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sifu-kisu · 3 months

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History of Tan Tui

Tan T'ui or Spring Leg 譚腿 / 潭腿 / 彈腿- This style could be one of the oldest styles that is still widely practiced today. In the past, it was required that all high schools have physical education and that Tan T'ui be part of its curriculum. Every student had to learn Tan T'ui before they could graduate in China. During the Sung Dynasty, Tan T'ui was regarded as a complete style. The techniques within the set were all practical and easily used. There are many versions on the origin of the style.

The first theory is recorded in the text, Liu Ho Style by an unknown author. It states that Liu Ho Style uses Tan T'ui as one of their basic foundation sets because it contains only a few moves and is easy to learn. There is a section on the origins of Tan T'ui. It states "There was a monk out preaching and traveling. On the road he saw two roosters fighting. The red rooster was larger than the white skinny rooster. After a while, the white rooster was losing and tried running away. The red rooster gave chase. The white rooster ran to the base of a hill which was a dead end and could not run any further. The red rooster caught up. Having no choice, the white rooster sprang up and struck the red rooster with both its talons. The red rooster fell down dead with its belly cut open. Seeing this, the monk thought, `If a man could practice so his legs were strong, it would be the same as a weak person overcoming the strong'. After a few years of study, he developed the ten (10) rows of Tan T'ui.

Second Theory: The Chinese Moslems or the Hui give credit to a Hui native of Xinjiang, Chamir (Cha Shang Yir) (1568 A.D - 1644 A.D.) as the creator of Tan T'ui Style. During the prime of his life on the coast of Fukein, Japanese pirates were raiding the coast. The government of the Ming Dynasty ordered their troops to the coast to battle against the Japanese pirates. Chamir joined the army and was assigned to go south. As the soldiers were marching down the coast under harsh conditions, Chamir was taken ill in a mountain village, Liaocheng, in Guanxian County, in Shangtung Province and was left behind to recuperate. The local peasants treated him until he was well. Chamir repaid their kindness by teaching the Twenty-eight (28) Rows of Tan T'ui (Spring Legs) which he devised and performed for many years. The boxing style consisted of 28 routines, which were put in alphabetical order, according to the Arabic language commonly used by the Hui. The monks at the nearby Shandong Long Tan Temple learned of the Tan Tui system from the locals and later incorporated it into their fighting routines that they practiced. Later the Twenty-eight (28) Rows were condensed into Ten (10) Rows of Tan T'ui (Spring Legs).

This is indeed an interesting information except the fact that there was no Hui Muslims (Chinese Muslims) in Xinjiang During Ming Dynasty, they came to Xinjiang after the Qing Dynasty invasion of Xinjiang in 19th century. The name "Xinjiang itself was introduced by Chinese invaders in 1884. Secondly, his Chinese name was Cha Shang Yir, which to me does not sound like a real Chinese name but rather a Chinese translation of his name. His Muslim name was Chamir but I don't see how the Chinese would get Cha Shang Yir from that... I think Cha Mu Er would seem more likely. So now I am wondering two things. First do the Hui take Muslim names or just use their Chinese name? Second if Chamir was his Muslim name and Cha Shang Yir was his Chinese name did he have a third name that was his birth name?

Besides, the article mentioned that he used Arabic scripture which was used by Uighurs at that time and still being used today. From this analysis, he might be a Uighur, or by a remote chance an Uzbek or Tatar. If the name "Chamir" is correctly translated into English, he cannot be a Hui moslem. Well then that pretty much proves that he could not be Hui and therefore he did not exist and the Muslim did not create Tan Tui as many current people believe is true.

Third Theory: Many people assumed the first character in Tan T'ui was the surname 譚 of the creator of the style. This would translate into Tan's Legs Style. As the story goes, Tan was very good fighter from Henan and had developed these set of techniques. his skill was deep and abundant, he defeated all challengers. His students who taught his method therefore used “Tan” in the name. He is credited as the individual who brought the style to the Shao lin Monastery. Others say he is credited as the first one who brought the style out from the Shao lin Monastery. The Shaolin version mentioned earlier uses a different “tan” altogether (彈), meaning “springy”, “snapping”, or “to shoot”, describing a quality of the kicking rather than a source of the system.

Fourth Theory: Shaolin's Tan Tui is given credit to Monk Xian Ji who while in residence at the temple in Ling Qing Tan Temple in Shandong Province during the Ming Dynasty. It is said that he traded Shaolin's famous Lohan Fist routine for their Tan Tui routine. Also, Xian Ji is said to have also added an additional 2 roads to the original 10 Road Tan Tui Routine.

Fifth Theory: Tang Dynasty. The city of Ling Qing is situated between the warring factions of the Song, Liao and Jin Courts. An infantry solider named Kun Lung Dai Shi took refuge in the Lung Tan Temple located within Ling Qing City. Becoming a Monk at this temple Kun Lung formulated the routine Tan Tui (Pond Legs) with 10 Roads. It is said that this set was created in order to counter the Liao & Jin's superior upper body grappling skills. Ling Qing City became a major trading center due to the Canals built during the Yuan Dynasty. For this reason, it is believed that Tan Tui was able to spread throughout China.

The Sixth and last theory states that the word, Tan(潭} is the abbreviation for a monastery in Shangtung Province called Lung T'an Ssu (山東龍潭寺). The founder of Tan T'ui has been attributed to a monk named Hsuan Kung. He was known to have travelled widely in the northern part of China. He was searching for simple movements in exercises to form an elementary base. After much time, he returned to Lung T'an Monastery and reflected on his observations. Hsuan Kung later developed ten (10) rows of techniques for both left and right sides and it contained approximately one hundred and fifty (150) movements.

Although scholars have argued that the last theory is probably the correct origin for Tan T'ui Style, there exist two (2) problems in their argument and can only be solved by indirect proof. First, there was no monastery found or recorded in the Shantung Province and secondly the Lung T'an Monastery is located in the Honan Province. It is common knowledge that the geography does change over a period of time. Almost one thousand years has passed since the origin of Tan T'ui and unfortunately much of the physical and man-made surrounding in Shantung Province have changed and or no longer in existence. Because of this, there is little or no physical evidence to show that there once stood a Lung T'an Monastery. Also, with the rise and fall of different dynasties, the burning of books was a common ritual. Any recorded history of a Lung T'an Monastery in Shantung Province could have been destroyed. The most logical theory on the origin of Tan T'ui is that the Shao lin Monastery in Honan Province is located near a lake called Lung and on the other side of the lake is a monastery called Lung T'an. Tan T'ui could have originated in this monastery and very easily have crossed the lake to the Shao lin Monastery.

In recent history, Chin Woo Association was the first Public Gymnasium founded (in 1910) for the purpose of making Martial Arts training available to anyone (who could pay). The recognized founder was Huo Yun Jia, an exponent of the Mizong System. Part of this system was a version of the 10 Road Tan Tui that Huo Yun Jia demonstrated often. Due to his sudden death not many of his students had the opportunity to learn this version. Chao Lien Ho was hired to head up the organization and as part of his task he formulated a specific curriculum. While an exponent of Mizong he also had studied various Shaolin based systems as well. The first form required to be studied by beginner students is a 12 Road Tan Tui. While it is not sure where this version comes from, it has become the most popular version taught throughout the Chinese Martial Arts due to the fame of the Chin Woo. It is thought Chao Lien Ho took the 10 Road Mizong Tan Tui and evolved it into the current12 Road Chin Woo Version.

To add to the confusion, the school of Honan Shaolin states their oral history says Tan Tui came from a student named Ji Xiang Tan (济相潭) and he brought Tan Tui to Shaolin during the Ming Dynasty. Their Tan Tui set was named Xiang Ji Tan Tui 相济潭腿.

Two-person Tan Tui was created by Chao Lien Ho in the Jing Mo Association and became part of their curriculum in 1915. Rare chart of 12 row is shown here:

Summary

In general, there are styles that practice different versions of Tan Tui. Historically, 10 row is believed to be the first set (originated in the Longtan Temple in Shandong Province and was created by Master Kun Lun.). This Tan Tui is called Linging Tan Tui. Generally, BSL teaches 10 rows, Mi Jong teaches 10 rows, Northern styles such as Eagle Claw who are connected to Jing Mo teach 12 rows. Huo Yuen Chia brought his 10-row version from Mi Jong and added with the help of other Northern masters such as BSL, Eagle Claw, Cha, Mi Jong, etc.) two rows to the 10-row version. Seven Star Praying Mantis teaches 14 rows (credit to Master Lo Kwan Yu), A Wu Tang School in Taiwan teaches a 16 row, and Ch'a style teaches a 28 row. There are also a Shaolin Tan Tui developed by Ji Xiang Tan (济相潭) in the Ming Dynasty who brought Tan Tui to Shaolin. By combining Kun Lun's version with Lohan and added two more rows, the 12-row set was named Xiang Ji Tan Tui 相济潭腿. And there is another version known as Jiaomen Tan Tui as practiced by the Hui people. Jiao means Hui Sect This one is a 10-row set. Last Tongbei Tan Tui has their own version which is a combination of different sections of their techniques from Tongbei. It consists of 12 rows.

