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silvysartfulness · 3 years

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xiao xingchen's mental state is So Terrible

Request: Can we see Xiao Xingchen’s thoughts on near suicide? Abandonment? Betrayal? He’s defined himself by other people for most of his life - his master, his totally-not-soulmate Song Lan, and his murder-soulmate Xue Yang. To be left by one person and then to be betrayed by another must be … a lot. Does Xingchen think he betrayed Song Lan because Xue Yang killed Song Lan’s people? He hasn’t had any time to deal with it, because he’s been playing babysitter… and then saving his pet murderer, too. Because I’ve put a lot of thought into this, but my writing skills are about 0, and you are so good at angst.

Okay! I’ll just… stream of consciousness on this. Because there is a lot to say about Xiao Xingchen’s mental state, his sacrifices, his losses and his choices.

There’s definitely a lot of touching on these issues currently in Heaven Has A Road. The callback to Xiao Xingchen’s suicide, and the way both Xue Yang and Song Lan fear the worst when he takes off on his own.

The kicker is that Xiao Xingchen himself doesn’t realize. Doesn’t realize that they worry about that, or why they would. He may still be very much prone to self-sacrificial and reckless decisions for the sake of others, but he’s not actively suicidal or seeking to self-harm now, at least not in such a direct and physical way.

But of course it’s a theme very much hanging in the air.

To look back at canon; Xiao Xingchen is, I think, naive even by Celestial Mountain standards. The previous two of Baoshan Sanren’s disciples who left the mountain either went dark (it’s just vaguely hinted at, but clearly it Was Not Pretty) or was a rather mischievous trickster (shaving off Lan Qiren’s beard for being a rule-obsessed square).

There is a spiritual concept of “going into the world” or “leaving the world” respectively - leaving is what Baoshan Sanren did, letting go of attachment to worldly matters to retreat to her unnamed mountain and cultivate immortality. What Xiao Xingchen does is the opposite - he chooses to “enter the world”, to leave that detached existence behind to get involved in earthly matters - beautifully alluded to by the “chen” in his name, meaning (worldly) dust. (That choice is what Xue Yang curses him for during their confrontation that last day - “If you don’t understand the world, you shouldn’t have come! Why didn’t you stay on your mountain?!” )

But he makes that choice. He wants to help people, make a difference, and so he leaves his family behind, makes that sacrifice even knowing that it means he won’t ever see his home again, and descends into the world.

Xiao Xingchen is described as gentle but determined, not only physically fighting and vanquishing evil, but helping people with any ”difficult matter” they bring before him, never refusing anyone. He wants to do good; what’s good for any humble person, not just the mighty few. And for all that he is naive, Xiao Xingchen is also self-assured and uncompromising. He knows what he is striving for, and he doesn’t hesitate when it comes to putting thought into action.

And down in the world, he finds someone else who puts those ideals over the blood ties of the mighty clans - Song Lan. Zichen. They grow close, they talk about starting a sect together – between the lines that means spending the rest of their lives together, living for those shared ideals. They grow so close, people always mention them together.

And then Xue Yang happens. Something so corrupted and grisly, it shakes even this extremely powerful young cultivator.

Whether you go by novel or series canon, the way the rest of the world handles the aftermath of the Chang massacre, it clearly dents Xiao Xingchen’s trust in the sects, in society and its concept of ”justice” quite badly.

And then Baixue happens, as a direct consequence of them capturing and making enemies with Xue Yang. Xue Yang specifically tells Song Lan, ”Tell Xiao Xingchen this is a gift for him!”

So yes, I think Xiao Xingchen takes the full blame of the Baixue massacre upon himself, because Xue Yang was out to hurt him. But because he and his immortal master were out of reach, Baixue paid the price. Song Lan paid the price.

So he broke his vow never to return home, and he gave up his eyes, in a hopeless bid to repair some modicum of the damage he’d caused, to at least give Song Lan his sight back, if not his home, his family, his ideals and beliefs and and hope.

At some point in that aftermath, Song Lan did blame Xiao Xingchen and told him they should never meet again, and he took that to heart, too. Of course Song Lan wouldn’t want to see him again – what is he now, but a reminder of those losses? The losses his own hubris caused?

So he wrapped up Shuanghua and went nameless into the world, avoiding attachments, described as wandering aimlessly from place to place to offer help and then move on, to make sure no one else would be hurt because of him. (That Xue Yang wouldn’t hurt anyone else because of him.)

I wrote a passage about him thinking back on this in an upcoming chapter;

I tried being no one, he thought, unbecomingly bitter and hurting. To make sure people wouldn’t get hurt because of me again. I thought I succeeded, but I ended up hurting people, killing people with my own hands instead.

He studiously tried tuning out the somewhat uneven footfalls behind them, focused wholly on the hand in his.

I tried being nothing, after that, after learning the truth.

But people had died because of him all the same, even then, even with him gone. The last survivors of the Chang, the people of Yi City, all those nameless victims whose blood had paid for the spells to drag him back into the world of the living… A-Qing.

I won’t hide away again, he thought, setting his jaw. I have to try… Try to be something. To do something. To leave a legacy better than this. To make it all worth it, make sure all this suffering wasn’t for nothing.

It was a bitterness that his hopes of doing that, the chance to realize the purpose he so desperately clung to… came at the hands of the man whose shadow had haunted him into nameless exile and caused all that grief and death in the first place.

How much time Xiao Xingchen had to think about all this varies wildly between CQL-canon and MDZS-canon – in the novel, not a whole lot of time passes between the Baixue massacre and Xiao Xingchen meeting a-Qing and eventually Xue Yang. But in CQL, the Baixue massacre takes place before Sunshot, before Yiling Laozu claims the Burial Mounds, before Nightless City and Wei Wuxian’s death… it’s been years of wandering alone before Xiao Xingchen meets a-Qing, and then Xue Yang. I’m not sure if it’s stated how long the Sunshot war is in CQL-canon, but even only going by the things we do know – Yanli having a child, Wei Wuxian having been dead for 16 years at the end of the Yi City arc where the main events took place 10 years ago, it’s anywhere between seven to some ten years.

So I think he has had a lot of time to reflect on all that grief from the past, but that it’s really just been spirals of hopelessness, never really processing or moving on from it. Shuanghua is still wrapped up when he meets a-Qing. He doesn’t introduce himself by name. It’s her shameless happiness, her choice to seek out his company – oh, how he’s ached for connection! - that finally gets him smiling again.

And once he makes friends with the odd stranger whose life he saves… He smiles. He laughs. They all build a home together. Shuanghua is no longer hidden. At the market, the stranger casually calls him by his name.

I think it’s only once they settle down in Yi City that he really begins healing from the horrors of the past. Dares start to build something new, in a tiny little backwater at the very edge of the map. Surely Xue Yang’s shadow won’t reach him, and this humble little existence he’s building here?

So of course it utterly breaks him when the truth comes out. Not just one, but awful truth after awful truth, tearing apart everything he’s built, everything he thought he had – everything he’s done.

A-Qing lied to him about being blind. His ”friend” was Xue Yang all along. He’s been tricked into killing people. He was tricked into killing Song Lan.

