Latest interpretation of the meaning and legends of azalea flowers

The azalea is praised as the “Xi Shi among flowers,” and the great poet Bai Juyi once praised it thus: “Looking back, peach and plum blossoms are colorless; reflected beside it, even the lotus is no flower.” When spring arrives, azaleas bloom in wild profusion across the mountains and fields, and seen from afar it looks as if the mountain forests have been dyed and painted with rouge, hence the azalea is commonly known as “Yingshanhong” (Mountain-Reflecting Red). Now let us look at the flower meaning and legends of the azalea!

The Flower Meaning of the Azalea

The flower meaning of the azalea is “forever yours,” representing the joy of love. It is said that people who like azaleas are innocent and pure-hearted, and when they see azaleas blooming all over the mountains, that is the time when the god of love descends.

The azalea also has the flower meaning of “restraining desire,” and the biggest reason is that it blooms only in its own flowering season, even though the azalea always gives people a lively and bustling feeling. When it is not in flowering season, its dark green leaves are also very suitable for planting in gardens as a low hedge or screen.

The Legend of the Azalea

Legend has it that long ago, in Huanghe Mountain in the southern suburbs of present-day Zhenjiang City, Jiangsu Province, there was a small village. In front of the village was a beautiful river that ran all the way to the Yangtze River, and the villagers all made a living by farming and hunting.

By the riverside lived two families. On the east side lived a young man surnamed Liu named Liu Hu. He was sturdy and tall, and whether hunting in the mountains or catching fish in the river, no bird or beast could escape his hands. Moreover, Liu Hu always carried something special with him: a panpipe. Whenever he played it, it would attract many colorful beautiful little birds that circled above his head. Liu Hu also became good friends with these little birds; when he had time he would catch some small insects to feed them, and the birds would also carry back some rare flowers and plants for Liu Hu. These rare flowers and plants were precious medicinal herbs, and Liu Hu often gave these herbs to the poor in the village to treat their illnesses.

Now on the west side of the river lived a family surnamed Wang, with only a mother and a daughter, the two relying on each other for support. The mother was blind and found life inconvenient, so the daughter Juanzi relied entirely on spinning, weaving, and selling cloth to earn money to support the family. Juanzi was clever, quick-witted, and beautiful, and most importantly she was skillful with her hands; the cloth she wove was both beautiful and durable, and Juanzi was kind-hearted, often helping families even poorer than her own. Juanzi could also sing, with a mellow voice and moving songs, as melodious as a lark. There was something even more extraordinary: as soon as Juanzi sang, the patches of azaleas at the foot of Huanghe Mountain would open their buds and bloom, every blossom plump and every blossom gorgeous.

Liu Hu and Juanzi drank from the same river and lived on the same riverbank, innocent playmates since childhood and childhood sweethearts, deeply attached to each other. They often played the pipe and sang, one after the other, attracting hundreds of birds to dance and causing the azaleas to bloom.

Juanzi could sing and weave, and was beautiful besides, so people in the surrounding villages all knew of her and praised her. And so it spread from one to ten and from ten to a hundred, until at last it even reached the imperial palace. The emperor was a foolish ruler, steeped in wine and women all day long. He never concerned himself with state affairs, caring only about the annual selection of concubines. As soon as the emperor heard that Juanzi was a great beauty, he impatiently issued an imperial decree naming Juanzi to be chosen and brought into the palace.

This threw the county magistrate into a flurry. After the emperor issued the decree, he began scheming: how to use this opportunity to ingratiate himself with the emperor and pave the way for his own promotion. So the magistrate led a large band of yamen runners straight to Huanghe Mountain. As soon as they arrived at Huanghe Mountain, birdsong and flower fragrance were everywhere; it turned out that Liu Hu and Juanzi were singing in response to each other. The magistrate rolled his eyes and thought: How strange, this great beauty really has such ability; if I present her, heh heh, the magistrate was secretly delighted. So the magistrate stepped forward and said: “Congratulations! Congratulations! Miss Juanzi, the emperor has chosen you as an imperial concubine; from now on you must……” Before the magistrate could finish speaking, Juanzi turned and went into the house. Seeing that soft measures would not work, the magistrate was about to use force. The magistrate ordered several yamen runners to break down the door, and Liu Hu, frantic, jumped down from where he was playing the pipe and rushed to protect Juanzi. Then several more yamen runners rushed up, some grabbing his hands and some grabbing his feet, holding Liu Hu tight, and Liu Hu could only fret helplessly. The door was broken open, and poor Juanzi, frail and with little strength, could not possibly fight off those ravenous tiger-like yamen runners; within moments she was seized and dragged out. As she was taken away she cried all along the way: “Liu Hu, save me! Save me!……” Liu Hu was burning with anxiety nearby, able only to watch helplessly as Juanzi was taken away.

