I am found with a big fuss, lying on the bench behind the willows, barely conscious. A fever rages and doesn't settle. I drift in and out of sleep, catching only snatches of images and conversation.
In my dreams, my children play. My three, sweet little babies. Three boys. They run and laugh and give me hugs. I can see their features. See their faces so clearly. Smell their fragrance. They've all grown up so much. I teach them reading and writing. I teach them archery and horse riding. We dance with the sword together. My babies are all so clever. They learn so fast. I only have to teach them once. Correct them once and then they know. They don't make the same mistakes again.
We sleep in the bed together and sometimes I wake in the night because one couldn't hold their bladder and wets the bed. I cook nutritious meals for them and teach them how to build a fire. The eldest fans the fire while the second cuts the vegetables. The youngest washes dishes and hands me ingredients.
In my dreams, I bring my children to visit my parents. During New Year time, they greet my brothers and sisters and squeal with joy at the number of red packets they get. We set off fireworks and watch the big fireworks display that my father sets off from the boats at sea. During the day, we sit amidst the fountains with my mother, the whole family enjoying a picnic together. The children of my siblings mix with mine and we can see them running and playing, climbing and screaming when someone gets splashed by the cold fountain water by accident.
I want to stay here. Stay in my dreams. Stay here and not wake up again but I can hear concerned voices calling me. Two voices tell me they refuse to get married if I don't wake up. One of them tells me he won't go home if I don't get better. They tell me they would rather not marry if their being together has upset me.
Silly people.
They can't sacrifice their happiness for me. My happiness has already been sacrificed for them. My children were sacrificed for them. My hopes and dreams were sacrificed for them. How dare they say they won't get married when I worked so hard to get them together? Are they going to let all my hard work be for nothing?
"Go home," I sit up, pointing a finger at the blurry, furry collar floating below a tired, pale face nearby. Someone props me up and holds me while I scold with a hoarse voice. "Go and prepare your wedding. No postponing. Stop making excuses. What has your wedding to do with me? Go home."
Stopping to cough and drink the medicine held to my lips, I catch my breath after my little speech.
"You go back and sew your wedding things," I point at the mash of indigo and pink colours by his side. "Stop wasting time. You need to get it done before it's time to leave. Too much work to do. You don't be scared of what I think or feel. Who am I? What am I? Haven't I already given you my blessing? Do you think I'm not happy for you? I'm just tired. My body is weak. Go back. Stop disturbing me."
"We brought you some pastries and cakes," says the voice of Princess Snow Jade. "Make sure you eat them later."
"All right," I say, waving a heavy arm. "Go. Go back. Make sure you send your man on the road or you might not get your wedding."
A blurry blue and green figure with the scent of soothing herbs comes forward to check the temperature of my forehead with the back of his hand.
"My Lady," he says, now checking my wrist pulse, "how do you feel?"
"Tired. Heavy," I tell him. "I was with my babies and my family. Didn't want to come back but some people were so noisy."
"But you did," Gentle Whiskers says and feeds me a bowl of warm water. "I'm glad you did. You still have a fever. Eat a bit and then rest some more."
He ushers my visitors out and wipes my sweaty face with a moist cloth.
"Blurry," I tell him, allowing him to help me lay back down. "Everything is so blurry."
"My Lady?" he leans closer and I blink at him. "You can't see?"
"Blurry," I reply. "Not clear."
With his face so close, I can see the wrinkles on his face deepening.
"You've had a high fever for too long," he says with a sigh. "Rest and hopefully it will get better when the fever is gone."
"Hopefully," I agree.
I want to dive back into those sweet and colourful dreams of my babies, but they're gone. The dreams of my family are gone. All gone. Instead, there is long, refreshing nothingness. The sleep is long and pleasant.