Source of Information:

1. Oral Transmission from Sifu Wong Jackman

2. Charts of Tan Tui from Sifu Wong Jackman

3. Chinese Martial Arts and the Hui, Kung Fu Magazine Form by Gene Ching 1990 to 2005.

4. Mkma.net (web site)

5. Moslem Kung fu: The Fist of the Bodyguards by Ted Mancuso 1999, Inside Kung fu Magazine

6. Northern Shaolin Twelve Row Tan Tui by Chao Lin Ho Ching Wu, Shanghai 1920

7. Tam Tui, Northern Shaolin Snapping Leg by Alexander I. Co, Inside Kung Fu December 1984-1989.

8. Tan Tui by Chang, Wu Lum #7 1983 (Chinese)Tan Ti the 17 Form Method by Robert Le, Ancient Sets of Kung Fu, Volume 1, #2, #3, #4, #5,

9. Ten Fundamental Chinwoo Routines, Tantui and Gongliquan by Lam Wing-Ki and Ying Fun-fong, IBSN 962-85291-5-3 2000.

10. Tom Toy: Springing Legs, Their History and Relation to Shaolin, by Shaolin Instiute.com, November, 2003.

Chinese Books

1. 10 Row Tan Tui by Wong,1983

2. 12 Rows Tan Tui Methods by Wong, Taiwan, 1966, Reprint

3. 12 Row Tan Tui by Wong, Uk, reprint

4. Northern Fist China Best, by Yang, HK, 1970

5. Northern Fist, by Chu, HK, 1969, reprint

6. South, North Fist Best Chinese Fist Arts by Li, HK, Reprint

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kungfuwushuworld · 8 months

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Eagle Claw (Chinese: 鷹爪派; pinyin: yīng zhǎo pài; eagle claw school) is a style of Chinese martial arts known for its gripping techniques, system of joint locks, takedowns, and pressure point strikes, which is representative of Chinese grappling known as Chin Na. The style is normally attributed to the famous patriotic Song dynasty General Yue Fei. Popular legends states that he learned martial arts from a Shaolin Monk named Zhou Tong and later created Eagle Claw to help his armies combat the invading armies of the Jin dynasty. It was passed down until the Ming dynasty. Thus, the style took on long range strikes and aerial jumps. During the Qing dynasty, the military instructor Liu Shi Jun became known as the modern progenitor of Eagle Claw and taught many students. His student Liu Cheng You later taught Chen Zizheng who was invited to teach the style in the prestigious Chin Woo Athletic Association during the Republican era. The style spread as Chin Woo opened sister schools in other provinces. Today, it is practiced around the world.

#kung fu #wushu #chinese martial arts #kung fu girl #martial arts girls #chinese culture

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kaguyass-houraisan · 16 days

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got any dc character headcanons? specifically for the s2 cast but any work fine!!

Let's see... I don't have a brain that thinks a lot outside of her own ocs because I have a brain the size of a walnut so...

James: in a greeting he was speaking perfect Spanish and he's Brazilian and they speak Portuguese so I would like to think at least one of his parents is Mexican or he has lived there bc he also claims he loves Mexico so yes this is true and real

He also makes the cliche tiktok youtuber videos and makes Aiden do challenges and mukbangs w him and he can handle his spice but Aiden can NOT... I also like to think he takes longer to get ready in the morning just because he admires himself in the mirror for a bit. But it's no biggie bc Aiden spends 5 mins a day admiring James in return

Riya: honestly I Hate how people use the DC pride pic to say everyone else missing is straight like what if they were in traffic and missed ?? Like personally I just like to think Riya has never explored her sexuality at all and is not really aware of her interest in women (maybe someone here likes Riya x Grett just a little) so she doesn't say or claim anything really

But I do think she'd also do fashion campaigns. Like beautiful woman on a magazine cover. Ik she'd look so good w editorial makeup and fashion on..

Aiden: he is eastern european coded to me... not sure what country but he and Tom (season 1) are in that group to me.. also he calls James things like "snookums" "snuggle bun" and most importantly his "beautiful god of beauty" period 😌

Hunter: he does drag or something like that, his name would be something like June Thanasia (euthanasia) or The Bride.. or I was also recommended the name Bloody Mary like some kind of Lady Gaga or horror themed one

You will see an upcoming post of how I imagine one of his drag looks to be and I had a previous post of him in a wedding gown for this very reason, I think he likes the corsets and lots of jewelry and beads !

Ally: she likes to cosplay video game couples or ships and just not tell Tess that it's gay as hell like. She will dress up as Link and make Tess be Ganon to fulfill Ganlink or Ally as Zelda and Tess as Midna to fulfill Midzel... I also think she has posters of female video game characters who gave her the Bi Awakening...

Lake: absolutely is secretly fashion obsessed and has very cutesy themed outfits hidden around with matching flowers to put in her hair... I really think she'd look like a human flower in fashion aesthetics

As for Season 1.

Miriam: doesn't know what an air fryer is and she doesn't want to know either get it OUT of her face and I also really want to believe if Jake doesn't live with her she will have him do so after all stars so they can spend her final years together making memories and doing mundane things like shopping cooking and wandering around at 3 am for no reason

Fiore: I refuse to believe she doesn't treat a random ass stuffed animal better than real people, I guarantee she has at least ONE and it's def a unicorn like bye or cat like on her pjs byeeeee

Ellie: She had an emo phase and I know she had one bang over her eye and wore ties over everything and had a studded belt and such.. I know her power

Jake: that man is Chinese to me we've seen how I draw him this is hc I will DIE ON. I don't care whether he's Wasian or not, what matters is he really wants to wear more hanfu but is shy about it... but I like to think he loves womens Tang or Qing dynasty hanfu the most...

Also bc onc is SO disrespectful to him (I'm dramatic) I know they'd never admit he can play an instrument he SO gives me the type to have had a band in high school like tell me he isn't giving that energy

Tom: he smells bad, but to tame this he probably smells like your average cheap men's 3 n 1 body wash like think dove or suave or something like that like you can't convince me he isn't sweating balls out here, also he's secretly into fashion and desires to wear all the mini skirts his heart desires

Grett: passion for fashion like LOOK at her outfits ? Wearing heels and running around ? I know she desires so badly to dress more freely and even more showy, but because of how poorly she's been treated she is a bit insecure about her body and how it looks in certain clothes.. but I know she will learn to love herself the way we love her and wear the most stunning outfits and jewelry her heart desires

Ashley: I am going to be crazy w this one but as someone who's family hails from the North of Mexico, I have to think she's somehow Mexican BUT PROBABLY A NO SABO KID.. like I doubt she knows one word of Spanish other than swears but this is MY truth

Drew: he used to look up boys kissing on YouTube

I can't think of other bullshit I thought of but this is what I am thinking do we have thoughts opinions any add ons or disagrees ??

#disventure camp #campamento desventura #disventure camp hcs #disventure camp headcanons #ask #these r my opinion feel free to disagree but u cannot change my mind w miriam and jake goodbye goodbye GOODBYE #im not tagging all these hoes

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sylvia-forest · 10 months

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[CN] Shaw's 2023 Birthday R&S

⚡ Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a R&S which hasn't released in EN yet!⚡

[Released Date: 16 June 2023]

[This content was translated with the help of Google translate and by my lovely friend XD]

✧[Chapter 1]✧

Shaw walked unhurriedly on the path on one side, and the earphone cable on his chest also dangled. It wasn't until a fork in the road appeared that he was finally willing to lift his eyelids and look left and right.

It was still the bat’s road on the left, two or three vehicles were parked there.

To the right, there was a gentle slope upward, and between the layers of trees, you can see a tombstone standing there, as well as two or three places where white smoke drifts out due to worship.

Since the burial of the old man, this is the second time he came here. Hardly a year has passed by but there were a lot more tombstones than before, and he couldn't even find where he was.

But Shaw wasn't in a hurry, he put his hands in his pockets, and walked east without hesitation. No matter how much this place changes, going to somewhere with the best Feng Shui never goes wrong.

[T/N]: Feng Shui is an ancient Chinese art of arranging buildings, objects, and space in an environment to achieve harmony and balance in a way that will bring peace and prosperity. Or in simple having luck with the environment!

So it didn't take long for Shaw to stand in front of the old man's tombstone without any problems. After staring at the photo that’s mosaicked in the middle, he reached out and pulled out the earphones.

“Hey, old man.”

“I can't believe I chose this photo, you're the one with the biggest smile.”

Shaw raised his hand to brush off the dead leaves from the tombstone, but just with few strokes, his hands were covered with a layer of black dust.

“.........”

After a few moments of silence, he squeezed his hand around his white cuff and wiped the dust off the tombstone bit by bit.

“Old man, you are too far from the city center. So don't blame me for not frequently visting, just swear some words upon the sky.”

As Shaw spoke, he suddenly narrowed his eyes and sneezed several times in succession.

“... Mine was pretty fast.”

“Then you relax yourself first, I haven’t finished reporting. When I’m finished reporting, you can criticise me all you want.”

At this time, the right cuff had become black from dust, so Shaw pinched his left cuff, and continued to wipe the dust.

“Originally, I wanted to wait until Ching Ming festival to gave you a grave sweep, although i don’t visit so often, certain rules still has to be followed”

[T/N]: 清明節 Ching Ming or Qingming festival means the Remembrance of Ancestors Day or Grave-Sweeping Day takes place on the 15th day after the Spring Equinox.

“But I’ll be busy with some school stuff at that time, so I came early,”

“As for the antiques...everything is fine, except that your business has been reduced a lot without you.”

“You also know that I don't like making trouble, so I'll try my best not to lose money for you. Oh, and there's one more thing— —

“I accidentally broke a cup of yours some time ago. Fortunately, it was only from the Qing Dynasty. In addition, it was repaired in time, so the loss is not big. I just feel sorry for your old age, so I will pay you more.”

Shaw lifted the plastic bag that he brought all the way here and shook it in front of the tombstone. After shaking it, he took out a still warm roast chicken, three or two fruits and a handful of original melon seeds from it.

Then, he glanced at the bottle of sake left in the bag, and raised the corners of his lips slightly.

“Remember it all, all of them are your favorites.”

After pouring the sake into a small glass, he finally straightened up and fell into complete silence, and without his voice, the place was even quieter, with only a string of heavy metal sounds slipping out of the headphones which were half-dangling out of his pocket.