After Juanzi was taken away, Liu Hu grieved every day and every night, and Juanzi's mother wept every day and every night, and her eyes became even blinder. Liu Hu thought to himself: Even if I have to go through boiling water and fire, I must find Juanzi and bring her back. So he filled a whole vat of water for Juanzi's mother, chopped a bundle of firewood, bought a vat of rice, settled Juanzi's mother, and prepared to set out. Early the next morning, Liu Hu carried a small bundle on his back and set off with his beloved panpipe. He crossed ninety-nine and eighty-one mountains, waded through ninety-nine and eighty-one rivers, and rounded ninety-nine and eighty-one bends, and finally reached the imperial city.

Now, after Juanzi was taken to the imperial palace, the emperor was overjoyed as soon as he saw her, and said to Juanzi: “I hear you can sing very beautiful songs; sing one for me!” Juanzi did not open her mouth to speak. He asked again: “I hear you can weave very beautiful cloth; weave a bolt for me to see!” Juanzi still did not open her mouth. No matter what the emperor said, Juanzi ignored him completely. The emperor then became shameless and pestering, putting his hands on her, and Juanzi hated this old emperor to death; it was he who sent people bursting into her home, he who tore her and Liu Hu apart. Thinking of this, she seized a stool and smashed it at the emperor's head. The emperor gained no advantage at all; instead he was struck until his head bled, and he fled in terror holding his head. From then on Juanzi neither ate nor drank, gradually growing thin beyond recognition, her looks withered and haggard. By this time the emperor did not even look at her, much less care whether she lived or died. And so Juanzi lay on the bed waiting for death.

Liu Hu came to the front of the imperial palace, but he did not know where Juanzi was, still less that Juanzi was ill and near death. He was anxious to get in, but after circling the palace he saw guards everywhere and high walls everywhere, with not the slightest chance for him to go in and find Juanzi. In the midst of his anxiety, his right hand inadvertently touched the panpipe, and at once he had an idea. He quickly made a kite, tied the panpipe behind the kite, and then flew the kite up into the sky. As the kite flew up in the sky, the airflow blew the panpipe and made it sound, so he let out more and more string, and the kite danced in the sky above the imperial palace, and the sound of the panpipe traveled all the way to where Juanzi was. Juanzi was lying faintly on the bed, and as soon as she heard the familiar sound of the pipe, she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the sky through the window. At last she saw the panpipe, and knew that Liu Hu had come to find her, so she struggled to sit up and sang a song of her hometown, a song that Liu Hu knew well. The song circled around the garden, circled around the great trees, circled around the palace walls, and as it circled and circled it reached Liu Hu. When Liu Hu heard this poignant, moving song, he was both happy and sad: happy that Juanzi knew he had come to find her, sad that he and Juanzi were separated by layer upon layer of palace walls. The more Liu Hu thought, the sadder he became; the more he thought, the worse he felt. He could not save Juanzi from her sea of suffering; though he had traveled through countless mountains and rivers and finally found Juanzi, he could only watch helplessly as she suffered. Liu Hu's heart ached as if cut by a knife.

So Liu Hu leaned against the palace wall and wept. He neither ate nor drank, only staring blankly at the sky, and gradually he could hold on no longer, and later he turned into a colorful little bird. The little bird flapped its wings and flew up over the high palace walls, flying all the way to Juanzi's side, chirping “zhi zhi zha zha” at Juanzi. Juanzi reached out her hand to stroke the little bird and said: “Bird, bird, if only you could carry me out of here and fly away!” As soon as she finished speaking she vomited blood, and the blood she spat out became one beautiful azalea after another, and Juanzi's body also slowly turned into an azalea. The little bird carried this azalea in its beak, flew out of the palace, and flew all the way to the foot of Huanghe Mountain, where it planted this azalea at Juanzi's doorstep. From then on, a beautiful patch of azaleas bloomed there, but the most beautiful plant of all was still the one Juanzi had become. This flower had five petals, and at its center was a single emerald-green pearl, called “Five Treasure Green Pearl,” and it is a precious variety among azaleas.

Many years later, a temple was built here, called Helin Temple. In the temple there was a very beautiful flower terrace called the Azalea Terrace, and on the Azalea Terrace many azaleas of all kinds were planted. That plant of “Five Treasure Green Pearl” was also transplanted onto this Azalea Terrace, and there among the flowers it bloomed even more delicately and movingly. Every morning and evening, a flock of colorful little birds would dance in the air above the flower terrace, and among them one always liked to circle around that plant of “Five Treasure Green Pearl,” and this bird's cry was especially poignant, just like the sound blown from a panpipe. It is said that this was the one Liu Hu had become.