Appreciation and Reflections on the Famous Spring Orchid Variety Song Mei

When I was little, opening the orchid books,Song Mei's image was the most unforgettable to me, that breathtaking beauty haunted my longing night after night for a long time. I often thought how wonderful it would be if only I could have a seedling of Song Mei. A few years later, my father divided a seedling from an old local man, the pseudobulb was the size of a mung bean, four thin, curved leaves piled with quite a bit of dust and mud, two dark brown roots stuck with a little yellow earth. I held it carefully in my hands and placed it on newspaper, then ran to the back hill and carefully dug back some humus soil, letting it settle into a clay pot. For the next three years, I tended it carefully. Every May a small shoot would emerge, one seedling growing while one died back, and after 3 years there were only two seedlings left. Then in March, a slender stem propped up a single flower, so lovely and touching, and yet so poised, so quiet, the color as warm and translucent as jade. I felt it was a living thing that had jumped out of the book, because that image was so familiar. Later I came alone to Chongqing, and a dozen or so seedlings of Song Mei accompanied me through my studies. During that time I traded her for reference books, traded her for lunches, used her to make up tuition fees, used the money she brought to buy lottery tickets, to buy basketballs. Later, the orchids I grew became more and more numerous, and the varieties more and more abundant. During that time I also introduced a batch of Song Mei, and they bloomed too, but none of the flower forms were so lively and spirited. In the end, to free up space, I sold them off one after another. The orchid nursery kept expanding every year, constantly chasing high-end varieties. That earliest Song Mei had already been squeezed by the workers into the farthest corner of the orchid rack, not repotted for two or three years, not dying back much, and not sending up much growth either. She was gradually forgotten by me. Yet Song Mei witnessed the development of the orchid nursery, every sunrise and sunset, every move, every expansion, she was always there, only she was no longer the main force in the nursery's development, no longer able to contribute much to improving my life, already submerged in the dense fields of grass.

Last year I happened to read an article that gave my heart a little jolt. "The outer three petals are pale green with a touch of yellow halo, the color of ancient jade, without red veins, very elegant." Such a sentence delicately sketched out that impression of Song Mei from my childhood, and a few words surfaced in my mind: wonderful, warm, elegant, with a little sweetness. The next day I found that Song Mei in the corner of the nursery. The curved leaves were already piled with quite a bit of dust and mud, astonishingly similar to the scene of my father bringing her back long ago, except that the feeling she gave me was, one time an indescribable excitement, and the other time a small guilt and unease.

I took Song Mei out, washed her clean and replanted her. Beneath the dust and mud were glossy dark green leaves. Last year's generation of seedlings, because of the vigorous growth after repotting, had also developed flower buds. In 2013 I was once again stunned by her. It was a long-missed excitement and emotion. For so many years Song Mei had always been with me, and the experiences from childhood to adulthood flashed through my mind like a movie, leaving endless aftertaste.

Song Mei, once a dream and a hope, once a childhood playmate, once everything I depended on for survival, once you endured loneliness all alone, neither servile nor overbearing, never leaving, never forsaking.

Song Mei, once impossible to exchange for a fortune, once crossing the oceans, once you went through the vicissitudes of life, witnessing every rise and fall of the orchid tide, washed clean of worldly glamour, leaving fragrance forever.