The character songs of the Yi City arc lean very heavily into Buddhist rather than Daoist themes – which is super interesting! - but especially the concept of karmic justice. No matter how unaware Xiao Xingchen was of it, he has killed. Not only did he turn away from cultivating immortality a long time ago – his soul is tainted forever. Gu Cheng speaks of ”debts” that can’t be repaid, falling into karmic sin. This isn’t just about tricking him into doing nasty things which leaves him horrified – he has been spiritually destroyed, and he didn’t even know.

The line of Gu Cheng that cuts the deepest is perhaps ”it was not your fault”/ ”The guilt doesn’t lie with you.”

Because that, I think, is at the core of things when Xiao Xingchen reaches for Shuanghua that day in Yi City - that he feels that it does. That it’s all his fault.

He has lost everything. He let down and/or was betrayed by everyone he knew. Killed his beloved soulmate. He himself is tainted and ruined beyond all salvation, because of what he’s done. And so he doesn’t just kill himself, he destroys himself, kills his body and shatters his soul, beyond all hope for reincarnation and rebirth. He utterly and completely ends himself, ends everything that is and was Xiao Xingchen.

Which is heartbreaking beyond words, and also why Heaven Has A Road clearly needed to happen. D:

…

I hope this was at least in the ballpark of the kind of rambling you were hoping for. XD

#untamed artfulness #meta #xiao xingchen #the happy songxuexiao roadtrip story #asksilvy #submission #cw:suicide

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jade4813 · 4 years

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Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 10

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Though John would never consider time spent with Margaret wasted – nor would he ever regret a single second of it – it did make the subsequent days longer as he strove to find a solution to his financial problem. The debt owed to the bank was a few hundred pounds – a paltry amount compared to what was owed him for orders that his workers had rushed through. He hoped each day for a miracle, that he would receive sufficient outstanding payments to satisfy the bank loan and secure his workers’ payroll, but he waited in vain. The bank’s deadline drew ever nearer, his coffers dwindled, and no miracle loomed on the horizon.

Had he been foolish to refuse Watson’s proposed speculation? If it succeeded, the profit from the venture would clear his debt and secure payroll for months to come. If it failed, however, what little funds he had to pay his people would be lost, with no hope of recovery. He would have left his workers destitute, and he felt he owed them more than to gamble with their livelihoods.

But if it succeeded…

He’d never before understood the siren’s song of speculation, which had led his own father to his death. In the aftermath of the elder Thornton’s self-inflicted demise, John had been forced into a life of poverty and self-deprivation, leaving school to care for his mother and sister and sparing as much money as he could each week to pay his father’s creditors, long after they’d given up any hope of satisfaction.

He’d worked hard, and in the secret recesses of his heart, he’d judged his father harshly for throwing away their fortunes on what amounted to little more than a game of chance. He’d never spoken of his recrimination or his shame aloud, out of consideration for his remaining family’s feelings – though his mother had never been one to mince words when it came to her own judgment, and Fanny had been too young and lacked the sentimental disposition required to be overly protective of either her affection for or her memory of the father she’d lost.

Now, however, he understood the temptation that had lured his father to his ruin, though his own sense of honor and the duty he owed those in his charge had caused him to shy away from the risky venture, no matter how high the potential reward. His refusal had angered Fanny, who had sworn that reward was certain and promised to be considerable, but John knew better than most that speculation was merely that, and not even the wisest of men could guarantee a positive result.

And yet, if it succeeded…

If he’d gambled his mill’s future on the speculation and it turned a profit, his business would be clear of debt. His workers would be paid. He could continue to care for his mother in the manner he had for most of his adult life. He could provide Margaret with the life she deserved, if not the life she’d wanted. And nobody would ever have to know how bad things had been.

John shook his head, running his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration and despair. No, there was no use in thinking about what might have been. He’d rejected Watson’s offer. He’d refused to engage in speculation, not when the cost of one ill-judged gamble could ruin so many lives. If he’d thrown his hat into the ring and the speculation failed, he’d lose the mill. The house. His workers would be out of jobs and left to starve, if they were unable to find work elsewhere. His mother’s situation would fall to what it had once been, after many years spent in comfort and security. And his wife…

If he’d speculated with his workers’ livelihoods and lost, recklessly subjecting them possible starvation, to the poverty from which he’d once uplifted himself, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror without feeling shame. A man who could be so inattentive to his responsibility to others could never hope to deserve Margaret or the love he still wished in his heart might one day be his.

So he applied himself to work, each day seeming longer than the last. His beloved Margaret never chided him for his absence or his neglect, though she always seemed to anticipate the point at which reason was driven to the edge by exhaustion, as she would come to him on those evenings and silently draw him home with her, to sleep by her side. He could not fully confess his fears to her, but neither could he resist her, and his love for her sustained him every bit as much as her tender consideration brought him comfort.

But as the days passed, a nagging sense of doubt grew in his mind, a quiet whisper that warned that Margaret might not be as content as he would wish. Even as his financial apprehensions eclipsed other concerns vying for his attention, he noticed her increasingly troubled expression when she thought him unaware, though the worry lines smoothed from her countenance each time he turned her way. But she never spoke of her concerns, and he – weak, lovesick fool that he was – couldn’t summon the courage to ask, for fear that her preoccupation lay elsewhere. If her distress stemmed from regret, perhaps exacerbated by increasing concerns that he would fail to live up to his promise to provide her comfort and security, his heart would break anew.

Desiring to reassure her of the fidelity of his promise, John was determined to redouble the attention he paid his wife. To that end, he returned home one evening earlier than he typically had of late – the lure of Margaret’s company being far greater than that of the paperwork on his desk – to find her father in their drawing room, the other man having stopped by for a visit. Although slightly disappointed that his more amorous intentions would by necessity be delayed, John always enjoyed Richard Hale’s company and was pleased his calendar was free enough to appreciate it.

His pleasure was only heightened when he saw Margaret’s cheerfulness at the visit. “Mr Bell has invited Father to visit him in Oxford, and I’m encouraging him to go. Don’t you think it’s an excellent idea?” she explained, before turning her attention back to their guest. “It’s been so long since you’ve been to visit, and the weather’s turning warmer, so the roads will be a little easier.”

Mr Hale seemed encouraged by her enthusiasm. “I might go,” he acknowledged. Nodding, as much to himself as to her, he murmured, “Yes, yes. I think I might.”

With that decision seemingly fixed, their conversation turned to other matters for a while, until Richard stood to leave. “I think I will go to Oxford,” he declared, the idea clearly breaking him much joy. John and Margaret wished him well – the latter admonishing him to dress warmly, as there was still a chill in the air – and then he was on his way with their blessings.

Had John known it would be the last time Margaret would share his company, he would have begged the man to stay a while longer. Sadly, prescience was not among his accomplishments.

Although Margaret tried to find contentment in her present circumstances, the things left unsaid between husband and wife preyed upon her thoughts, seemingly increasing her anxiety by the hour. She loved John – more ardently than she ever would have ever supposed – and her silence on that score felt suffocating. She wanted to tell him of her feelings, but questions plagued her mind, sapping away both her contentment and her courage.

She had no illusions that John had come to trust her before taking her hand in marriage. Did he still doubt her integrity? Did he question her faithfulness? Would his opinion of her, once tarnished in his mind, forever carry a shadow of his distrust, even once the truth was known?