“.......”

“It's all me talking, so it's boring.”

When Shaw raised his foot and was about to leave, he suddenly thought of something and took out a few copper coins from his pocket.

“Old man, you say I can do divination, can you tell me what you want to say to me through divination?”

Jingle—

The coins were thrown up and scattered on the ground, Shaw bent down and looked at them, and laughed.

“It's amazing, it seems to be there.”

He said, glanced at the sake cup that was only 70% full, and then picked up the sake bottle to fill it.

“Okay, I'll fill you up, but don't be too greedy. I'm really leaving this time, and I'll come see you when I have time.”

After Shaw finished speaking, he left without looking back. Only the small sake bottle was left, and the sake made silent waves with the wind.

On the way back, the sky was gloomy, and Shaw was still walking slowly when, a lingering smoke of plant ash floated behind him, and an old lady who seemed to have just finished sweeping the grave hurriedly rushed ahead of him.

“Young man, hurry up, it's going to rain heavily.”

Shaw took a look at the sky, and then kicked a stone on the side of the road.

"What a stupid rain."

✧[Chapter 2]✧

After returning to the antique shop, the dust on the cuffs had condensed into a ball.

Shaw didn't take off his coat, he directly took out a dust pan and broom from a corner of the backyard. Originally, he hadn't planned to clean it today, but the layers of dirt accumulated during the tomb sweeping made him realize that it hadn't been cleaned for a long time.

But when Shaw stood in front of the secret room with the broom, he never pressed the switch.

Since the old man left, he almost never went in there again. Even if he wanted to get some necessary things, he would just quickly go in and come out immediately, without any extra stops.

He couldn't say why he didn't want to go there, but he didn't want to "get to the bottom of it". He always felt that once he did so, a lot of troublesome emotions would come up.

So at last he turned and left, and went back to the door.

“Forget it, let's talk about it another day. You can't finish so many things in half a day.”

He began to sweep and drag the chair, and the harsh sound made from time to time made the parrot in the cage jump up and down as if startled.

Shaw stopped moving again and pinned the broom to the ground, “What, are you going to give your cage a big cleaning too?”

Seeing that the parrot continued to flutter its wings, he silently picked up the water basin on the side and walked towards the door.

“Okay, your voice is really precious, I've been raising you for four or five years, and I haven't seen you say a few words.”

After speaking, he lifted the water basin and poured towards outside, "Hey, what a coincidence, I bet you brat purpousefully poured it towards me!"

The old man just stepped into the antique stop and almost got splashed by water, his feet were shivering on the dry floor like an electric shock.

Seeing this, Shaw just shrugged his shoulders, picked up the mop and started mopping the floor, “You also said it's a coincidence, don't touch the porcelain”

“……Come on, I'm too old to argue with a kid like you.”

Old Yan put his hands behind his back and began to look at the "renewed" antique shop, with a puffing sound coming from his mouth.

“I was just next door when I heard your bells ringing, so you were giving it a cleaning .”

“Could it be that you have been enlightened by the Buddha's light, and you are finally willing to take care of this antique shop for your master and inherit the mantle?”

“........”

“Out of the way.”

Seeing that the broom almost reached his front foot, Old Yan immediately step back, Shaw slightly opened his mouth again. “Move to the left, there’s a treasure on the right.”

Old Yan subconsciously put his foot on brakes, and when he looked back, his face turned pale.

“This, the authentic work of Huang Tingjian, you put it here?”

“It's been raining for a while, and it's hard to come across a dry, cloudy day, so I took it out to dry.”

Old Yan's body went rigid, as if he hadn't recovered from the fright just now, “Anyway, put it in a safe place, I was almost knocked down by it just now!”

Shaw remained expressionless, silently putting down the mop in his hand.

“Old Yan. When it was first discovered, it didn't know that it would last for a hundred years or that it would be trapped in a wooden box by future generations.

“It's not too much to let it out once in a while to feel the breeze, right?”

Old Yan was stunned for a moment, his eyes even showed a few moments of longing, and then turned away.

“...... Why do you always come and then disappear?”

Old Yan didn't turn around, the afterglow quietly fell on his back.

“I won't be coming back today.”

…. It’s almost an year, how come today thinking about the scenery of my master enjoying chatting with these precious antiques comes to mind.

And then, there was only a sigh left at the corner.

The antique store was empty again, and the parrot was quiet.

Shaw didn't clean up any more, just leaned casually to one side, looked at the calligraphy and painting quietly for a long time, and then raised the corners of his lips.

“Surely you miss him too?”

“It's so awkward.”

Shaw shrugged, pretending to be indifferent, and when he was about to continue mopping the floor, a black shadow broke into the corner of his eye and stood at the door of the store.

He turned his head and saw the black letter 5 with a slightly raised tail engraved on the man's earphone.

✧[Chapter 3]✧

At dawn, Shaw walked quickly in the forest, dragging his bleeding left leg.

“This time the "extra money" was harder to earn than imagined, but fortunately the things have been successfully obtained, and the rest is to extort more "loss fees" from BS.”

As he was thinking, his vision suddenly blurred, causing him to run and hold onto a tree trunk and look down at the wound.

Even wearing black pants, you can still see that the place cut by the blade is bloody, surrounded by a network of broken fabric on the top, oozing black and blue blood.

“.......”

It seems that the tip of the knife seems to be poisoned.

He frowned and quickened his pace, walking towards the exit not far away. But the weird thing was, it’s clearly located in front by less than a metre, but he’s like stuck in cycles, spinning around in the same spot.

It wasn't until the third attempt that Shaw finally stopped beside the tree trunk he had carved a mark on.

“Tsk, do you really think these tricks can work on me?” Shaw gritted his teeth and complained, then simply closed his eyes.

How treacherous is the illusion?

And there was no escape from the four-element, eight-diagram array.

The next second, the off by hard memorised Eight Front Strategy taught by that old man, spread out from a circle supported by two legs in his heart. But as soon as he stepped on the “kun word”, a dazzling light wrapped him up.

He opened his eyes slightly, and found that the source of the light was actually coming from the dragonfly eye worn on his chest.

Shaw took off the chain in surprise and twisted it, but before he could continue looking, that dazzling light burst out again, completely engulfing his sight.

When he opened his eyes again, it was completely black.

“.......”

Shaw subconsciously stretched out his hand, but before his arm was straightened, his palm first met a rough and hard touch, like a pitted stone wall.

Just now it was an open forest, how did it become like this in the blink of an eye? He frowned and took out his phone to turn on the flashlight mode, the moment it illuminated, the surrounding environment was completely out of his expectation.

He was in a closed and narrow "passage", the rocks above his head could be touched by his feet, and the air was thin, with a cold, damp stench.

It was as if this place had never seen the light of the day.

“What's going on?”

Shaw endured the pain and walked a few steps, until he encountered a fork in the road, he turned his head sideways and looked in the two places.

Under the sweeping light of the flashlight, he saw some pottery and ironware on the ground, and a set of chime clocks were displayed in the distance, arranged in order from small to large at the bottom of the wall.

At this moment he felt something was wrong. After all, he grew up on West Moon Street, and he was surrounded by the old man every day. Even if he hasn't experienced it himself, he can probably tell that this was the place where the ancients lived in the legend.

“........”

How come when this thing lights up, he comes here?

He stared at the Dragonfly's Eye in his hand for a while, puzzled. But he didn't see anything unusual. His intuition told him that there must be a hidden secret. That's why the old man never explained it, but only entrusted him to take good care of it….

Just as he was thinking, a benevolent voice came from the storage room, Shaw immediately came back to his senses, and walked with light footsteps. And when he walked to the entrance of the side room, he saw an old-fashioned flashlight lying on the ground, looking along the bright light, a young man in a crumpled Chinese tunic, whose leg was firmly pressed by a broken stone slab.

Shaw didn't move for a while, just watched this strange young man scrambling back and forth on the ground, sweating profusely and grinning.

When he finally pulled his foot out of the gap, he stood up half-heartedly, looked up and saw Shaw standing at the door, and almost fell to the ground again in fright.

“You, who are you?”

✧[Chapter 4]✧

Before the words fell, Shaw's flashlight was directed on the young man's face.

“You don't care who I am. You've got a lot of nerve, what kind of society is this, and you still dare to put yourself in danger?”

While the young man was blinded by the light, Shaw frowned.

He always thought this square-faced man looked a bit familiar.

But in the next second, the young man blocked the dazzling light with his hand. Seeing that he didn't reply for a long time, Shaw moved the flashlight to his hand again, and shook it lightly.

“Don't play dumb, this jade bead is the treasure you want to take away, right?”

“How about this, give you a chance to redeem your sins, you give it to me, and I'll handed it in for you.”

The young man immediately put the round white jade beads behind his back, his face full of indignation.

“You, what do you think of me? I was going to hand it over to the museum. This is a stone bone white jade, which belongs to our cultural product of the Western Han Dynasty. It is impossible to hand it over to someone with unknown origin like you!”

"You don't look like a good person with that hair color of yours, maybe you are with that group of foreign thieves!"

Shaw was listening and ran a hand over his blue purplish hair.

“Okay, not just a reckless man, but also quite knowledgeable, but you are wrong about one thing, this is not the Western Han Dynasty, but also the Ming Dynasty.”

As Shaw said, he shone the flashlight on the heavy wooden box behind the young man.

“This is lime sand made by mixing lime, glutinous rice, and sand. No one would do this before the Ming Dynasty.”

The young man froze for a moment, leaned over to take a look, and when he turned his head, the vigilance in his eyes was replaced with curiosity.

“....Where did you learn this from?”

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you, how about it? Want to give it to me?"

