Thin strips of aged bamboo, ready to be shaped into a delicate swallow kite.

In ancient China, kites were poetically referred to as zhiyuan, meaning “paper kites” or even “paper birds,” evoking a sense of delicate artistry and freedom.

Back at the apartment, Su Yudiel unpacked her bag, revealing bamboo strips, fine rice paper, cotton thread, glue, a candle, a craft knife, paintbrushes, and a whole array of tools – she was incredibly well-prepared.

Zhuang Zi'ang was amazed by her expertise. “You’re actually going to make a kite from scratch?”

“Seriously! Does it look like I’m joking?” Su Yudiel said, completely serious.

Zhuang Zi'ang had flown store-bought kites a few times as a kid, but making one himself? Never even crossed his mind. He was, to put it simply, all thumbs.

Kites boast a history stretching back two thousand years, though paper wasn't always the material. During the Song, Ming, and Qing dynasties, papermaking flourished, and kite-flying became a beloved pastime during spring outings for everyone, young and old.

Over time, kite-flying became more than just a game; it evolved into a refined art form, a display of elegant taste. It’s even recognized today as part of China's Intangible Cultural Heritage.

Su Yudiel started by sketching a large butterfly on the rice paper – the kite’s design. Then, using this as a template, she began constructing the frame with bamboo strips.

Zhuang Zi'ang watched, mesmerized, as she heated the bamboo over a candle flame, gently coaxing it into the desired curves. The girl was incredibly deft with her hands! He felt like a complete idiot, just standing there, watching, utterly useless.

Su Yudiel secured the bamboo strips with cotton thread, creating the butterfly’s skeleton. Then, she carefully glued the rice paper onto the frame, trimming away the excess. Just like that, the kite's basic form was complete.

But to transform a kite from a mere toy into a piece of art, the design was everything. Su Yudiel lightly sketched the outlines in pencil, then prepared her paints, mixing the perfect hues.

Brush in hand, she began to paint, focused and serene. A spring breeze drifted through the room, as silent as the falling blossoms outside.

Zhuang Zi'ang stood aside, quietly admiring Little Butterfly’s perfect profile, not daring to make a sound. In that moment, it was like he was seeing a scene from a thousand years ago – a young lady of noble birth, delicately painting a kite. So gentle, so graceful, so utterly charming. He’d never imagined kite-making could be so beautiful.

With incredible patience, Su Yudiel painted, stroke by careful stroke, intricate patterns onto the butterfly wings. Ordinary bamboo and paper were being transformed into a work of art.

“Ta-da! What do you think? Pretty, right?”

After more than half an hour of painting, Su Yudiel finally set down her brush and sighed in satisfaction. A lifelike butterfly lay before Zhuang Zi’ang.

“Little Butterfly, you’re amazing!” Zhuang Zi'ang exclaimed, full of genuine praise.

“Grandma taught me. I used to make them every year when I was little!” Su Yudiel beamed, clearly proud of her handiwork.

Then, she picked up her brush again and, with a mischievous grin, added a line of small characters in a blank space she’d intentionally left:

Zhuang Zi'ang is a Big Dummy.

Back in the old days, people did write on kites, but it was always lucky sayings or good wishes. Never insults!

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“It’s bad enough you tease me all the time, did you have to write it on the kite?” Zhuang Zi'ang grumbled playfully.

“This way, the kite will take your dummy-ness far away! Maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally get a brain!” Su Yudiel retorted with a sly smile, her logic undeniably flawed.

Not to be outdone, Zhuang Zi'ang grabbed a brush and added his own line right next to hers:

Little Butterfly is a Little Fool.

Su Yudiel’s handwriting was delicate and graceful, while Zhuang Zi'ang’s was bold and flowing. Though, admittedly, the words themselves were a bit childish.

Now, the twelve characters were crammed together, a dark blot that disrupted the kite’s color balance.

“Ugly,” Su Yudiel pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly.

