidden store of grain. It will last until the rains come.” He paused. “Take these seeds back to Blacksand Hollow. Tell my father... I grew flowers here too.”

At last, Ning Yibu understood—this young lord, raised in a foreign land, had already made the Holy City his home.

At the execution grounds, the sun burned mercilessly. Bound to a post, Chuan gazed calmly at the furious crowd—among them, elders he had helped, children he had taught.

“I am Ning Yibu, the 23rd Flower-Seed of Blacksand Hollow!”

The shout split the air. Ning Yibu moved like a shadow, appearing beside the city lord, creating chaos as he freed Chuan.

“You’re mad!” Chuan gasped, staring at the arrow wound in Ning Yibu’s chest, the blood soaking his robes.

Ning Yibu only smiled, pressing a dagger into Chuan’s hand. “My lord, how many times have you seen flowers bloom?”

As the blade pierced his heart, something miraculous happened—where his blood fell, flowers erupted from the earth, spreading across the square in an instant. A soft rain began to fall, washing over the parched city.

Years later, a sea of flowers covered Blacksand Hollow. Chuan, returned at last, stood among them, hearing once more the question in his mind— “How many times have you seen flowers bloom?”

His answer was barely a whisper. “Every time. And I remember them all.”