Seeing Shaw taking a step forward threateningly, although the young man was afraid, he still firmly guarded the jade bead in his hand, as if he would rather smash the jade than give it up

“I'm not going to hand it over to you no matter what you say.”

“It has been sealed for centuries, and I will not allow its future fate to remain in the hands of wealthy merchants.”

“It should be seen by the world, it is history, it is culture!”

“Not synonymous with money!”

The young man's cheeks were red, and his voice became more and more subdued, as a resy Shaw couldn't hold back his laughter.

“I finally remembered who you look like, your accent, tone of voice, and a face that couldn't be more square .......”

“Just like the old man.”

Shaw scannedthe young man up and down while speaking, “It's okay for you to play retro style, no problem, but it does’nt suit that face of yours, too old looking, I advise you to put that big head down......”

Before he could finish the sentence, a dazzling ray of light flashed on his chest again.

It's the dragonfly eye.

“This is the Warring States glazed dragonfly eye, why do you have it?! I clearly —”

Shaw couldn't hear anything, the shining white light completely enveloping him.

✧[Chapter 5]✧

In the following week, Shaw searched all over the antique shop, but he couldn't find any information about the Dragonfly Eye.

After a long silence, he finally raised his hand and pressed the switch on the back of the antique shelf, and entered the secret room. With the kerosene lamp in his hand, he stared in silence at everything before him - an ancient book lined up on a wooden table at the end, a magnifying glass at the foot of the page, and a sperm tilted against the door.

There are "traces" left by the old man from the last time everywhere.

That's why he doesn't like to come to this place.

He didn't know whether to tidy up the messy secret room or keep it as it was.

He always feels that once these are returned to their original places, time will take advantage of them and erase all the traces left on them. So when Shaw searched, he deliberately avoided touching these things.

The kerosene lamps began to fade but he still found nothing. The only accidental discovery was a dusty wooden box dragged out from the bottom shelf of the ancient shelf-

It contains a red hardcover photo album, and some fragmentary objects.

Shaw didn't think twice and opened the first page.

What caught his eyes were four black and white group photos, each photo has seven or eight young people in Chinese tunic suits smiling shyly.

In the next second, Shaw's fingertips holding the album tightened a little bit.The person standing on the far right of the photo was a young man with curly hair and a square face.

“.........”

He subconsciously held his breath.

Obviously the guess was right, but he was still stunned, he continued to flip the pages in a daze.

There weren't many photos of this man, but you can tell that he has slowly changed over time - he has become a little fatter, his face has more wrinkles, and his hair has turned gray. In the end, it became the most familiar appearance to him.

“……..”

When everything was irrefutable, Shaw couldn't help but smile, only the undetectable regret remained in his eyes.

“....Old man, you are very interesting. Hiding so many secrets from me...But it's okay, just leave it as a mystery for me to solve by myself.”

“Sooner or later, I will know whether that person was my hallucination, or I really met you.”

When he put the photo album back, he found an old notebook underneath.

“There are a lot of things.”

He flipped through a few pages, which contained the old man's notes on studying antiquities when he was young, and some essays—

“History is not as old as you imagined, as long as you see it, touch it ...... Naturally, you’ll become a part of history.”

[T/N]: Please take note of this line and don’t forget it, cuz it holds a special meaning behind it and play a big role in his bday date which will also be explained later ;)

Seeing this, Shaw inadvertently looked at the ancient books, calligraphy and paintings in front of him. For some reason, these things that he has been accustomed to since he was a child, seem to have undergone different changes at this moment.

It seems that through these, we can see the past and see the freshness of the past.

Thinking of this, he raised his hand and placed it on one of the ancient books.

Has he become a part of history? To be honest, he has doubts, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Because the only person he can ask has become “history”.

✧[Chapter 6]✧

The time has come for the summer solstice, and the cicadas are chirping even more.

He patted the dust on his hands before picking up his phone and glancing at it - [Speedy Skateboard Shop] Dear member, happy birthday! Coupons have been added to your account, welcome to shop! Remember to subscribe back.

Shaw didn't even think about going back, and walked straight into the shop. It's been more than a year and a half now, and it's time to come to the store to make an account. Even if he doesn't bother to take care of the business, some basic things still have to be done.

But when he took out the calculator from the drawer, he found that there were stickers on the bottom of a business card.

He tore it off casually, and found that it was not only crumpled, but also had many cake patterns printed on it, one of which was the peach cake.

When Shaw saw this, he couldn't help laughing.

“Old man, aren't you hinting at something again?”

However, the only answer to him was a beep.

But Shaw didn't mind, and laughed even more.

“Okay, I've been eating it for so many years, and I would feel uncomfortable if I suddenly stopped this year.” He picked up the landline beside him and dialed the number from the business card to see if he could buy it.

After a while, the phone was connected by an aunt with a northern accent, ”Master Hua, why did you call this year? Don't you usually order it a few days ago? But it's okay, the birthday cake has been reserved for you.”

“What do you say, when will you come to pick it up? I'm off work soon.”

Shaw held the phone tightly, “Now”

She seemed to realize that it wasn't Master Hua's voice, and the other party was taken aback for a moment, “Oh, it's not Master Hua? Then will you help him get the cake from here? Or would he be getting it himself?”

“........”

"He's not coming, I'll get it myself."

The time Shaw finished taking the cake and returned to the antique shop, it was already dark…

Without saying anything, he cut a piece of longevity peach cake and put it on a plate, and ate it quietly. But yes, what can change dramatically in the past year?

Shaw paused for a moment while eating the cake, and there was a glimmer of darkness in his eyes.

He couldn't say that, except for this cake, there were quite a lot of changes.

“Stinky boy! Stinky boy!”

At this moment, it was as if a stone had hit the calm lake. Shaw straightened up suddenly, and looked at the parrot who had finally opened its mouth. It was obviously still dark on the street, but time seemed to be turning backwards, and the bustling noises of the daytime could be heard next to his ears— —

“Old man, can you stop nagging me? This chicken is learning to talk, I don't want another bird to scold me.”

“Brat, if you were less of a troublemaker, could I say that?”

“...stinky old man,”

“Well, you brat!”

When this past incident came to Shaw's mind, he couldn't help laughing, not even noticing the cream on the corner of his mouth.

He continued to fork a piece of yellow peach and put it in his mouth,

“Old man, what did I say? You can't say everything out loud.”

“The bird always learn the bad, not the good.”

The night was quiet again, and the parrot also lowered its head and combed its feathers,

Shaw looked at the empty antique shop, picked up a candle and stuck it in the cake.

After lighting, the warm light of the candle reflected on Shaw's face, the youthful nostalgia and resignation were reflecting out.

“......Old man.”

“All these years, I haven't been very filial to you, I happened to turn 18 this year, so let's set an example.”

“To be your good disciple for once.”

“Your antique store, the treasures you receive with love, the "history" you cherish”

“I'll take care of it for you.”

—

#please read this with a pinch of salt and I suggest you to prepare lots of tissues 😭#this r&s takes place when he just turned 18 #and there's a hell lot of information about his master and a little bit of the dragonfly necklace —#honestly this r&s nearly made me teared up when I find out how he was trying to keep himself in one piece after losing his master😭#and that last scene nearly break me in hysterical cries🤧#you guys honestly don't know how much I wanted to pull him in a hug and tell him that it's alright 🥺#mlqc spoilers #mlqc cn #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #mlqc translations #mr love queen's choice #mlqc #love and producer

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lawlesslibrary · 6 months

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Jingguanlou

Jingguanlou is a private art collection primarily on 20th-century Chinese painting and calligraphy, compiled by the local connoisseur Dr Leo Wong Kwai-kuen. Dr Wong has generously donated to the Hong Kong Museum of Art a total of 1,110 priceless works of art from various categories: works by masters of the Shanghai School of painting; a collection of couplets, folding fans and albums, dating from the Qing dynasty to the modern era; a series of purple clay teapots with rubbings; and his own photographic works. With a particular fondness for the Shanghai School, Dr Wong has encountered many of the Shanghai famous artists and established a comprehensive collection of works created by Zhu Qizhan (1892 – 1996), Xie Zhiliu (1910 – 1997) and Chen Peiqiu (1923 – 2020) at different stages in their lives. Reflecting the close friendships that he enjoyed with these masters of Chinese art, Dr Wong's collection not only serves as an invaluable resource for research into the Shanghai School in the modern era, but also illustrates the development of Chinese painting and calligraphy in the 20th century. Dr Wong's photographs are also highly valued for the appreciation of Chinese art and culture. Profoundly influenced by Zhu Qizhan, he explores and strives to break through the visual language of photography with undertones of traditional aesthetics.

The term Jingguanlou literally means "the studio of silent viewing" and is derived from the wisdom of Cheng Ho, a famous Confucian scholar of the Northern Song, that "All things can provide contentment when viewed with calm contemplation", which emphasises the inspiration that is derived from inner vision. It reflects Dr Wong's philosophy in collecting, which is based on serendipity and a calm mind. In November 2021, Dr Leo Wong Kwai-kuen donated his lifelong collection to the HKMoA to give the public the opportunity to share his joy in and affection for the outstanding Chinese art he has acquired. The abundant and valuable items from Jingguanlou have not only enriched the museum collection of 20th-century painting and calligraphy, but also laid a solid foundation for the HKMoA to be a noticeable hub for the collection and research on Chinese painting and calligraphy. The donation further recognises the HKMoA as a home for local private collections and has enhanced its status as an international museum.

Source:

#artwork #art

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fouryearsofshades · 1 year

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regional hanfu styles?

i've always wondered if hanfu ever varied from region to region? what i've seen so far on hanfu makes it look like everyone wore the same styles across china but that seems so strange since most of chinese culture is very regional. so are there region specific hanfu styles or is hanfu really that general?