Even if she were to put her fears behind her, she couldn’t find the words to share her confession. It seemed impossible to do so without broaching the subject of the scene he had witnessed on the train platform, which had caused him such disgust and brought her so much pain. With so much weighing on his heart already, was it fair of her to upset whatever peace he’d managed to find thus far in their marital harmony?

What if he didn’t believe her? What if he was hurt she hadn’t spoken up before? His anger gave her no cause for alarm, but she couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting additional pain upon him. She would never wish to exact injury upon anyone, him least of all. Not her husband. Not the man she loved. And certainly not now, when his troubles were otherwise so great.

As the weeks passed immediately following her self-revelation, Margaret often found herself on the brink of confessing all to her husband. On each occasion, fear and inconvenient timing silenced her tongue. When the time was right, she promised herself that she would broach the topic of his suspicion and determine whether the trust she so needed to find true happiness in marriage had been regained. If so, she would tell him the truth. And confess to him her love.

In the meantime, she strove to provide him with such contentment, peace, and comfort as was within her power to give. She gave such assistance at the mill as she was able during the day and let her love wash over him at night, her body betraying the secrets of her heart, even if her lips could not. She felt his overwhelming weariness when they made love, pressing her mouth against the deep lines in his brow and offered him her strength when he sagged against her, his cheek pressed against her shoulder. In the aftermath of their coupling, he would fall asleep in her arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest and rhythmic beat of his heart soothing her own cares.

They had been married long enough for Margaret to grow accustomed to the idea but not long enough to overcome the full measure of her shyness – engrained in her from the time she was a child – at her husband viewing her nakedness when she awoke early one morning to see John standing before the fire, preparing his ablutions for the day ahead. He was stripped to the waist, his skin gleaming in the faint light. The fire in the grate was newly lit, its illumination weak and almost begrudging, but it was bright enough for her to see the ripple of muscles beneath his skin as he bent to splash cold water upon his face. She found herself entranced by the solid cord of muscle in his stomach and arms, the play of light and shadow against his upon his bare skin.

Though she doubted he would consider it a compliment, looking at him like this, she could only think how beautiful he was to her. How cherished. He stole her heart and took her breath away.

The sight of him drew her out of bed, the floor cold beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room, resting her hand gently upon his lower back as he straightened. He turned to face her, beads of moisture trailing down his face, and she placed her hand over his, gently tugging the towel from his grasp. He watched in silence as she tossed it aside and didn’t protest when she pressed her free hand against his chest and gave it a firm push, leading him into a nearby chair.

John didn’t say a word as he lowered himself into the seat, but his gaze missed nothing as she cast a critical eye upon the implements he’d laid out beside his washbowl. The shaving razor was open, its blade gleaming, already sharpened upon the strop in preparation for the task at hand. His soap had also already been prepared, the applicator brush resting nearby.

Margaret picking up the brush and mug of shaving soap, working up a lather as she turned back to her husband. His gaze had fallen to her hips, and she realized with a start that, standing before the fire as she was, the outline of her body would be visible through the thin fabric of her nightgown. The thought made her flush, but she feigned ignorance of the view she presented, even as she showed her body off to its best advantage, bending over him to lather his cheeks and chin.

John reached for her, bracing her hips in his palms. His hands were still damp from his morning wash, moistening the fabric of her dress. She shivered, biting back a soft moan of longing, when he pulled her forward until she straddled his chair, her thighs brushing the coarse fabric of his trousers. Unwilling to allow him to distract her from her purpose, she forced her attention to the task at hand, casting a critical eye upon his face to ensure the lather was sufficiently distributed. Then she reached for the razor, her hand trembling slightly as she lifted it to his cheek.

What had seemed like a good idea when she’d started was much more daunting now, when she held the sharpened razor in her hand and prepared to apply it to his bare skin. What if she made a mistake? What if she slipped and injured him? She hesitated, preparing to draw away, but he reached up and wrapped his hand around her own. His eyes were trusting, his gaze warm, as he drew the razor toward his cheek, adjusting the exact angle of the blade before pressing it gently against his skin. Then he dropped his hand, putting his fate entirely in her hands.

Margaret sucked in a sharp breath and narrowed her eyes, focusing the entirety of her attention upon the blade as she scraped it gently against his skin, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief when she managed her first pass without causing injury. Feeling more confident, she applied the blade again, her motions slow and cautious. As she worked, the back of her neck grew damp from the warmth of her fire, and the caress of John’s breath fanned her face as she leaned forward, intent upon her task. She could feel his gaze upon her, but it wasn’t distrust in his eyes. It was desire. Her answering need nearly overwhelmed her, and she required a moment to recollect her composure before she could continue.

With one side completed, John adjusted the angle of his head so that she could complete the job. Her heart pounded when she felt his hands slide under the hem of her nightdress, teasing the soft, sensitive skin of her thighs, and she sucked in an unsteady breath.

As she pulled the razor away, he slipped his fingers inside her, stroking her gently. Her head fell back with a moan, but she strove to gather her wits and regain control. Bracing her free hand on his shoulder, she cast an accusatory glance at his face, only to receive an unrepentant smile in return. However, the consciousness of his own well-being was such that he returned his hands to her hip when she wiped the lather off the blade, lifting it to continue her task.

Margaret’s heart pounded as she slid the razor along the curve of his jaw, and he tilted his head back to allow her greater access to his neck. Her efforts were perhaps not as clean as his would have been, but he didn’t seem to mind. When she finished her last pass, she grabbed a damp towel to wipe away the rest of the lather, but John gently tugged the blade from her hand, letting it fall to the floor. Then his mouth was upon her, teasing the bare flesh above the neck of her nightgown.

She opened her mouth to sigh his name, but the sound was captured by his lips as he pulled her firmly against him, pressing her against his hardness. Grabbing the bottom of her nightgown, he lifted it over her head and tossed it aside, and even in the increasing warmth of the room, she shuddered as she was bared before him. John didn’t seem to find anything amiss, however, as his attention was captivated by her smooth perfection.

Lifting his hand to cup her breast, Margaret found herself enthralled as she always was by his caress. The calluses on his palms were rough against her sensitive skin, but his touch was far from unpleasant. Her head fell back, exposing the curve of her neck, as he brushed a thumb against her aureole until her nipple beaded under his palm.

Her hands had fallen on his shoulders, and she gave in to the temptation to trail her fingertips down his chest, tracing the curve of muscle and bone. She felt first the rapid beat of his heart, then the muscles of his stomach shudder as he sucked in a sharp breath, and knew he wasn’t unaffected by her touch. In the light cast by the fire and the soft sunrise, his eyes were dark and filled with need. She wove her fingers into his hair, pressing him to her, as he bowed his head and sucked her breast into his mouth, teasing her with his tongue. She could feel the strength in his hands when he grasped her hips, guiding her motions as she rocked against him.

Only one layer of fabric separated their bodies, causing Margaret no end of frustration. Pressing her hands against his chest, she lifted off him far enough to reach for the buttons of his trousers. In her haste and her desire, her fingers were clumsy and awkward. Their hands tangled together when he attempted to assist her, causing her to laugh, the sound soft and strained.

She had only just managed to pull him free when he grabbed her thighs and pulled her into his lap once more, pausing only long enough to carefully guide himself inside of her. Margaret gasped as she sank onto him, her response inspired as much by the ominous creaking of the chair beneath them as the sudden fullness of his thrust. Anxious about the unsteadiness of their perch, she tightened her thighs around him and wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly rolling her hips against his.

