《白芍之城》六月的某個夜晚， 白芍離開了地面。 沒有聲音。 沒有預兆。 它們只是忽然鬆開根部， 一朵接着一朵， 緩慢升向空中。 像一群經過長期練習的事物。
整座城市都看見了。 但沒有人停下來。 紅燈亮了又滅， 便利店的燈繼續亮着， 出租車從花影下駛過。 人們照常說話， 照常回家。
第二天，報紙寫着： 昨夜天氣晴朗。 無異常現象。 白芍繼續上升。 它們穿過電線，穿過樓群， 懸停在城市上空。 遠遠望去， 像有人把許多封沒有寄出的信 拆開以後， 撒進了夜裡。 其中有一朵停了下來。 它既不上升， 也不下降。 其餘白芍繞開它， 像河流繞開石頭。
第三天，有人發現那朵花還在那裡。 有關部門派人來看。 他們舉起望遠鏡，討論很久， 最後得出結論： 天空中沒有花。 眾人滿意地散去。 第四天開始，越來越多的白芍停了下來。 它們分散在城市各處—— 學校上方、廣場上方、 無人經過的小巷盡頭。 夜裡，它們偶爾輕輕移動一點， 像在校正某種看不見的坐標。 沒有人知道原因。 或者說，沒有人想知道原因。
孩子問： 為什麼天上有花？ 大人沉默了一會兒， 告訴他： 那是雲。 孩子相信了。 從此以後， 他每次看見白芍， 都會說： 今天的雲開得很好。
很多年過去。 城市不斷擴建， 舊街道消失，舊房子消失， 許多人搬走，許多人老去。 只有那些白芍一直停在那裡。 沒有枯萎。 沒有凋落。 像某種被遺忘的標點。
直到有一天， 最後一個記得它們原本長在地上的人死去。 第二天清晨， 所有白芍同時落下。 沒有人抬頭。 沒有人聽見。 報紙照常出版。 天氣依舊晴朗。 無異常現象。 The City of White Peonies
One night in June, the white peonies left the ground. No sound. No warning. They simply loosened themselves from their roots and rose into the air, one after another, slowly, like things that had practiced this for a very long time.
The whole city saw them. Yet no one stopped. Traffic lights changed and changed again. The convenience stores stayed open. Taxis passed beneath drifting shadows of flowers. People kept talking. Kept going home. The next morning, the newspapers reported: Clear weather last night. No unusual activity observed.
The peonies continued to rise. They passed through power lines, through towers of concrete and glass, and came to rest above the city. From a distance, they looked like letters that had never been sent— opened, then scattered into the night. One flower stopped. It neither rose nor fell. The others curved around it, the way a river bends around a stone.
On the third day, someone noticed it was still there. Officials were dispatched. They raised binoculars, held long discussions, and eventually reached a conclusion: There are no flowers in the sky. Everyone was satisfied. They went home.
Beginning on the fourth day, more and more peonies stopped moving. They appeared across the city— above schools, above public squares, at the ends of alleys where no one passed.
At night, they would sometimes shift ever so slightly, as though adjusting to coordinates invisible to the eye. No one knew why. Or rather, no one wished to know.
A child asked: Why are there flowers in the sky? The adults fell silent for a moment. Then they told him: Those are clouds. The child believed them. After that, whenever he saw a peony overhead, he would say: The clouds are blooming beautifully today.
Years passed. The city expanded. Old streets disappeared. Old buildings disappeared. People moved away. People grew old. Only the peonies remained, suspended where they were. Never wilting. Never falling. Like punctuation marks forgotten by history.
Until one day, the last person who remembered that they had once grown from the earth died. The next morning, every peony fell at once. No one looked up. No one heard them. The newspapers were delivered as usual. The weather remained clear. No unusual activity observed.
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