Kaleidoscope of Death

Print Extra: The Little Prince's Rose

There were more and more thorns on its body, and its stem stood straighter and straighter.

Upon this sight Ruan Nanzhu was actually a bit disappointed. He'd seen too many roses that got increasingly prickly, and they were all the same. Once more thorns came in, the stems thickened, but the flowers only got smaller. In the end they all became a hateful black.

In peril, delicate roses began to change; they grew aggressive and even began to injure other roses. These roses were not needed, and Ruan Nanzhu's job was precisely to cut these roses from the garden. He thought that, like how he'd cut down all the other roses, he would have to cut down the little rose before him. This seemed like a shame to Ruan Nanzhu. This little rose, after all, seemed somewhat different from all the others. On it was a fascinating quality that was hard to describe.

But unexpectedly, the little rose did not become as he'd worried.

Though the little rose grew thornier and its stem grew thicker, its bloom only grew more tender. The lovely red petals were supple in their spread, and Ruan Nanzhu could never help but reach out and touch to see if they were as soft and lovely as he imagined.

The little rose did not wilt. The little rose grew up.

Ruan Nanzhu began to spend his own time on observing the little rose. He saw how the little rose survived hardships, saw how he and his friends relied on each other, saw how he lost his past teammates, saw him laugh, saw him cry.

By the time Ruan Nanzhu realized, his gaze could no longer turn away from the little rose.

What a pretty little flower, Ruan Nanzhu thought. Who knew how long it could blossom for?

The garden was big and the roses were many. They all looked exactly the same. To Ruan Nanzhu, there was no difference between them.

So when exactly did he discover that the little rose was special to him? Was it one early morning when he found a few extra dewdrops on the little rose's petals? Or was it one darkening night when he saw the golden sunset spilled on its green leaves? Or perhaps it was on a chilly evening when he saw the little rose trembling in the dark, and an idea came to his head to put a glass cover over it to block away the wind and rain?

Ruan Nanzhu wasn't certain. He thought that it was difficult to find the answer by himself.

The little rose was still blooming, and there were other flowers beside it again. No, maybe he couldn't call it the little rose now, because its leaves were wide enough to shelter the piercing sunlight for other newborn blooms.

Ruan Nanzhu sat watching by its side. His black pupils were as if marked by fiery brands the color of roses.

Gods were gods because gods had no desires.

When the gardener began to play favorites, it was as if a god had developed desires—perhaps he was no longer suited to this job.

Ruan Nanzhu did not restrain himself for the very first time, reaching out to cup that tender rose blossom. He lightly caressed those splayed petals, breathing in the scent unique to the flower.

It was exquisite to the touch, as if the lightest exertion of force would damage the dainty petals. This frightened but also delighted him.

The rose did not know the gardener's thoughts. It bloomed on its own in startling beauty.

Ruan Nanzhu was not careful and cut his palm on the rose's thorns. He looked at the blood in his palm and discovered just how similar the color of his blood was to the color of the rose.

If that was so, then could he also become a rose? This absurd thought suddenly surfaced in the gardener's mind.

If there were other gardeners around, they would for sure think that Ruan Nanzhu had gone crazy. But luckily, in this world, there was no second gardener, just as there was no second rose like the one in Ruan Nanzhu's palm.