Hi!

It totally did historically. The further away a region from the centre of fashion (e.g. the capital) was, the more behind the fashion the region was. Usually the distinctions could be found in embroidery style, cut, length etc. I read that sometimes it could be a couple decades behind, especially in times of unrest and wars. A more recent example could be seen in Chinese diaspora in the late Qing, e.g. a Vancouver Chinese tend to dress in an older style then like say, Shanghai. Also last year a local hanfu tailor shop was submitted to a weibo tea account because it is too pricey for its old-school out-of-fashion products. (They do occasionally have some more "up-to-date" hanfu.) On the other hand, sometimes the royals would want to keep a look of "plain and simple", like in Ming dynasty, the fashion inside the Imperial Palace was lagging behind. When the clothing length and sleeves sizes increased in the South (Jiangnan area), the clothing inside the palace was kept shorter and fitter.

Modernly, since a lot of hanfu community is online, the distinction isn't as obvious, especially when most people buy hanfu online. There are distinction in materials and layering mostly due to the local climate, e.g. Guangzhou residents (in the south of China) might still be wearing a thin ao, while people in Beijing will have worn layers of wool, fur or dawn. Sometimes local communities of hanfu-ers would have a certain styles (either because there is a popular fashion icon in the group or they tend to bulk purchase from the same shop), but I usually can't tell them apart unless I am familiar with said group.

#ask #fouryearsofshades #hanfu #i can tell if a group picture was from my or my neighbour country #there is a certain vibe #they used to have an annual camp before the covid #and a lot of people get their first hanfu there #and it is pretty much a tell #in one year they still did the old school quju #when people in china had already moved away from that style of a couple of years #so i think the lagging behind part is valid #but only for communities that is mostly made of locals and not like oversea students

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moononmyfloor · 1 year

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Hi Producer (正好遇见你) Infodump

Disclaimer: I have no idea about the accuracy of the information shared in the drama, I'm merely transcribing for future reference purposes. Proceed with caution!

Ep 1: Filigree Inlay

One of Eight Beijing Imperial Handicrafts, it's a traditional Chinese craft to deal with fine gold that has been passed down for over 2000 years. It originated from metal inlay of bronze casting technology as early as in pre-Imperial China. It dates far back to Spring and Autumn period and Warring States period, peaking in Ming and Qing dynasties with exquisite craftsmanship, aesthetic pursuit and sumptuous styles.

It uses gold threads and slices to decorate utilitarian objects such as bronzeware and weapons. With the development in the Sui, Tang, Song and Yuan dynasties, Filigree Inlay was increasingly applied in jewellery making.

The terms Filigree Inlay refers to weaving gold thread into jewel and inlaying with different jewels, starting with Thread Drawing, Shaping, Laying and then Filling.

Gold Chalice of Eternal Stability

In the second year of Jiaqing, it was made in a workshop of the Internal Affairs Department of the Qing Dynasty. Carved with Baoxing flower patterns, with pearls, rubies and sapphires on the stamens. On every New Year's eve, the court would hold Kaibi ceremony to celebrate children's first day at school. This was the drinking vessel for emperor's praying.

Ming Dynasty Empress's Crown

Inlaid with thousands of pearls and hundreds of natural gems. Besides Filigree Inlay, Tian-tsui craft was also used in a complicated pattern.

Ming Dynasty Gold Thread Imperial Crown with Wings

Unearthed from Emperor Wanli's tomb and now stored in Dingling museum, all the weaved parts have no joints or fractures to be seen. The remarkable consistency makes it the representative artwork of Filigree Inlay craft. 518 gold threads were used in the original work with the thinnest threads being less than 0.2 mm wide, many masters attempted to replicate it but with a much higher numbers of threads.

More Hi Producer Posts

#chinese history #cdrama #chinese drama #fashion history #Hi Producer #Filigree Inlay #Gold work #正好遇见你

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audreydoeskaren · 2 years

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Hi I LOVE your blog!!!

Idk if this is a personal question but I was curious as to why you decided to focus on Ming/Qing/early-mid 20th century fashion. Ik that specializing in specific periods instead of like, everything, is a more effective way of studying/researching stuff. I was just curious why you chose those specific periods to study! (Sorry for any bad english,,,)

Hi and thank you! No worries your English is fine. Um there are multiple reasons for this and my interest for each era developed one after another, sorry that this turned out pretty long.

When I discovered the hanfu community, I was only really interested in Ming Dynasty fashion and not anything else because I’ve only had previous exposure to Ming history. Maybe this is purely personal and I can’t pinpoint an exact reason why, but I was never interested in Chinese history prior to the Ming, like, at all. It’s not that I think it’s bad or boring or anything, it just doesn’t speak to me. This was extended to fashion history as well. To me at the time, Ming fashion looked visibly different to stereotypical expectations of historical Chinese dress fostered by period dramas and such, so I found it very refreshing (obviously the other eras also look nothing like stereotypical guzhuang, but to the untrained eye the Ming is just so wildly different it can’t be missed). I’m also generally a big fan of brocade fabrics and the drape of Ming clothes. At the time I was so obsessed with Ming style hanfu content because it looked so gorgeous and posh and not like anything historic Chinese I’ve seen before, it was novel and exciting.

I got into Republican era fashion a bit later. I forgot the exact reason why, but it was probably just me seeing those iconic 1930s advertisement posters with cheongsam wearing women and deciding to look into it further because why not, it’s connected to my existing interest. I’m generally more well versed with late 19th and early 20th century history since that’s most of what I learned in school and uni, so I had a bit more social context to work with. Also, primary sources like artworks, descriptions and physical artifacts are exponentially more abundant the more recent a time period is, and I realized Republican era fashion was a lot easier to research than Ming fashion, so I decided to focus on that for a while. I’m hooked to this era by the avant-garde designs that were inspired by modernist art, since I have a taste for “degenerate” and weird modern art in general, so that was right up my alley. Aside from that, I think 20th century fashion is especially relevant to understanding the state of Chinese fashion and its discourse today, since we’re inevitably more influenced by what transpired in the 20th century than anything prior to that. It’s like I get a better understanding of my place in the world by looking at this era.

Then I became really frustrated with the lack of English language information about Chinese historical fashion and started this blog. I was writing the series of posts on early 20th century fashion and decided to wrap it up at the 1950s and 60s since I wanted to include the iconic Hong Kong style cheongsam of the midcentury, but thought it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t say anything about the mainland of the same time. I had a lot of deep seated misconceptions about fashion in the early PRC like everybody else, but the more research I did for the post the more I came to realize they were not true, and I had to reevaluate my perception of the period. I had so many existential crises writing that series (and in the subsequent maintenance of this blog, and I’m sure there are more to come) because putting every bit of knowledge I had at the time into a cohesive timeline exposed many structural and historiographical issues with discourses around Chinese fashion history i.e. the way it’s usually written, and I had to unpack them one by one. Watching movies from the midcentury that were not period dramas or propagandistic in nature was a really shocking experience for me, since they showed people in such gorgeous and nicely tailored clothes I did not expect to see in the Mao era. There were also many sophisticated designs from the midcentury that combined Chinese silhouettes and elements with contemporary Western tailoring (and I think 1950s Western tailoring is *chef’s kiss* perfection) which would definitely be popular nowadays as historical inspired street wear. It’s just so pretty and to contemporary taste. After reshuffling my worldview I developed an obsession with the 1950s as well.

My interest in the Qing came last, mostly because there are so many colonial and nationalist narratives around it and everybody seems to have a negative perception of it that it’s intimidating to start. At this point I had a vague idea about most fashion styles in the Ming and early 20th century, so now the problem for me became one of filling in the gaps. Like, yes I know what fashion at the end of the Ming looked like, I know what fashion at the beginning of the Republican era looked like, what about the stuff in between? So I begrudgingly started looking at Qing fashion, and after the most preliminary research I realized most information out there about Qing fashion is bullshit and incorrect. The 17th and 18th centuries are so poorly researched if researched at all (and not mislabeled as Ming), and Internet and scholarship alike are completely flooded with stereotypical 19th century dress and early 20th century Manchu fashion (which isn’t even in the Qing but that’s never stopped anybody). It sort of became a rush to unearth the truth.

A part of my interest in these time periods at this point is spite, like, I want to see bigoted narratives obliterated and people appreciating historical fashion without being coerced into feeling certain ways. It’s also highly rewarding after unlearning years of conditioning that gave me internalized racism by unpacking some of the narratives I came across in fashion history. It’s nice to finally be able to look at fashion in these eras without a white male colonizer voice telling me what to think in the back of my head…

#rant #?#personal

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classic-asian-art · 11 months

Photo

Tischplatte, Kangxi Periode (1662-1722) (lackiertes Holz und Hanf Tuch)

lackiertes Holz und Hanfstoff, Private Collection

#Qing Dynasty Chinese School #asian art #kunst #kunstwerk

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kaija-rayne-author · 8 months

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IMO I always considered the hair thing an intentional choice Solas made. When he first took on a body, it was one he’d been commanded to take, most likely by Mythal. When he broke away from her, he needed to make his body his own. He took off his Vallaslin, likely changed his style of dress, and then changed his hair.

It might seem like a minor detail to focus on, but many cultures throughout human history have used the dictation of certain approved hairstyles as a means of control. We still see vestiges of it in the modern day with misogynists getting up in arms over women with short hair, racially driven discrimination based on hairstyles, etc. I spent eight years in Catholic school and our headmistress would insist the AMAB student weren’t allowed to keep long hair. I doubt she had the authority to seriously penalize students, but she’d call the parents, pester them at school, etc.

And those are just some relatively mild examples. On the more extreme end we have the queue (head partially shaved with a long braid) which was a hairstyle imposed upon Chinese men under their subjugation by the Manchurian Qing Dynasty.

