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croctears · 3 years

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a part two to this maybe? dk, again this is unedited and i’m trying my hand at a more flowery language. hopefully it isn’t too flowery lolol.

the cultural terms are further explained at the bottom.

Envy, with its tendrils green with jealousy, wraps itself snug around our little beating heart. Yet we continue to let it consume us, basking and boasting in the covetous desires. And again, do we have the capacity to ingest the wants of the human soul?

“They’re so pretty!”

Cherry blossom petals frolicked to the lilt of the wind in merry pink blushes, kissing the tips of her fingers. They slipped by cheekily, never getting caught, leaving only the tickle of velvet left as the aftertaste. Hsien-Chen sighed. It was the first spring since they moved to the capital; the flowers here are different from the ones in the countryside.

Her little sister ran ahead, giggling in glee. Two small buns sat atop her head, thin hair pulled tightly in a clean, smooth updo. The smile stretching across her face was far wider than any of Hsien-Chen’s when she was that age—not that she could remember ever being this carefree. After one fateful meeting with a messenger of Death ( her mother sobbed over her for days, thanking the Heavens and Yánluówáng for being merciful and not taking her daughter away), Hsien-Chen became a silent child.

According to Mama, she’d met Heibai Wuchang, more specifically the white counterpart of the duo; Xiè Bì'ān, the White Guard.

“No, you’re mistaken,” Her mother had shaken her head, frowning at Hsien-Chen’s recounting of the event. “That’s not a woman, and you’re lucky you didn’t meet Fàn Wújiù instead.”

Was she supposed to be grateful? Grateful that the White Guard, Xie, had taught her to make amends and become a better version of whoever she was going to grow up as?

She should be thankful for an opportunity many hadn't had the chance to get.

But why is it still so difficult to be angelic?

Round and round it goes, slippery and thick—soft as the finest silk in China, lithe as the strings of guzheng. Round and round envy goes, around the souls of men. Do we not notice it, or do we take no notice of it?

Hsien-Chen swallowed a lump of saliva lodging in the ridges of her throat. Her hands shook, palms sticky with sweat. Tucking the piece of parchment into the elaborated pieces of her robes, she hurried across the study room, sock-covered feet making no noise against the smooth wooden paneling.

She couldn’t believe she was going to cheat.

On a national exam, no less.

Pinpricks of moisture dotted her forehead, satin clothes sticking to her underarms. Hsien-Chen shook her head firmly.

No, it’s not her fault she’s always second to that Luo family’s brat. They are better off than her parents, providing him with more possibilities and renowned tutors when she only had herself to depend on. Was it wrong to sneak in answers she already read through? It was merely referencing.

Tighter and tighter, over the limbs and minds. Tighter and tighter envy’s fingers gripped our souls, dragging down, down, down. Tight was the constraints, yet our eyes were still clouded with discontent.

“Did you hear? The daughter of the Wang family had four wedding proposals today! One of them is a son of a businessman.” Hsien-Chen’s companion exhaled dreamily. “She’s beautiful, it’s no wonder!”

Hsien-Chen snorted, wringing her arm out of her friend’s hold.

“She’s your neighbour, isn’t she? The Wangs’ young miss.” Her friend asked. An innocent question that made her blood boil to a degree she never knew was possible.

Oh, how Hsien-Chen hated that girl next door. Always adorned with bracelets, necklaces. On her dainty feet always a pair of expensive embroidered shoes, no less than a noblewoman’s. And as if her being spoiled wasn’t enough, the girl was born with such elegant features, big brown eyes, small upturned nose with pink lips.

Oh, how Hsien-Chen hated her. They’re the same age, but Wang Jing appeared to be on a whole other level. And she knew, no matter how hard she tries, she’ll never reach that league. Her chest tightened, breaths coming in short angry heaves.

“She’s fooling around with their gardener’s son.” Hsien-Chen blurted without thinking. Whether it was true or not was up to the discernment of those who heard.

“What?” A handkerchief covered her friend’s face, widened eyes barely containing the disgust and excitement at the unexpected news. “That’s so wrong! Such a disgrace. Don’t you think people should know about this?”

Hsien-Chen shrugged. “Do what you will.”

Deeper and deeper envy hauls men, smooth and gracious through the waves. Deeper and deeper our beings go, into the sea of envy’s poison. Can we swim, or are we nonchalant with our foreboding demise?

“I wish I never had you!” Hsien-Chen screamed, clutching her head. Hysterics enveloped her, lashing out at the crying boy. Her son. Her older daughter held him protectively, hand rubbing furiously at her tear-streaked face.

A raised hand. A sharp smack. The boy wailed, clutching his red face.