John tucked his head against the curve of her neck, tickling her with the faint traces of stubble she’d overlooked in her earlier ministrations. His mouth scraped against her skin, eliciting a soft moan, while his hands explored her body, lingering in every spot which had previously brought her pleasure. He kissed the curve of her ear, her cheek, her chin, and Margaret rewarded his efforts with another slow roll of her hips.

Once again, she wrestled with the temptation to speak of her feelings, but this was hardly the time to do so. Her confession – or, rather, confessions, as she believed she had identified a multitude that must be made by now – deserved more consideration than a rashly uttered declaration in the midst of lovemaking. They also required more deliberation than to be hastily blurted over breakfast, or on the way out the door to attend to more pressing concerns and outstanding appointments.

Still, her secret feelings nearly overwhelmed her, swelling within her breast until she couldn't speak for love of him. Leaning back slightly, she wrapped one hand behind his neck to hold him in place as her gaze swept over the face that had engraved itself upon her heart. Their eyes met, and she found she couldn’t tear her gaze away, entranced as she was by the play of emotions upon his face and in his eyes…

Once again, she marveled that she ever could have thought him to be cold and cruel, that she ever could have mistaken his hardness for lack of feeling. Though his features were under his command, frequently schooled into either an impassive mask or a glower of disdain, his eyes betrayed him. Even when he had accused her of impropriety, when he’d told her his passion for her had ended, the chill of his words hadn’t wounded her half so much as that which lay behind those blue eyes, which revealed much, but also saw more than she wished.

Margaret was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of fear at what he might comprehend of her own feelings. In an act of self-preservation, she tore her gaze away, pressing her cheek against the curve of his shoulder as he lifted his hips, plunging inside her.

As she met each powerful thrust with a roll of her hips, Margaret clung to her husband, wishing for nothing more than to prolong this interlude. She felt the muscles beneath her tense and knew he was nearing completion, so she increased the rhythm of her hips, pressing her mouth against his neck to taste the saltiness of his skin as his muscles grew taut and he poured himself inside her. The momentarily respite didn’t last long, however, as he cupped one hand behind her head, holding her against him as he slid the other between her legs, stroking her deftly until wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her and she found her own release.

She collapsed against him, spent and unwilling to let him go, although she knew she couldn’t hold him in this moment forever. The harsh rasp of their breathing filled her ears, but as their hearts slowed and breathing steadied, the room grew quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the grate. When she could put off the inevitable no longer, she lifted her head off John’s shoulder, though she wasn’t yet able to meet his eyes, still uncertain of what her own would reveal.

“Margaret?” His voice was soft and uncertain, and her heart wrenched at the aching vulnerability it betrayed. She was unequal to the task of giving voice to her inner turmoil, so she stared at his lips as she stroked her fingers along the side of his face. Cupped his cheeks in her palms, pressed her mouth against his, drawing his tongue inside her parted lips. In unspoken reassurance, she deepened the embrace until she felt his lingering tension ebb away. When the kiss ended, she drew back to meet his eyes, confident that her own would no longer divulge her secrets.

Climbing off his lap, Margaret rushed to retrieve her nightgown from the floor, quickly pulling it on before turning her attention back to her husband. In the early morning light, Margaret was forced to acknowledge that she made for an imperfect barber, more than one small patch of stubble having escaped her blade, but John issued no complaint. Instead, he used a towel to wipe away what remnants of shaving soap remained, though Margaret noticed that a fair amount had transferred to her person.

Once he had dried his face with a towel, he began to toss it beside the bowl when Margaret grabbed his hand, staying his motion. There, on the bright white fabric, was a small red stain, a sign she had not been as careful with the razor as she had wished. Stretching onto her toes, she examined his skin and noticed the tiniest nick just below his right ear.

“I’m sorry,” she said, speaking as much for her continued silence as the injury she had inflicted upon him.

Touching a finger to the wound, he shook his head. “It’s not deep. It’ll heal soon enough.” He cast a glance at the window, and Margaret knew his mind was turning toward the mill, to the work left undone and the hours that lay ahead of him. Longing to steal just a few more precious moments with him, she helped him to dress, asserting the privilege of such intimacy that only a wife could claim.

The hour was growing late, and Margaret knew her husband was eager to begin his day, but still he hesitated, brushing a lock of hair off her cheek once she had finished straightening his cravat. “Margaret—” he began, a line of worry creasing the skin between his brows, “Forgive me for pressing, but you seem troubled. If something is bothering you, you can confide in me.”

Her heart twisted at the understanding that he had seen more than she’d wished, recognizing the fact of her preoccupation, although he did not yet understand the cause. Pulling him to her, she pressed a kiss against that telltale evidence of his concern. “It’s nothing,” she attempted, though she didn’t need to see his face to anticipate his answering skepticism. Taking his hands in hers, she remarked, “It’s getting late, and work is more important. I don’t want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

John wasn’t willing to be so easily deterred, tightening his hold on her hands. “My work may be necessary, but there is nothing in the world more important to me than you.”

His words gave her hope, and she smiled at him with all the sweetness she felt in her heart. “Very well, but it’s not – I’m not troubled, precisely, but – do you think we could steal some time alone together this evening? There are some matters we should discuss.”

With obvious reluctance at the delay, he agreed, capturing her lips in one more kiss before heading out the door. Little did either of them know that a visit from Mr Bell later that same day would bring news that would drive all other concerns from her mind. For a while, at least.

#like moths to a flame #margaret hale #john thornton #north and south #john x margaret #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

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Understanding The Bible - A Practical Guide To Each Book In The Bible - Part 8

Written by: PETER KREEFT

EIGHT

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National Happiness from Personal Holiness: First and Second Samuel

The historical books of the Bible were not designed, either by men or by God, merely to satisfy our natural curiosity about past events, but to guide our present lives and choices to ensure our future supernatural blessedness. To look for “lessons” in these books, therefore, is not an arbitrary imposition of an external, alien point of view. For God, unlike man, writes lessons not only in words but also in events. He is the primary Author of the book of history as well as of these historical books.

There are many memorable “lessons” in First and Second Samuel (How naive, unfashionable, and “moralistic” the very word “lesson” sounds to our modern ears! In that psychological fact itself there lies a lesson.) Among them, one of the most prominent and relevant to our own time is the dependence of a nation’s happiness on its leaders’ personal holiness.

First and Second Samuel contrast the personalities of good but weak Eli with good and strong Samuel, strong but selfish Saul with idealistic David, David as obedient with David as disobedient; and they show how these contrasts, these choices, will determine all of Israel’s subsequent history. The difference between a two-degree angle and a three-degree angle is perhaps only a fraction of an inch in the beginning, close to its origin. But when the lines are extended through space, as history is extended through time, the difference becomes a matter of many miles.

First Samuel traces Israel’s history from the birth of Samuel, last of the judges, to the death of Saul, Israel’s first king. Second Samuel traces the rule of David, Israel’s greatest king.

