Lost happiness

      The Qing Empire was the dawn of Chinese culture and a huge breakthrough that divided everything into past and present. There were economic, social problems, but all this could not cancel the fact of how beautiful the culture and art was at that time. The high literacy rate of people, the development of the book industry and the possibility for women to practice it, beautiful new paintings. All this gave China a chance, to show other countries what a cultural gap there was between them. But it's not that simple. And wherever everything is perfect there is often a catch if you dig a little deeper.              A young woman was sitting on the terrace, occasionally sipping tea from a clay mug. Her mates were seated nearby. They often got together to spend time in pleasant conversation. It was drizzling unpleasant rain, forcing them to sit under the awning.              This time the topic of their conversation was about such an ambiguous feeling as love. How to distinguish real love from infatuation? The question is as old as the world, but it still worries both the old and the new generation. Is first love forever? And is it important? Each person makes a decision for himself. Whether to live according to the will of his heart or to think with his brain. Here and our heroes started an argument, each trying to prove everything on personal experience. Each hero's puzzles were so different that it was impossible to put together a complete picture.              " And what do you think about this issue? " asked one of the participants in the conversation, looking up at the woman who had gathered them together.              "I, like you gentlemen, have had my own experiences from which I have learnt a lesson. As your story suggests, it is different for everyone. Love cannot be analysed or characterised precisely, each case is different. A lot depends not on the man himself, no matter how he is. Even the most serious man can become a boy when he sees a lady who conquered his heart in an instant. But unfortunately my story didn't work out."        °°°              It was the beginning of the Qing Dynasty. The country was just getting back on its feet. Our heroine had a youthful stupidity. Many women were clinging to the opportunity to get an education, but she didn't like it all that much. There was no craving for knowledge in her. Only creativity could swallow her whole consciousness. So she spent hours and hours drawing. Her parents were very much against this hobby, believing that this is not a way to earn a living, but they were right at the time. Buy paintings from an unknown artist nobody wanted to, but time went by, the girl grew up, drawing skills too. However, famous by the age of twenty, she never became. Every day getting up early in the morning had to go to the bazaar to take the most favourable place for the sale of works. The prices were terribly low and almost didn't even pay for the materials.              One day a boy not much older than herself approached her small stand of paintings. His clothes caught her eye. A dark blue silk chaofu (a kind of kimono-like garment) flowed down his body. From his feet to his collar, a red dragon was embroidered on the garment, wrapped in various curls that went off in different directions. The girl's mood lifted. After all, she rarely had customers, and here was such a guest. The man with a gleam in his eyes examined her work, paralelno asking about them. From his burning gaze, you could tell that his emotions were not fake. He chose a couple of paintings and paid generously, much more than necessary. That day the girl was extremely happy to have such a client.              From then on he came to see her often. He bought paintings, generously rewarded and left, leaving behind only positive emotions.              And somehow the guy stopped coming for a while. The girl did not think about him, but some part of her soul drowned under the veil of their meetings. He came back in a couple of days, explaining his absence by his father's sudden impulse to find him a bride. He was twenty-two years old, the son of some high official. He wandered around the marketplace looking for the creations of talented people in search of an outlet.              The two of them were comfortable together, sitting in a chair with their shoulders touching, they could have long conversations on a variety of topics. From politics to silly children's games. The girl saw him as a wonderful man and a customer who brought her a considerable income. Between them was a complete understanding, with each new meeting wanted to stay to talk for a longer and longer time. At first she looked at him as a saviour, who pulled her out of poverty with every new purchase. But then he became her friend. A very nice and good friend.              But then he stopped showing up. He just disappeared. At first the girl didn't worry too much, as she realised that he might have things to do or he just got bored of going to see her. But in every good dream he visited her shop and they talked, every good thought was about his stories. He had become her addiction. Her brain was telling her that she critically needed his money.              And then a few years later, when her business had grown from a stand to a small shop, the girl was visited by the same guy. He grew up, and with him came a boy. A little boy, not yet able to walk perfectly, but so much like him.              According to the man, he's his son by the same lady his father found him. He had brought the boy to introduce him to the art that had once given him inspiration for his own exploits. After a nice chat, the man and the child went home. And only on that day, before parting, he said that dreaded word "Goodbye".              The girl realised everything that very day. There were many things. It's such insignificant things from which you can not always draw the right conclusions. It was the fire in his eyes actually directed at herself, not at the paintings, and topics for conversation, and double payment, and boundless mutual understanding. She didn't even notice how she started to draw pictures, thinking whether he liked her or not. They were no longer paintings for herself.              She lost her happiness not the day he said goodbye, but when she dared not tell herself the truth. But a few years later, a new meeting awakened her dormant feelings and the realisation came over her head. They had never spoken of love or asked if they loved each other. It was enough for her to have warm feelings for this man and the most important thing was not to spoil her short-term happiness. But she lost him anyway.        °°°              On the terrace, the rain gradually subsided, and then the sun came out. A rainbow was forming. The comrades sat in silence, thinking about the story. Then they were invited to dinner. Opposite the table hung a picture. It showed a young official, a small boy and a young woman.