“Mama, stop!”

“You too! I hope you die along with your good-for-nothing father!”

The vase broke, shards flying as Hsien-Chen swept more decorations off the shelves. Her children cried louder and louder and—

“Stop crying! I’m leaving. I’m leaving! I deserve better than this life!”

The slam of the door silenced the young ones for a moment and Hsien-Chen could feel the cogs of her brain turning again. Children were noisy, or her children were noisy. Lan’s kids were docile beings, same goes for Yi’s twin boys. Filial, gentle souls, unlike hers.

How she despised her children, her simpleton husband.

How she despised her life.

The back room was serene enough for her to collect her thoughts, a tired groan escaping her chapped lips as she sank down to the dusty floor.

Despair. That was the word for what she was feeling.

Despair, resentment, bitterness.

Envy.

“I’m better off dead.”

“Sure you are.”

“Who are you?” She whipped around in shock, clutching her heart. In front of her was a man, young and tall. He had an air of masculine handsomeness, the kind you normally feel around young warriors or generals. An austere smile danced on his thin lips, bulging biceps placing down a heavy-looking mirror in front of her.

“Who are you?” She repeated.

“I believe a mirror was supposed to be delivered here.”

“I believe not.” Hsien-Chen crossed her arms, shooting him her best scowl.

“Are you sure?”

He pulled the cloth off, and the mirror. The mirror was…

The mirror was the exact same one. The one she saw in the storeroom of the old couple her mother worked for. The same mirror Xiè Bì'ān showed her future.

“No,” Hsien-Chen shuddered, backing away from him. “Is this a joke to you?”

“You’ve met my partner, I believe. Xiè Bì'ān.” The man was grim, unsmiling. “I too should believe you know who I am.”

“Fàn Wújiù?” It came out a frightened squeak, quivering with dense fear.

“My partner has a kind soul. Me? Not so much.” The Black Guard of the Heibai Wuchang muttered. “He did warn you many years ago. That was your chance.”

Hsien-Chen fell to her knees. “But my family…”

He laughed scornfully. “Weren’t you wishing they were dead a few minutes ago?”

“Please sir! Please just—,” Hsien-Chen felt tongue-tied. What was she even begging for? A second shot at life? She already knew an opportunity like that, an opportunity many hadn’t had a chance to get would be better off not given to her.

She’d already wasted the first one.

“Is your- is your friend here?”

The Black Guard was stern, but nodded. “Outside.”

And true enough, the White Guard was standing there, hands behind his back. He had seemed like a woman to five-year-old Hsien-Chen, but now, she saw clearly he was a man. Albeit slender with delicate features, his elegant stance was somber once he spotted her.

Hsien-Chen was mildly surprised that he was taller than the other guard.

“It’s your time now child.”

“I know.” Hsien-Chen wrung her hands nervously. “I think I just want to say I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For wasting your time. You could’ve gone to another child. Maybe they’d listen to you.”

Xiè Bì'ān brushed back his hair. “It was fate. There’s nothing to be done now. Don’t fret.”

Her lips parted, then she closed it again. She could see Manchurian cranes against the orange-daubed skies, fishermen’s songs loud enough for her to hear.

Her husband must be coming home any moment now.

“What would I be if I had listened to you then?” She turned to face the white-clad man, but he refused to answer.

“You have to come now.”

“I guess we are arresting you right now.” Fàn Wújiù nodded to his partner.

Hsien-Chen stretched out her hand, hoping to feel the plush texture of the cherry blossom once more.

“I guess this is it.”

So indeed, the waves roll, swallowing the cries of regret and frantic yelps of realisation. For it is too late if we notice at the brink of death, now may we rest well in the icy comfort of envy’s clasp.

first off, this story takes place during the qing dynasty, after the imperial examinations were passed for women.

i'm personally not taoist, but had derived lots of taoist myths as inspiration! partly bc i'd grown up listening to these stories (: i hope you learn a thing or two about Chinese culture, though my version in this story is definitely tweaked.

Heibai Wuchang is "Black and White Impermanence" literally, and are deities in Chinese folk religion that escorts souls to the underworld. grim reaper, if you may. the white counterpart is Xie Bi'an while the black counterpart is Fan Wujiu.

as for Yánluówáng, he's the king of the taoist underworld. the mirror that is referenced in my previous story, Mirror of Retribution is a mirror used by the Yánluówáng to judge dead souls when dealing out punishments.

#writing #writing community #writeblr #writers community #writer #ayo im struggling so hard with this istg #i cant get the words to flow bc guess what #yeah ive been coding for the past month and all i can think of are python string commands #一croctalks #一crocwrites

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