First Samuel: The Age of Kingship Emerges

Samuel, the last judge, anoints Saul, the first king. A new age emerges through this transition. “Anointing” was a quasi-sacramental, symbolic pouring of oil onto the head of the man God chose. It publicly signified and certified God’s choice. The title Christ or Messiah means “the anointed one” or “the chosen one”. The Jewish kings as God’s chosen ones and the Jews as God’s “chosen people” foreshadow and prepare for Christ, God’s Chosen Person.

Before the transition from Samuel to Saul, we see a transition from Eli, the old priest, to Samuel, the young prophet. At a time when “the word of the LorD was rare in those days; there was no frequent vision” (3:1), God called Samuel, dramatically but quietly, in the night. And Samuel gave the perfect, classic response to God’s call, just as Mary was to do a thousand years later with her fiat. Samuel said simply, “Speak, Lord, for thy servant hears” (3:9). Only because Samuel first listened to God, did Israel listen to Samuel: “When Samuel spoke, all Israel listened” (3:21, TEV). This is the key to all effective preaching, pastoring, and priestly work.

The people asked Samuel for a king, “like all the nations” (8:5). Like us modern Americans, they didn’t want to be different. This disappointed God (God is not an American), but God let them have their foolish way (8:6-9) to teach them—the hard way.

They chose Saul as their king, not for his wisdom or holiness but for his “image”, as we would put it today: “There was not a man among the people of Israel more handsome than he . . . he was taller than any of the people” (9:2).

The time of Saul, like most times, was full of corruption. Eli’s wicked sons, ruling at Shiloh, were so bad that God sent terrible judgment on the nation. Israel was defeated in battle by the Philistines (chap. 4). Eli’s sons were killed. And Eli died in grief and horror at hearing that the ark of the covenant, God’s visible throne in Israel and the holiest object in the world, was captured. It was almost as if a Satanist were to steal the Eucharist for a Black Mass. Eli’s daughter-in-law died in childbirth upon hearing the news, and named her son Ichabod, which means “the glory has departed”.

But Saul was not the answer to the departed glory. Though for a time he gave Israel military glory and victory, he proved to be an evil king (13:8-14; 15:10-23; 28:3-17). He was envious of David and sought to murder him, even though David was God’s anointed.

David was protected from Saul by his friend Jonathan, Saul’s son and heir. The friendship between David and Jonathan is a classic, model friendship. Jonathan gave up to David his legitimate claim to be king (20:30-31) because of his loyalty to David and because of his loyalty to God, for he knew God had chosen David to be king (chap. 18).

The crisis and culmination of Saul’s dissolution and self-destruction came when he played with the occult—something God had forbidden with frightening strictness (Ex 22:18; Deut 18:9-12). Once Saul conjured up the spirit of the dead prophet Samuel through the mediumship of the Witch of En-Dor (chap. 28), it was too late: Saul lost his kingdom, his life, and probably his soul. Samuel told him, “The LorD has turned from you and become your enemy” (28:16; compare Mt 7:23). Saul’s story is a story of crime and punishment, a moral tragedy.

Second Samuel: Israel’s Brief Golden Age

But David’s story is one of glory. David is Israel’s model king, the standard by which all subsequent kings are judged. David is one of the primary Old Testament types or symbols for Christ:

1. He is a king.

2. He is born in Bethlehem.

3. He is anointed (“Christ”).

4. He is “a man after God’s own heart” (1 Sam 13:14).

5. He experiences rejection and danger, and out of it composes some of the great messianic psalms, such as the one (Ps 22) Jesus quoted on the Cross.

6. He is the literal ancestor of Christ, who is frequently called “the son of David” and “descended from David according to the flesh” (Rom 1:3).

7. Like Christ, David forgives and spares his enemies. On two occasions, he spared Saul’s life when Saul was seeking his (chaps. 24-26).

King David is a type of Christ the King. It is difficult for us Americans to love kings, for our nation was born in a rebellion against a bad king. Yet Christ is a king as well as prophet and priest. The Church has not designed for us “the Feast of Christ the President”, but the Feast of Christ the King. Christ did not preach “the administration of God”, but “the Kingdom of God”.

God promised David through Nathan the prophet that the Messiah would be descended from him. This hope for an even greater king than David was kept alive in Israel during the dark times of decline, corruption, civil war, exile, and captivity that were to follow for many long generations after David. The New Testament refers to Nathan’s prophecy and Christ’s fulfillment of it three times (Acts 2:30; 2 Cor 6:18; and Heb 1:5). David is the connecting hinge between Abraham, who first received the promise, and Christ, who finally fulfilled it; he is halfway between Abraham (about 2000 B.C.) and Christ.

David wanted to build God’s house, the temple, but God decreed that it should be built instead by David’s son Solomon, a man of peace. David wanted to build a house for God, but instead God built a house for David. The “house of David” is a dynasty divinely guaranteed to produce not just a great temporal kingdom but an eternal one (see Lk 1:32-33). The prophecy was fulfilled: David’s dynastic line was preserved right down to the time of the Messiah, who was David’s great-great-great-etc.-grandson. In the northern kingdom of Israel, there were nine different family dynasties, but in Judah only one. Judah and Benjamin were the only tribes that remained until the time of Christ; the other ten were scattered and lost.

The characters of Eli, Samuel, Saul, Nathan, and David are vivid and memorable because they are realistic. Though David is Israel’s greatest king and a type of Christ, Second Samuel does not idealize him or gloss over his sins.

Second Samuel tells David’s story as both history and biography. For the fate of the nation and of David are intertwined. The spiritual law of cause and effect is not only individual but also social. David’s spiritual success brought about God’s blessing not only in his private life, but also in the life of the nation; and David’s spiritual failures necessarily brought down God’s judgment not only on him and his family, but also on his nation.

David’s remarkable political “rags to riches” story (from shepherd boy to king) and his remarkable military success in quenching civil war and enforcing peace stemmed from his personal friendship with God and obedience to God’s will. Then came the turning point in his life: his adultery with Bathsheba and his arranging the murder of her husband Uriah. The book then chronicles the tragic consequences of these sins for his family and for the nation.

These consequences start to unravel when Bathsheba’s new baby by David dies shortly after birth. Later one of David’s sons, Amnon, commits incest with his half-sister Tamar. Then David’s beloved son Absalom, the full blood-brother of Tamar, murders his half-brother Amnon to avenge his sister, leads a military revolt against his father David, and is killed by David’s general Joab. One of the most poignantly agonizing passages in the Bible is David’s grief over Absalom: “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!” (18:33).

Nathan’s prophecy is fulfilled: God sends a sword into David’s house. Not only family disaster but also national disaster come: famine, war with Philistia, and, later, the renewed civil war under Solomon’s sons that would split Israel forever.

The brief “Golden Age” Israel enjoyed lasted only one or two generations: part of David’s rule and part of Solomon’s. The rest is troubled times. Saul began in glory but ended in ruin. So did Solomon. Only David remained God’s man, through repentance. David did not attain the best thing, personal purity and perfection, but he attained the next best thing, repentance. This was crucial for the nation. David’s repentance held Israel together and staved off God’s judgment for another generation.

One of the most arresting passages in Scripture is the scene of this repentance. Nathan the prophet confronts David with his crimes by his parable of the rich man who stole the poor man’s single sheep. David is impaled by its stunning punch line: “You are the man.” After reading 2 Samuel 12:1-15, read Psalm 51, the great prayer of repentance that David wrote after this sudden self-knowledge. It is a favorite of many of the saints, for all saints know themselves to be sinners, and this is the great sinner’s Psalm.