There have also been many religious orders that incorporate hairstyles into the physical expression of their faith. Hasidic men wear payos (those little side curls) in accordance with their dogma. Medieval European monks wore the tonsure as a sign of humility. And I’m sure most are familiar with the way devout Buddhists shave their heads as a symbolic means of relinquishing their ego.

Their pride, if you will.

So if Solas did have hair at one point, I think he made the deliberate choice to get rid of it. It was likely a move as symbolic as it was practical.

Oh absolutely. Most cultures have hair 'rules'. Hair/lack thereof has been used as a status symbol, a method of grieving, etc. in so many cultures. Cornrows were used to teach enslaved people the escape paths. There's still a lot of stigma for hairstyles traditionally worn by PoC. Not that long ago, a native man had to cut his hair to continue on in pilot school. It was worded as a safety issue, but a braid or a bun contains hair far better than a short cut. Many natives have strong feelings about our hair. Many don't cut it for spiritual reasons.

I've always assumed Solas keeping his head shaved is a humbling gesture for him. Many people regard their hair with pride, so it could easily be that he takes that from himself. He seems self-flagellant enough to do that to himself.

It could also be a gesture of freeing himself. The first thing I did after getting out of an abusive relationship was to chop all mine off.

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fwoopersongs · 1 year

Text

On a couplet from the Yuelu Academy

by 旷敏本 (Kuang Minben,1699 - 1782)

是非审之于己，毁誉听之于人，得失安之于数，陟岳麓峰头，朗月清风，太极悠然可会； Right or wrong, examine it yourself. Ruin or acclaim comes from the decisions of others. Gains and losses are predestined - accept them with equanimity. Ascend to the peak of Yuelu. The moon is bright, the breeze refreshing. The Zenith may be met with, leisurely.

君亲恩何以酬，民物命何以立，圣贤道何以传，登赫曦台上，衡云湘水，斯文定有攸归。 How can we repay the kindness of our leaders and parents? How can the life of the people be firmly established? How can the way of the sages be transmitted? Climb atop Hexi Terrace. The clouds of Mt. Heng, the waters of River Xiang; for sure, the educated have responsibility.

...........................................................

This post is dedicated to @liberty-or-death who dug a hole for me on the last day of 2022. Thanks friend xD

(The reason I was excited to see this place mentioned in that article was because it’s on my travel wishlist.)

Background

Yuelu Mountain (岳麓山) is located on the west bank of the Xiang River at a tributary of the Wu River in Changsha, Hunan, and is noted for its many scenic spots. Located at its foot is the Yuelu Academy (岳麓书院), officially established in 796 CE during the rule of Emperor Taizu of Song. It is one of the four famous academies in ancient China - the others are the Bailudong, Songyang and Suiyang Academies. But among these academies of classical learning, Yuelu is the only one to have evolved into a modern institution. Today it is known as Hunan University.

The Hunan University campus, in their own words, combines ancient architectural complexes and modern facilities. Many of the original structures of Yuelu Academy were preserved, and now open to the public. Here’s a video of a walk through the school! (x)

If you don’t need english subs, there is a wonderful MangoTV documentary on Yuelu Academy available on youtube.

The academy was frequently renovated throughout its >1000 years of existence, and many of the current buildings were constructed during the Qing Dynasty. The main Lecture Hall, also called the ‘Hall of Loyalty, Filial Piety, Integrity and Chastity’, is a core building of the Academy. It is located at its heart, and was the most important place for teaching and momentous ceremonies.

A horizontal plaque with imperial inscriptions from the Kangxi Emperor hangs in the front of the hall. On the inner walls of the hall, there are four big Chinese Characters - I can’t really tell if they were engraved or painted - loyalty, piety, honesty and integrity (Simplified: 忠孝廉节 | Traditional: 忠孝廉節). They come from the hand of the great scholar Zhu Xi of the Song Dynasty. Zhu Xi along with Zhang Shi gave the first ever joint lecture in the history of Confucian academies in this place.

And it is within this Lecture Hall, placed on either side, between the words piety & integrity, and loyalty & honesty that these this yinglian (楹联), a type of couplet, is pasted on the walls on either side. It was written by Kuang Minben, who passed the entry level examination at the age of 24 and was recommended into the Imperial Academy the following year. During this time, his studies were interrupted by the death of his father and requisite period of mourning. He later passed the imperial exams at the age of 37 and joined the Hanlin academy as an apprentice writer, though had to retire for health reasons. 18 years later, at the age of 55, he was engaged as principal (山长) at Yuelu Academy in the year 1754. He went on to lecture there for three years before the death of his mother. It was during this period of his life that he wrote the couplet that now still hangs in the Lecture Hall.

Actually, the couplets that are there now are a copy carved in 1983 as the original was destroyed in the Sino-Japanese War.

Here’s a photo of the Lecture Hall from the academy’s Chinese wikipedia page.

From twitter user 徐昕 @xuxin1970 ① 是非审之于己，毁誉听之于人，得失安之于数，陟岳麓峰头，朗月清风，太极悠然可会； ② 君亲恩何以酬，民物命何以立，圣贤道何以传，登赫曦台上，衡云湘水，斯文定有攸归

If for some reason, you’re wondering about the placement of the letters and the couplets…

Exit for the hall 廉節 ① ② 忠孝 Head of the hall

This seems to follow the principle of seating on the North (head of the hall), facing the South (exit), and then the left (East) as superior to the right (West).

Brief Translation Notes

This was a rough translation as working on this couplet was a very spur of the moment. Here is how I understand it and maybe other interesting things.

For ①

On the rights and wrongs of a matter, one should examine (审) it inwardly with one’s own judgment [internal]. Whether one ends up ruined for it or acclaimed, that outcome lies with others [external]. And whatever one will gain or lose in this is up to the Heavens (数), and ought to be accepted with equanimity (not in our hands anymore, so be chill about it). Having done this, one steps out and up the mountain, finding that they have reached the utmost goal in becoming one with nature (太极).

You might have noticed the plaque with the inscription of 学达性天 above the hall in blue? That was mentioned before as being bestowed by a Qing Dynasty emperor. But this has also been the ultimate goal of Confucian and Chinese education for thousands of years. It’s a reference to both the Analects and Doctrine of the Mean; through learning to live properly as humans, we may reach our original heaven endowed nature and become one with nature, which is also being attuned to the Way of heaven. So, a maxim for educational goals in a lecture hall supported by the couplets also hanging in the same room. That’s the intention, and how do we reach it? By keeping at This.

When a person has reached that state of mind and state of being, even in the face of difficulty or problems regarding ethics, reputation, temptation and so on, they can face it unaffected and calm.

For ②

The earlier part was on an individual level. What someone can do for themselves. But in order for one to exist and be in such a position, they owe it to their ruler / their lord and then their parents for giving body and life. This half of the couplet pair is about responsibility. That a person who cares for the world around them will wonder how to make it a better place to live in, ensuring stability and that the good way of living is widely practiced and passed on. Go out to Hexi Terrace and look: the mountain is still beautiful, the river still flows. Certainly, the educated have a responsibility and their rightful place*.

*The word 攸归 comes from the idiom 责有攸归 (zé yǒu yōu guī) literally, responsibility has its rightful place ie. with the correct person.

Now’s the time to mention: It’s the furthest thing from easy that Yuelu Academy still stands today. You can read about its history in this article. The original Hexi Terrace too. The structure that exists today is, in fact, Hexi Terrace 3.0 and is not even in the original location anymore. It was originally at the peak of Mt. Yuelu, where Zhu Xi liked to climb to watch the sunrise (hence its name of sunrise splendor). Then war came, there was restoration work, a tower was built in its place (though the function of this location remained the same), and the terrace was rebuilt at the foot of the mountain in the form of a pavilion. Hexi 2.0 was destroyed in the Sino-Japanese War, and Hexi 3.0 is actually an existing stage that was renamed in memory of 1.0 and 2.0.

I am reminded actually of a song that goes ~ be your own light ~. That light should shine from within. Observe and contemplate, and at the same time cultivate yourself both in education (knowledge) and character. Be your own light, and next step… the world!

#岳麓书院 #Yuelu Academy #Couplets #poetry #i don't even know how to tag this #an end of year translation from left field LOL #i spent the afternoon thinking about this #lmaoooo #yiliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing #commentary #poems

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anatomyofthewrittenword · 1 year

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amy tan's ghosts

I am sitting at brunch in the city and all I can look at is the ghost in the road.

Across the table, Cassidy frowns. “Lei.” She follows my line of sight out the window; seeing nothing there, she turns back to me even more confused. “You okay?”

The woman in the road stands facing me, unbothered by the cars rushing through her. She wears a headdress in the style of Chinese noblewomen from the late Qing dynasty, and her qipao bears the elaborate floral embroidery only the wealthy could afford; but she is drenched from head to toe, dripping rancid water that spoils the fine fabric. Her hair hangs matted in her face, knotted like river weeds over deep, dark eyes sunken into her skull.

“Lei,” Cassidy repeats. Now she is beginning to look worried. “Did you hear me?”

I wrench my gaze from the road and fumble for my drink. “Sorry, sorry.” The alcohol in the sangria burns as it slides down my throat. “Thought I saw someone I recognized, but…” I swallow and past on my best smile. You’re normal, Lei. Act like it. “It wasn’t them.”

Cassidy gives me a sympathetic look. “You look tired. Are you tired?”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Cass.”

“No, I’m serious. Is it your mom again? You’ve been all out of sorts since she came to stay with you.”