Zhuang Zi'ang picked up a brush, dipped it in red paint, and with a flourish, painted a heart right between the two lines of childish insults.

The splash of red was a stroke of genius. Suddenly, the colors popped.

Looking at the heart nestled between their names, Su Yudiel’s face flushed, a shy blush rising in her cheeks.

Once the glue and ink were dry, they headed out to the grassy riverbank. The sky was a flawless, breathtaking blue, a gentle breeze whispering through the air – perfect kite-flying weather.

Su Yudiel held the butterfly kite, ready for Zhuang Zi'ang to launch it. He ran back and forth across the meadow a few times, and the butterfly kite, caught by the wind, lifted effortlessly, soaring higher and higher.

Unlike many mass-produced kites that look pretty but can barely fly, Su Yudiel’s kite-making skills were the real deal. Watching the kite dance in the sky, shrinking into a tiny speck, it truly resembled a butterfly in flight. As someone who had witnessed, and even slightly participated in, its creation, Zhuang Zi'ang felt a surge of pride. This kind of joy, he knew, was something no store-bought kite could ever replicate.

He smiled, quoting a line from an old poem: “'With a good wind, I shall ride to the clouds.' The old poem came to mind, perfectly describing the kite’s ascent.”

Su Yudiel gazed upwards, clapping and cheering, her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. Yet, a hint of longing flickered in her eyes.

With the vast, lazy clouds drifting above and the gentle murmur of the river below, how wonderful it would be to be a carefree butterfly, dancing freely between heaven and earth.

Once the kite was high enough, it needed little effort, just an occasional tug on the string. Zhuang Zi'ang handed the spool to Su Yudiel, letting her take over.

Su Yudiel eagerly grabbed it, skipping and running across the meadow, her neck craned upwards, a constant, goofy grin plastered across her face. Her happiness was infectious.

Happiness, in its purest form, is often this simple.

Zhuang Zi'ang sat on the grass, quietly watching the girl. Sunlight streamed through the clouds, bathing her in a warm, golden light. Every strand of her hair glowed, swaying gently with her movements. The peach blossom tucked behind her ear seemed impossibly vibrant.

How young and fair the peach tree grows, / So full of flowers it brightly glows. / This maiden goes to grace her home, / And fitly rule her house to come. The lines of the ancient poem drifted into Zhuang Zi'ang's mind, a poignant reminder of marriage, of futures he wouldn't share with her. He thought of Li Huangxuan’s words the other night about being a best man, and a sharp pang of pain shot through his heart.

Su Yudiel would be breathtaking in a wedding dress. A sight he would never see. The man who got to marry her must have saved the galaxy in a past life.

The kite climbed higher and higher, becoming a tiny dot against the clouds, and the sun grew stronger, almost blinding. Su Yudiel handed the spool back to Zhuang Zi'ang, then pulled the craft knife from her bag.

“What are you doing?” Zhuang Zi'ang asked, startled.

“Cutting the string. That’s the only way the butterfly can truly be free,” Su Yudiel said, her eyes clear and resolute.

“But you spent so long making it. It’s such a waste to just let it go,” Zhuang Zi'ang protested.

“I already had fun making it. That’s enough. Now, I want it to fly far, far away,” Su Yudiel replied firmly. She didn’t see the kite as just a toy. To her, it was almost alive.

Zhuang Zi'ang didn’t argue further. It would sound too… mundane.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Su Yudiel decisively severed the string. The butterfly, finally unbound, danced on the wind, drifting towards the horizon. Carrying the names of Zhuang Zi'ang and Little Butterfly, it set off to find its freedom.

In this world, for many things, the process itself holds more value than the outcome. Just as everyone is born knowing they will face death, it doesn't stop us from savoring life.

Live as brilliantly as summer flowers, and pass as peacefully as autumn leaves.

Zhuang Zi'ang, hands in his pockets, watched the kite disappear into the vast expanse of sky, then turned back to the girl beside him.

And then, he heard it – clear and undeniable, the sound of his own heart surrendering, falling for her.