Here are four short and simple lessons for our time and our nation from First and Second Samuel.

1. Most times are times of trouble. Prosperity and peace are the exception, not the rule.

2. Personal sins produce national tragedies. Just as the sins of the fathers have consequences in the lives of their children (Ex 20:5-6), the sins of the rulers have consequences in the life of the nation. This law does not change when kings change to presidents.

3. There exists an unavoidable law of spiritual cause and effect, as universal and as objective as the law of gravity: the only road to blessing is obedience, and the road to judgment is disobedience to God’s laws.

4. But it’s never too late. David’s repentance restored him to God’s favor, and although the sword remained in his house as a purgatorial punishment, David remained God’s man. He weakened his relationship with God by sin, but did not destroy it, and restored it by repentance. If even a murderer and adulterer could be a great king and a great man of God, what can you be?

#understanding the bible

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ingoldentent · 6 years

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The Christmas Flag

(A Christmas gift for Laurel @golden-witch. Hope you enjoy it!

For context, this is a modern AU the two of us talk about, with some details explained at the story itself. Some bits might seem out of nowhere for most readers.

Also, featuring Ange/Beato because I feel like the gays deserve it.)

“Ah, finally you’ve arrived! I was starting to think that you were planning to purposefully starve your dearest sister to deaaaaath!!”

“Good evening to you too, Beato.” Lion calmly replies. “Will got stuck on petting this one stray cat a couple streets down here.”

“More like saving our lives.” The aforementioned Will replies. “That was not your typical cat, Lion. I could feel in my soul as she stared into me- the desire to tear me apart while laughing at it.”

“Yeah, sure.” The blonde shrugged off. This was not the time to indulge into Willard’s paranoia regarding that one black cat with the blue ribbon. “So, were we the last ones to arrive?”

“You can bet on that!” Battler shouted from afar, for he was too busy fighting against Jessica in a match of Silver Mysteria to look at the arriving couple. Not the most festive activity there is, but the perfect cousin bonding method. If anything, it’s a good way to channel fighting urges instead of them bickering to the point of violence.

Beato claps her hands, nodding enthusiastically at Battler’s words. “Yes, that’s very right! C’mon, Lion, everyone, enough playing. It’s finally time for our Christmas dinner!!”

With that energetic call, the seven people at the house got around the table to celebrate the occasion. Lion Castiglioni and Willard H. Wright; Battler Ushiromiya, Jessica Ushiromiya and Sayo Yasuda (who was today in a more ‘Yoshiya’ mood); lastly, Beatrice Castiglioni and… Ange Ushiromiya.

It’s not traditional of Japanese people to celebrate Christmas the same way people do in the West. While here there’s an emphasis on family and presents and the figure of Santa Claus, in Japan Christmas is mostly a date for small children and couples. In other words, it’s not too farfetched to say that this holiday is like a second Valentine’s Day there.

Thing is, as an Italian family, the Castiglioni’s have kept up with the tradition of holding a family dinner every Christmas Eve, even after they moved to Japan. And the Ushiromiyas, as expected after decades of being under the rule of Kinzo Ushiromiya and his West loving ways, followed a similar vein.

However, none of those here present truly felt fulfilled with such a shallow reunion, where they’re forced to bear smiles in their faces while standing to listen to veiled insults to each other. Some felt the full strike of that, like Beatrice, the problematic princess of the Castiglioni’s who committed the terrible ‘sin’ of being born with a penis. Or Ange, the bastard child who would forever carry the stain of having her mother be a convicted criminal and not receive genuine affection from her.

Then you have Sayo, whose life as a servant to the Castiglioni’s taught her several things about grudges, pessimism and the obsolescence of the gender binary. Lion got it better than their sister - being the favorite among the relatives and having no difficulties in pleasing others certainly helped, but they couldn’t leave Beato alone in this one chance for getting a decent holiday.

Battler’s life isn’t that different from the one most readers are used to. The main exception being, he and Jessica managed to have quite the detailed discussion in regards to how to conduct a polyamorous relationship with their mutual beloved. They don’t want each other, though. That’d be gross. Jessica’s biggest worry today is this one extracurricular program her parents want her to attend after winter break and the fact that Battler utterly destroyed her in Silver Mysteria right now.

Last, we have Willard, who’s only here to accompany his partner. He’s not really that close to any of the other people here, yet somehow he always ends up as their collective therapist when things spiral out of control.

This concludes presentations of this curious ensemble, which was now reunited in Ange’s apartment for a late Christmas celebration. It might be a strange group doing a strange thing on December 26th, but hey. None of them really felt like what they got during the day proper really carried an air of ‘peace’ and ‘happiness’. Isn’t that what this holiday should be about, to begin with?

Upon Beato’s loud exclamation of Lion and Willard’s arrival, Ange and Yoshiya, who were busy preparing the last components of the meal at the kitchen, joined the group to give their usual aloof greetings. The Ushiromiya girl simply waved at them, not really feeling like talking. Especially to Will, who gave her quite a painfully needed wake-up call on her behavior, last time they met. She is doing better now, but the shame of that time still runs through her veins.

“Alright, then, what did you guys get to do?” Jessica approached impatient. “My belly is starving after all the energy I’ve spent on that stupid game.”

“You mean,” Battler retorted. “the energy you spent losing to me, ihihi- OUCH!”

“S-Shut, dumbass!”

“Hey, you two, behave!” Yoshiya quickly berates. “If you don’t join the table soon, the dinner will get cold.”

“”Y-Yes, love…” They bow down in shame and do as solicited.

“That’s right.” Beato nods in agreement. “The longer you keep on that stuff, the longer I’ll have to wait until I get to be preeeetty gay with Ange, you know~?”

“B-BEATO!” Ange blushes like an apple at that affirmation from her girlfriend. “Not in front of them, e-especially Onii-chan!!”

The group laughs at the scene. Ah, young adult life. The moment where your spirit still carries the passion and wish for fun from adolescence, but you’re forced to face the reality of responsibilities and sustenance. That makes creating moments like these harder and harder, which’s why they must be enjoyed to the max.

With everyone on table, the dinner finally goes on without bigger problems. The group discusses questions regarding college, jobs, money, plans and promises for next year. It’s not that unlike what they had with the rest of their families the previous days. However, getting to share their perspective in an environment where they won’t be judged for not sharing the same ideology as their parents was certainly refreshing. Not to count, you wouldn’t see this much sincere laughter at either the Castiglioni’s or Ushiromiya’s tables.

To that, Beato was really glad. Ah, it’s been months ever since she has had an evening this pleasant. Anxious fits about her body still disturb her even when Ange has proven to her, time and time again, that she isn’t ‘furniture’ anymore. Yes, that’s in the past. A new chapter in her life is about to begin, one that for once she isn’t dreading to start…

“Beato?” Ange’s voice cuts the blonde from her thoughts, making her drop the fork on her hand. “You’re thinking of something?”

“A-Ah, nothing, n-nothing!” To prove that, she proceeds to munch several portions of the food on her dish at once. “W-Was jwust admwired at wour cooking skwll, wes!”

“………………….”

Ange can see her just perfectly behind her cheerful facade, can’t she? Who is she fooling? She’s still damn terrified of this whole thing! A life with friends, with someone who loves and accepts her for who she is… Does someone as selfish and disgusting as her really deserve any of this?