Cassidy has always been frank, not a bone in her body capable of bullshitting. It’s part of the reason I like her so much, why she’s one of my few friends from college I kept in contact with after graduation. But now her ability to see right through me feels a little too much like needling. “I’m fine, Cass,” I say, as firmly as I can when so much of my energy is devoted to keeping my hands from trembling. “Mom’s fine, too, though I appreciate your concern.”

Cassidy squints at me. But my mask must pass muster, because after a moment she smiles. “I can’t believe she’s here in New York. I still remember when she would call you in college, the crazy things she’d say. Remember when she made you put oranges on our windowsill in the middle of winter? My god, it drove you nuts.”

In the road, the drowned woman watches me. I force out a laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s her. Driving me nuts to this day.” I signal to the waiter to bring me another drink. “Now, what were you saying about your new job?”

---

Ghosts, my immigrant mother tells me, haunt every part of our lives. They are the imprints left behind on our world by those who died before they were ready and could not relinquish their hold on the living. There are trickster ghosts, mischief-makers who caused trouble and confusion to further their own means and could not pass peacefully with their truths half-buried; now they remain as mèiguǐ that stalk the country roads at night, transforming into terrifying animals. There are pestilence ghosts, the enduring wills of stubborn grudge-holders, who let their resentment of those who wronged them poison their souls; now they linger on in the walls of broken-down buildings and overcrowded tenements, leeching disease and decay into the air. Most dangerous of all, there are the hungry ghosts, and all their variations: Those who committed evil deeds in pursuit of their greatest desires, but died without achieving them. Now their unfulfilled longing and poisonous guilt combine to torture them for eons, cursing them to wander through their next dozen lifetimes howling for an absolution they can never quite reach.

Ma talked about the ghosts everywhere we went: In the line at the grocery store, when I whined for treats and she told me to quiet down, or the foul-tongue ghosts would rot the food in my mouth and turn my breath so putrid no one would ever come near me again; when she caught me giggling over the latest gossip on the phone after school, my homework still unfinished, and warned me to work hard and study well, lest I grew up so ignorant and simple that I fell prey to a trickster ghost’s cons and lost everything I had. In the summers, on the fifteenth night of the seventh month of the lunar calendar, she laid peeled oranges, bowls of rice, sugared nuts and cups of tea on the altar in the kitchen as offerings to the ghosts of our ancestors, who purportedly walked among us that day. “You must honor the past, Leilei,” she would say to me, while I rolled my eyes at the table, too lofty in my American self-assuredness to listen with any respect. “The future depends on it.”

The ghosts were Ma’s comfort, her support, her partner in raising me. While she worked fourteen-hour-days as the owner and only employee of our dry cleaning business, the ghosts taught me morals from Chinese culture, kept a watchful eye to ensure my good behavior, and granted me luck on everything from my grade school grammar tests to my college entrance exam. But if the stories had any real hold over me as a child, it was long gone by the time I became fluent in English. As I grew older and cooler, and more American with each passing day, I chafed at my mother’s favorite tales. Come on; I was thirteen already, practically an adult. Did she really think I would let some dusty old stories she’d told a million times before intimidate me into ting hua—following every nonsensical command she issued? What did it matter if I ate cold foods during the winter, if I stuck my chopsticks in my rice, if I wanted to keep a pet turtle? Did she have to control everything? Was there anything she wanted from me other than obedience?

Sometimes I think she clung so hard to those stories because they were all she had left of her homeland. There were never any other Chinese in Marlowe, Mississippi: No community to celebrate the holidays, no neighbors to gossip with in the same language, no Asian marts to pick up the ingredients for old family recipes. Walking through the town center on my way back from school, I watched the old white ladies point and whisper at me from across the street and understood what it might feel like to be a guǐ—a freak from another world. Those moments were the only times I felt grateful to have my mother’s stories at my side; to hope, however wistfully, that there was someone looking over me, even if they were ancestors long gone.

But whoever our ancestors were, whether or not they were watching over anything, my mother didn’t say. She never named a single member of our lineage; I never knew the names of my grandparents, if I had any aunts or uncles, where our family line hailed from in the vast diaspora of China. She never told me my father’s name, no matter how much I begged, no matter how many times we fought. It was as if to speak the names of the people we left behind was to invoke a terrible curse, as defiant to the natural order as wearing white outside of a funeral. Eventually I gave up trying, too exhausted by a lifetime of miscommunications, too hurt by her silence. I went away to college and moved on with my life, watching from a distance as my mother continued to worship ancestors made into ghosts by her refusal to name them, wondering what it was like to live a life haunted by the restless past.

---

The first time it happened, I was nineteen years old, riding the train late on a Wednesday night to my boyfriend’s parents’ house in Westchester for Thanksgiving. Exhausted by the morning of classes and a subsequent eight-hour shift at the grocery store, I fell asleep somewhere between Harlem and Riverside and woke to a little boy with a burned face staring back at me.

I didn’t scream; even sitting in that near-empty car, midnight only a few minutes away, I didn’t scream. The boy wore a quilted jacket and cloth shoes and held a cracked clay bowl. Part of his chin and his entire right cheek had been burned away, exposing the stark white bone underneath. He held out his bowl to me. I saw that it was filled with ash. “Shěng xiē chī de ma?” he asked politely.

In the seat in front of me, an older woman dozed under her jacket. Two rows back, a teenager listened to music as he gazed out the window, The Strokes faintly audible through his headphones. My heart hammered at what felt like two hundred beats per minute in my throat.

In the most stilted Chinese I had ever spoken, I told the boy I didn’t have any food on me. His face dropped in disappointment. “I’m so hungry,” he moaned. To my horror, he began to cry. “I feel like there’s a hole burning in my stomach.” The sobs contorted his mangled skin, transforming his face into a nightmare. When he opened his mouth to wail, flames billowed out of his throat, leaping so close I felt them singe my eyebrows.

I flailed back against the seat, throwing my arms up to protect to my face. In the darkness of my own embrace, the fast, panicked bursts of my breathing was deafening in my ears. I cowered there for what felt like an eternity, thinking frantically to myself, It’s a dream, it’s a dream—it has to be a dream.

The train creaked to a stop. The intercom overhead announced that it was the end of the line. Around me, the passengers began to collect their things and rise from their seats. I scraped up whatever courage I had and lowered by arms. The boy was gone.

I got off the train and walked through the parking lot to my boyfriend’s car on legs that shook so badly they barely held me up. When I fumbled my way into the passenger seat, my boyfriend grinned at me and leaned over to peck my cheek, then began to tell me about that afternoon’s football game. He was chattering on when we pulled out of the lot, while I stared silently out the window, gaze never leaving the bright windows of the train still on the tracks.

—

The next time was three years, four different therapists, and a standing prescription for Lexapro later. After my last therapist agreed with my first three that my single, isolated hallucination was likely a stress response to the pressure of supporting myself through school, rather than an impacting brain tumor or the first break of schizophrenia, I convinced myself they were right, took my medication religiously, and did all I could to ground myself in the waking world. I finished school, started work, made myself fit in with all the young white professionals that populated the financial scene in New York. Rifled through failed relationships like a rolodex of shallow distractions, always ending just before they could ask me where I came from, who I knew. I never breathed a word of any of it to my mother. Mental illness was a taboo topic, one that followed the old Chinese curse that to speak was to invoke. And if I wasn’t crazy, and ghosts were real after all…

Well. I thought I could bear that even less.

And then, one night after a disastrous dinner date, I woke with a start to pounding at the door.

At first, bleary with sleep, I thought it was someone at the front entrance. “Who is it?” I called out, groping for my glasses. The pounding continued as I shoved them onto my face and peered at the clock on my nightstand: 2:44 am. Was there a fire in the building? What on earth was going on?

“Ràng wǒ chūqù! Ràng wǒ chūqù!”

A chill swept over me. I slowly turned my head. The noise was not coming from the front door of my apartment; it was not outside my bedroom at all. The pounding came from only a few feet away, through the closed door of my closet at the foot of my bed.

The closet door rattled; I jumped. “Yǒurén zaì mai?” the voice of a young woman pleaded. “Please, let me out. Is there anyone there? You must let me out!”

I snatched my phone off my nightstand. In the middle of dialing 9-1-1, I froze. What was I thinking? What would I say—that a Chinese-speaking stranger had broken into my home and gotten herself trapped in my closet while I slept? And then, when they inevitably found no one there, what would I do? Continue working my twelve hour days in the dog-eat-dog world of financial consulting from the comfort of my padded cell?

I set the phone back down and drew the covers up to my chin. Then I called out, voice wavering, “Who’s there?”

There was an abrupt pause; then the pounding resumed, louder than ever. “Please, you must let me out,” the woman begged. “I didn’t sleep with Lady Wang’s husband, I swear. No one believes me, but I would never do such a thing. You have to help me. You have to let me out!”

I swallowed. “The door’s not locked,” I tried. “You can just—”

“Please, you have to help me! The lid is too heavy. I can’t breathe down here. Let me out, please; I don’t have much time left—”

The realization shocked me into silence. I stared at the closet door in terror. Suddenly the blankets were suffocating in their heaviness. I kicked them off, gulping for air. The pounding had stopped, but now there was another sound: Scratching—no, clawing.

The air in the room grew stifling. I slid down the headboard and slumped on my bed, gasping for breath while I listened to the ghost in my closet beg.

—-

I arrive home after brunch to an ice-cold apartment. “Damn it, Ma,” I growl under my breath, stomping to the thermostat. It’s 52 degrees, because of course it is. I crank it back up to 70 and go to find my mother in the guest bedroom.

She’s sitting in the recliner, blanket draped over her knees, watching a Chinese drama about the Sino-Japanese war. I stand in the doorway with my arms over my chest. “Ma. How many times do I have to tell you that you can keep the heat on in the apartment?”

“Gas expensive nowadays,” Ma replies, eyes never leaving the television. “Save you money. I prefer cold anyway.”

