The Willow's Phantom Presence: The Lament of the Last Bride

In the heart of Liuzhou, a city shrouded in legends and tales of the supernatural, there stood an ancient willow tree. It was said that this tree had witnessed countless stories of love, loss, and tragedy. The locals whispered that the willow's branches were the resting place of the spirits of those who had met their end under the tree's watchful gaze. But none of these stories compared to the legend of the Last Bride, a tale that had taken on a life of its own and became the stuff of local folklore.

It was the eve of the Mid-Autumn Festival, a time when the moon hung full and bright in the sky, and the air was filled with the scent of sweet mooncakes. In the quaint village that clung to the base of the willow, preparations were being made for the annual festival. The streets were adorned with lanterns, and the aroma of roasting chestnuts filled the air. But for some, the night held a different kind of anticipation—one tinged with fear and curiosity.

Li Wei, a young man who had moved to the village just a year prior, had heard the tale of the Last Bride but had never believed in ghosts. He was more interested in the beauty of the moon and the joy of the festival. His only concern was that his new neighbor, an elderly woman named Aunty Li, seemed to be particularly anxious about the upcoming night. She would often be seen pacing in front of the willow tree, her eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and fear.

As the night deepened, Li Wei decided to confront Aunty Li about her behavior. "Aunty Li, why are you so worried about the festival?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Aunty Li turned, her eyes meeting his. "It's not the festival, Li Wei," she replied, her voice trembling. "It's the Last Bride. She needs help, and I fear that this festival will bring her closer to us."

Li Wei chuckled, thinking Aunty Li was just being superstitious. "Aunty Li, you know I don't believe in ghosts. The Last Bride is just a story."

Aunty Li sighed, her expression one of resignation. "I know, Li Wei, but you must listen to me. The willow tree is her home now, and she has been waiting for someone to hear her story."

Li Wei rolled his eyes but agreed to accompany Aunty Li to the tree. As they approached, the wind rustled the leaves, and a chill seemed to run down Li Wei's spine. The willow stood tall and ancient, its branches swaying gently in the moonlight.

Aunty Li knelt by the base of the tree, her hands reaching out as if to touch something invisible. "Bride, we are here," she whispered. "Please, tell us your story."

Li Wei watched in disbelief as the branches of the willow seemed to move in response. A figure, draped in white, emerged from the shadows. It was the Last Bride, her eyes hollow and filled with sorrow.

"I am the Last Bride," she began, her voice a mere whisper. "My name was Ming. I was to be wed to a man I had known since childhood. But on the eve of our wedding, he was called away on a last-minute business trip. He never returned."

Li Wei's heart ached for the young woman. "How did you die?"

Ming's eyes filled with tears. "I waited for him at the willow tree, as we had always agreed. But he never came. I realized that he had abandoned me, and in my despair, I climbed the tree to end my life."

Aunty Li gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "But why didn't you tell anyone?"

Ming shook her head. "I was ashamed. I had been betrothed to him for so long, and yet he had left me. I didn't want to be a burden to anyone."

Li Wei stepped forward, his voice steady. "Ming, you are not a burden. Your story needs to be heard."

The Last Bride looked at Li Wei, her eyes softening. "Thank you, kind stranger. I have been waiting for someone to listen. Now, I must leave, but I will always be here, watching over the willow tree."

As the figure of the Last Bride faded into the shadows, Li Wei and Aunty Li returned to the village. The festival continued, and the moonlight cast a serene glow over the land. But for Li Wei, the night had been transformed. He realized that some stories, no matter how supernatural they may seem, are worth hearing.

Days turned into weeks, and the tale of the Last Bride spread throughout the village. Li Wei became a frequent visitor to the willow tree, often finding himself there at night, gazing up at the branches where the spirit of Ming seemed to linger. And though he never saw her again, he felt a sense of peace, knowing that Ming's story had been heard and her spirit had found some solace.

The willow tree continued to stand, its branches whispering tales of love and loss, and the Last Bride's story became a part of the very fabric of the village. And every Mid-Autumn Festival, as the moon hung full in the sky, the villagers would gather around the tree, sharing the tale of Ming and the Last Bride, ensuring that her story would never be forgotten.