Just as she was having those thoughts, a gentle hand suddenly starts patting her head. “Ah, Battler!”

“You’re in one of those ‘moods’ again, aren’t you?” He asks with a concerned tone. She takes a chance to look around the table and notices- everyone is staring at her, no? Oh, great. Now she’s made everyone worried. She was singlehandedly ruining the festive spirit! Oooooh, she wants to die right now-

“SO!” All of a sudden, Jessica slams the table with her open palms. “I think we’ve all finished eating for now. Why don’t we move to dessert?! I’ve heard that you prepared a delicious thing, didn’t you, Yoshiya-kun?”

“Did I- Oh, right! Yes, I did.” He nods, catching on what Jessica’s intention is. He coughs awkwardly, in such a way that it becomes clear to Beato what is just happening. Still, she’s glad. At least like this, she can let herself be drowned in her intrusive thoughts without bothering anyone…

“Beato. It’s me, Lion.” The heir says after knocking at the bathroom door. “You’ve been there for 10 minutes already. Y-You okay?”

No response.

“Beatrice,” Will joined in. “if you’re hiding because you don’t want us to get worried over seeing your messy state, I’m sorry to say that might not be workin- GHNK!”

“Willard, manners.” Lion cuts him short, fingers quickly retreating from his butt at a pinching pose. Still no response from the other side.

“Nothing, huh…?” Ange sighs, while the others watch the door from afar. They all agree that it’s best limiting how many people try talking to Beato when she’s having an anxiety attack.

“At least I can’t hear her breathing hard anymore. She should be coming out soon.” Will says.

“Tsk… idiot. Why today of all days?! These stupid brains of ours must be defective or something!!” Ange punches a wall in protest. It’s not like she can talk much, though. She had a similar crisis just yesterday, at the Ushiromiya mansion. Were Battler not there to take her to a calmer place, who knows what a scandal she would have pulled in front of the relatives. That’d be utterly disgraceful to her pride.

Speaking of him… “Oh, Ange, I have an idea! Bring up the flags already, instead of leaving it to the very end!”

“The flags…” Ah, yes. It had been an idea that she had come up with to make the two of them more comfortable with the season. Ange was never good at picking presents for others or at giving comforting words according to what they need, as Battler is. So, she thought, perhaps… something simpler would be able to express what she thinks of Beato and their relationship in a better manner.

And you can’t go more symbolic than with these flags.

“…Beato.” She knocks the bathroom door. “Why don’t we… finish setting up the Christmas tree now? I left the top of it to you, you know?”

She’s referring to a small, slightly broken tree that they found abandoned on the street the other day. It seems like even on Japan, people have been getting too much into Christmas trees recently, to the point where defective ones have been appearing on trash cans more and more. For someone like Ange, however, who detested getting in touch with any of her family’s richness, this was just the perfect decoration for the season.

A couple seconds pass, no response coming from the blonde. Looks like Beatrice isn’t up to even this, Ange concludes. Willard tells them to return to the others, but before they can do so-

*CREEEEEEK!*

“…………” Beato stands there, eyes looking down and hair disheveled. It’s not hard to deduce what she was doing inside that bathroom, but the others choose not to comment on it - for her sake… and their own. They simply smile at her, Lion moving to pat her on the back.

“Welcome back, Beatrice-sama.” Yoshiya greets. “Feeling better?”

“Y-Yeah, I guess…” She sighs. A hand of hers is over her chest. Perhaps she’s still feeling her heart beat fast, but at least her breath seems to be more controlled by now. Jessica approaches her and, alongside Battler, help her sit down on a sofa. Meanwhile, Willard goes get a glass of water to her.

“Drink it. Your body needs to stay hydrated.” He commands, which Beato attends without difficulties. In the meantime, Ange brings the small tree closer to her girlfriend.

“See? The top is still missing. But I’ve prepared something that we can put on it, together.” She starts blushing. “I-If you want, of course!”

“Ah…” Beato massages a temple of hers, as if guiding her consciousness back to the situation in front of her. “Hmmmm...”

“C’mon, it’s gonna be great!” Battler cheers her. “I bet that it’s gonna make you smile aaaall night long, ehehehe~.”

“O-Oni-chan!! Don’t give her that sort of perverted idea about me!” Ange huffs at him. That finally warrants a more elaborated answer from Beato - a chuckle, to be more specific.

“Don’t you worry, Battler. On another occasion I’ll make sure that your sister spends all night long smiling too~.” She winks at Ange, who by now looks like a tomato. Ange feels like jumping at her brother for starting such an embarrassing line of conversation, but manages to contain herself. It did help cheer Beato, at least exteriorly, so she’ll forgive him this time.

“A-ANYWAY!!” She coughs, then rummages through a pocket on her pants. “I-It’s not really anything grandiose or spectacular, but… I hope you’ll like it.” At last, Ange pulls the two flags out of her pocket, making them perfectly visible to Beato.

Her pupils dilate at the vision. “Those are…!”

On Ange’s hands, two small flags, enough to fit on an open palm, were presented. One had several colored stripes in it, a composition similar to a rainbow, except with only one blue instead of two. The other was stripped too, except with only blue, pink and white. It should be no mystery what they stand for.

“You want to… really put these on the tree… for everyone to see?!” Beato asked. Her voice was laced with apprehension. Not surprising, for putting those up would mean… to have pride of them.

“W-Well, yeah.” Ange coughs some more. “I… I love you, you know?” Her eyes darted away from Beatrice as she uttered those words. “A-A-And… I’m happy with what we are, who we are. O-Or, well…” She takes a deep breath.

Everyone else stays silent. They don’t want to break Ange’s willingness to speak like this. Battler in particular would know, considering his sister trained these words with him a couple days ago.

“Uuuuh, I’m… glad to have you as my girlfriend. And I don’t want to feel ashamed about that ever again.” Then… Ange smiles. A small, pretty smile that she rarely shows. “I hope… that you’re glad for having me as well. That’d be nice.”

“Ange…” Beato’s eyes begin tearing at those words. As expected, the other isn’t the most eloquent person ever. Still, her speech touched the blonde deeply. “A-ANGEEEEEEEEE!!!!”

Beato proceeds to tackle her in a tight hug, all while sobbing in an ugly manner. “Waaaaah, Ange… I’m… I-I’m so happy!! That, that you think of me like that…!!”

Of course, such a sudden display of physical affection - in front of others, even - isn’t the most comfortable scenario for Ange. But, well… These ARE her friends (or the closest thing to the term that she considers to have) and it IS Christmas (or the day after it), so… Perhaps she’ll let this last a bit longer… just this time.

The others clap in celebration. That’s when Jessica makes a comment. “Yo, guys, the marathon of horror Christmas movies on Channel Lyte is about to begin! Hurry up!!”

“Fine, fine. Let’s join them, Ange?” Beato asks. There’re still trails of tears on her face, but she’s trying to clean them.

“Y-Yes, we will.” Ange replies, a small blush on her face. So the group spends the rest of the night getting spooked or laughing at the screen, all while a small Christmas tree stands at the corner, two flags hanging over it.

