Peach blossoms smile in the March breeze.

Dusk arrives late on the West Causeway. At 5 p.m., the lake still shimmers blue under the vast sky, and the last traces of pink frost fall from the peach blossom branches, scattering like rouge on the water under the Seventeen-Arch Bridge. The wind sweeps in from Kunming Lake, carrying the sweet scent of peach blossoms. It rustles the new, light-yellow willow branches and startles a grey magpie perched on the corner of the Mirror Bridge Pavilion. Visitors stroll along the West Causeway, capturing the blossoms with their phones. The wind blows, scattering a few petals. Nearby, a young woman in Hanfu leans against a peach tree, her hair ornaments catching the setting sun, startling a grey heron in the waterside pavilion opposite. These peach blossoms are fleeting, touching the spring water before swirling away on the wind to an unknown destination, just like the figures lingering beneath the trees, each destined for their own story.