“Yes, but it’s not just you living here,” I say, pointedly. I sigh, too tired for this argument again. “How are you feeling today?”

Now Ma looks at me. She switches to Chinese. “I feel fine. Like always.”

When my mother first called me three months ago to inform me she was dying, I thought it was a joke. Had she seen a doctor? What was her diagnosis? What medications was she taking? I hadn’t even known she was ill; I couldn’t accept, even with all the suspension of disbelief that maintaining my relationship with her had required throughout my childhood, that my mother could be so unwell for so long and not tell me.

But there was no diagnosis; no doctors, no medications. One morning she woke up and could not use her left leg. The right one went shortly after. And that was it: No matter how many specialists I took her to, no matter how many CTs or MRIs were run, no one had any answers for us. “I’m sorry not to have anything more concrete, but the best I can come up with is some sort of conversion disorder,” the third neurologist we consulted told me, handing me the results of my mother’s latest, unremarkable nerve conduction study. “I’d recommend seeing a psychiatrist.”

Ma waves a hand at me. She points to the altar set up on an old nightstand at the foot of her bed. “Light the incense for me, Leilei.”

I sigh but move to do as I’m told, if only to garner favor as I tell her, “Don’t forget you have an appointment on Tuesday. Three o’clock.”

Ma hums. “Cancel it.”

I grit my teeth. “Ma. We talked about this. If everything else has been ruled out, then the only thing left to do is—”

“Leilei,” Ma interrupts me. She reaches for the remote and turns off the television. “I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

Ma looks at me calmly. “I’ll be gone by then.”

I stare at her. The words are nonsense, but it doesn’t matter: They chill me to the bone. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m out of time,” Ma says. “Please. Light the incense.”

My grip tightens around the lighter. “No,” I snap. “Not until you tell me what you mean.”

Ma sighs. My mother never seemed to age as I grew up: The only signs she ever bore of time passing was the slow whitening of her hair, even as her face stayed the same. But now, all of a sudden, she looks tired, and in turn it makes her seem old. “I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”

I gape at her. “Are you serious?” I demand, in English.

“Leilei—”

“No!” I slam the lighter down. The rational part of my brain tells me I’m overreacting, that my mother’s just being dramatic; after all, for a sixty-something immigrant Chinese woman, being psychoanalyzed might actually be worse than death. But there’s something in her expression that disquiets me: The utter lack of fight. As if she has already accepted what’s to come, and is now only waiting for the end. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to just move on. I’m an adult now; you can’t keep treating me like a child—”

“You’ve been seeing the ghosts.”

My rant shrivels in my mouth. “…What?”

“For many years now.” Ma studies me seriously, then nods. “They are drawn to you. Your emotions. You feel what they feel. You allow them to be heard and seen in this world again.”

“I—can we not make this about ghosts, just once—”

“The beggar boy.” Ma looks somber. “He snuck into a boarding house one night looking for food. When the house caught fire, he was trapped in the pantry where he was hiding.”

I stare at her. For a second I am nineteen again, unable to speak for the horror of a burned boy sitting across from me. “Oh my god.”

“You saw him when you were hungry like him: Hungry for opportunity, for the future. For the chance to prove yourself.”

My throat is as dry as the desert. My heart is beginning to flutter in my ribs. “Ma…”

“The buried girl,” Ma continues. “Who was buried alive as punishment for the rumor that she slept with the noblewoman’s husband. You heard her cries when you felt as trapped as she did, in a job and a life and a world you did not belong to.”

My heart is pounding now, and there is a tingling sensation at the back of my skull. It’s how I feel whenever I see a ghost, like there is pure adrenaline rushing through my veins. I’ve always attributed it to my body going into shock.

“The drowned woman.” Ma’s voice cracks. Her face twists, brow furrowing and lips pressing tight. Suddenly I am looking at a sight far more terrifying than any ghost: My mother, trying not to cry. “When the invaders took her home, she traveled seven days and seven nights in search for a safe place to have her child. But on the seventh night, a terrible storm came down on the valley and weakened the banks of the river. She had no energy left to fight when she slipped down a steep cliff and fell into the water.”

My legs feel weak underneath me. I stumble to the bed and sit down. “How…how do you know about them?”

“You should not feel ashamed, Leilei,” Ma says, gentle. “Our people have suffered so much. Sacrificed so much. There are so many untold stories. You can give them a voice. It is a gift.”

I clasp a trembling hand over my mouth. “They’re…real. The ghosts. They’re all real.”

She blinks at me. “Of course.”

I bark out a laugh. “I always thought…god. I always thought you were full of shit.”

“Leilei,” Ma says, scolding, and for a moment I am a teenager with a messy room again and my mother is my whole world. “This is why you should always listen to your mother. Your mother is always right.”

I draw in an unsteady breath. “Why now? The first one I saw was eleven years ago. Why are you telling me now that you can see them, too?”

Ma sniffs. “You weren’t ready before.”

I glare at her. “Seriously? You’ve been avoiding my questions my entire life, and you’re not even going to be straight with me now, when I find out ghosts are real?”

She frowns at me. “I never lied to you.”

I scoff. “You never told me the truth, either. Everything was always half-truths and riddles. All I wanted was for you to be honest with me. But you could never just tell me what you were really thinking. Everything had to be made into some sort of life lesson.”

“I tried to guide you,” Ma says. “So you could do right.”

I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Yes,” I say. “But sometimes I didn’t need guidance. Sometimes I just wanted you to listen.”

Ma falls silent. We sit there for a while, listening to the cars pass by outside, the rush of the wind.

At last, Ma leans over and takes my hand. “Maybe you’re right,” she says. I blink at her in shock. “It was not you who was not ready. It was me.” Then she takes a deep, steadying breath and transforms before my eyes.

The color leeches from her skin. Her hair grows darker, tangled, filthy. The austere button-down cardigan and rayon slacks I bought her from Ann Taylor fade away into water-logged silk. The drowned woman sits before me, gazing at me with sorrowful eyes.

I flinch back so violently I fall off the bed. I land with a thump on the floor, the impact jarring my teeth. “No,” I gasp. Unconsciously, I attempt to scramble away, to put as much distance between myself and the terrible sight before me as possible. “No—”

“Don’t be afraid, Leilei,” the drowned woman murmurs. “I am the same person you always knew.”

I stare at her in horror. “…Ma?”

She rises from the easy chair and kneels before me. “My dear child,” she sighs. “I wanted to have you so badly. But my first life never gave me the chance. So I had to steal a second one.”

“I don’t understand,” I choke out. I can’t tear my eyes away from the vision’s blue-gray lips, the bones visible against her paper-thin skin. “How is this possible?”

“As I drowned in the waters of the Taiping River, I felt you still kicking in my belly. My life was done, but yours was over before it started.” Her colorless lips quirk. “But you still had so much fight left in you. You were so angry that you were robbed of the chance to live that you refused to pass on. And because we were one, I could not pass on, either.

When I died, I’m not sure where I went. Ghosts cannot think with such a clear mind, you know; mostly we cling to what is most important to us. I think I drifted for a long time. I watched my country change so much I could not recognize it anymore. And then, one day, I heard the words of a man promising a fresh start, a better life. People were following him, and I followed them. When I woke up, I was on the other side of the ocean. It might as well have been the afterlife for how unfamiliar it was to me. But I knew it was what I needed; what that man had promised: A new life.”

The tears drip freely down my face to pool with the river water on the carpet. My mother lifts a hand and just barely touches her fingers to my cheek. There is so much tenderness I can barely stand it. “Now you’re grown, with a life of your own. I have fulfilled my purpose. So, please, Leilei. Light the incense for me.”

Slowly, I climb to my feet and pick up the lighter. I glance back over my shoulder. My mother kneels calmly on the floor, watching me. It takes me multiple tries for how badly my hands shake, but finally I manage to light the three sticks of incense on the altar.

The scent of sandalwood fills the room. I return to the floor to kneel with my mother. Hesitantly, I take her thin, blue hands in mine. Her touch is cold, but the shape of them is so familiar: The same hands that carded through my hair as a girl, twining them into braids before school every morning. Sitting so close, I can see how sunken her eyes are, how she struggles to hold her head up—how tired she must be. I think of the long days she worked at the dry cleaner’s, how she would come home late in the evenings with her nails cracked from the chemical solvents. “Do you regret it?” I whisper. “Coming back? Doing it all over again, when it was so hard for you?”

Ma sighs, a sound like the wind through river reeds. “No, baobei. It was hard. But I’ve felt more peace as a poor woman watching my daughter grow up than I ever did as a noblewoman who never got to meet her child. I don’t regret a moment.”

She is beginning to fade away: Bits and pieces of her, dissolving into the air like dust. “Will I still see you?” I ask desperately. “Will I still see ghosts at all?”

“You will see them as long as your eyes are open, and hear them as long as you are listening,” Ma says, and I almost want to laugh again: Of course her last words to me would be yet another aphorism. “Feel for them, Leilei. Sometimes it is all they have left, to feel.”

“But you?” I press. Her hands have turned to vapor between my fingers. I can see the wallpaper through her, patterned with seashells. “What about you?”

Ma’s eyes crinkle. “Where I am going, I won’t be a ghost anymore. So you see, my dear: You have cured me after all.”

The shape of her mouth is the last thing to go, curved with a smile. Long after the sticks have burned down, the smoke from the incense drifts in the air.

End

#pls reblog to support if you enjoyed this! :) the author thanks you eternally #prose #spilled ink #short story #fiction #creative writing #ghosts #ghost story #amy tan #original fiction #writeblr #going for a #the haunting of hill house #vibe #honestly this is a stub and could use expansion but it makes for a neat small piece #magic realism

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