#umineko #umineko no naku koro ni #goldenwitch #beaange #(Merry Christmas dear <3)

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tanishador-blog · 7 years

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Ten Interesting Chinese Novels

1) Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress

“In this enchanting tale about the magic of reading and the wonder of romantic awakening, two hapless city boys are exiled to a remote mountain village for reeducation during China's infamous Cultural Revolution. There they meet the daughter of the local tailor and discover a hidden stash of Western classics in Chinese translation. As they flirt with the seamstress and secretly devour these banned works, they find transit from their grim surroundings to worlds they never imagined.” (Goodreads)

2) The Joy Luck Club

“In 1949, four Chinese women, recent immigrants to San Francisco, begin meeting to eat dim sum, play mahjong, and talk. United in shared loss and hope, they call themselves the Joy Luck Club. With wit and wisdom, Amy Tan examines the sometimes painful, often tender, and always deep connection between these four women and their American-born daughters. As each reveals her secrets, trying to unravel the truth about her life, the strings become more tangled, more entwined” ( Goodreads)

3) Waiting

“Ha Jin draws on his intimate knowledge of contemporary China to create a novel of unexpected richness and feeling. Waiting, PEN/Hemingway Award-winning author Ha Jin draws on his intimate knowledge of contemporary China to create a novel of unexpected richness and feeling. This is the story of Lin Kong, a man living in two worlds, struggling with the conflicting claims of two utterly different women as he moves through the political minefields of a society designed to regulate his every move and stifle the promptings of his innermost heart.

For more than seventeen years, this devoted and ambitious doctor has been in love with an educated, clever, modern woman, Manna Wu. But back in the traditional world of his home village lives the wife his family chose for him when he was young--a humble and touchingly loyal woman, whom he visits in order to ask, again and again, for a divorce. In a culture in which the ancient ties of tradition and family still hold sway and where adultery discovered by the Party can ruin lives forever, Lin's passionate love is stretched ever more taut by the passing years. Every summer, his compliant wife agrees to a divorce but then backs out. This time, Lin promises, will be different.

Tracing these lives through their summer of decision and beyond, Ha Jin vividly conjures the texture of daily life in a place where the demands of human longing must contend with the weight of centuries of custom. Waiting charms and startles us with its depiction of a China that remains hidden to Western eyes even as it moves us with its piercing vision of the universal complications of love.” (Goodreads)

4) Shanghai Girls

“Pearl and May are sisters, living carefree lives in Shanghai, the Paris of Asia. But when Japanese bombs fall on their beloved city, they set out on the journey of a lifetime, one that will take them through the Chinese countryside, in and out of the clutch of brutal soldiers, and across the Pacific to the shores of America. In 1937, Shanghai is the Paris of Asia, a city of great wealth and glamour, the home of millionaires and beggars, gangsters and gamblers, patriots and revolutionaries, artists and warlords. Thanks to the financial security and material comforts provided by their father’s prosperous rickshaw business, twenty-one-year-old Pearl Chin and her younger sister, May, are having the time of their lives. Though both sisters wave off authority and tradition, they couldn’t be more different: Pearl is a Dragon sign, strong and stubborn, while May is a true Sheep, adorable and placid. Both are beautiful, modern, and carefree . . . until the day their father tells them that he has gambled away their wealth and that in order to repay his debts he must sell the girls as wives to suitors who have traveled from California to find Chinese brides. As Japanese bombs fall on their beloved city, Pearl and May set out on the journey of a lifetime, one that will take them through the Chinese countryside, in and out of the clutch of brutal soldiers, and across the Pacific to the shores of America. In Los Angeles they begin a fresh chapter, trying to find love with the strangers they have married, brushing against the seduction of Hollywood, and striving to embrace American life even as they fight against discrimination, brave Communist witch hunts, and find themselves hemmed in by Chinatown’s old ways and rules.” (Goodreads)

5) Peony in Love

“In seventeenth-century China, three women become emotionally involved with The Peony Pavilion, a famed opera rumored to cause lovesickness and even death, including Peony, the cloistered daughter of a wealthy scholar, who succumbs to its spell only to return after her death as a "hungry ghost" to haunt her former fiancé, who has married another.” (Goodreads)

6) Big Breast and Wide Hips

“In a country where men dominate, this epic novel is first and foremost about women. As the title implies, the female body serves as the book's most important image and metaphor. The protagonist, Mother, is born in 1900. Married at 17 into the Shangguan family, she has nine children, only one of whom is a boy, the narrator of the book, a spoiled and ineffectual child who stands in stark contrast to his eight strong and forceful female siblings. Mother, a survivor, is the quintessential strong woman, who risks her life to save the lives of several of her children and grandchildren. The writing is full of life-picturesque, bawdy, shocking, imaginative. Each of the seven chapters represents a different time period, from the end of the Qing dynasty up through the Japanese invasion in the 1930s, the civil war, the Cultural Revolution, and the post-Mao years. In sum, this stunning novel is Mo Yan's searing vision of 20th-century China.” (Goodreads)

7) The Kitchen God’s Wife

“Winnie and Helen have kept each other's worst secrets for more than fifty years. Now, because she believes she is dying, Helen wants to expose everything. And Winnie angrily determines that she must be the one to tell her daughter, Pearl, about the past—including the terrible truth even Helen does not know. And so begins Winnie's story of her life on a small island outside Shanghai in the 1920s, and other places in China during World War II, and traces the happy and desperate events that led to Winnie's coming to America in 1949.” (Goodreads)

8) Empress Orchid

“To rescue her family from poverty and avoid marrying her slope-shouldered cousin, seventeen-year-old Orchid competes to be one of the Emperor's wives. When she is chosen as a lower-ranking concubine she enters the erotically charged and ritualised Forbidden City. But beneath its immaculate façade lie whispers of murders and ghosts, and the thousands of concubines will stoop to any lengths to bear the Emperor's son. Orchid trains herself in the art of pleasuring a man, bribes her way into the royal bed, and seduces the monarch, drawing the attention of dangerous foes. Little does she know that China will collapse around her, and that she will be its last Empress.”

9) Raise the Red Lantern: Three Novellas

“The brutal realities of the dark places Su Tong depicts in this collection of novellas set in 1930s provincial China -- worlds of prostitution, poverty, and drug addiction -- belie his prose of stunning and simplebeauty. The title novella, "Raise the Red Lantern," which became a critically acclaimed film, tells the story of Lotus, a young woman whose father's suicide forces her to become the concubine of a wealthy merchant. Crushed by loneliness, despair, and cruel treatment, Lotus finds her descent into insanity both a weapon and a refuge. "Nineteen Thirty-Four Escapes" is an account of a family's struggles during one momentous year; plagued by disease, death, and the shady promise of life in a larger town, the family slowly disintegrates. Finally, "Opium Family" details the last years of a landowning clan whose demise is brought about by corruption, lust, and treachery -- fruits of the insidious crop they harvest”(Goodreads)

10) Death of the Red Heroine

“A young “national model worker,” renowned for her adherence to the principles of the Communist Party, turns up dead in a Shanghai canal. As Inspector Chen Cao of the Shanghai Special Cases Bureau struggles to trace the hidden threads of her past, he finds himself challenging the very political forces that have guided his life since birth. Chen must tiptoe around his superiors if he wants to get to the bottom of this crime, and risk his career—perhaps even his life—to see justice done.” (Goodreads)

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