#chinese poetry talk

[fwoopersongs]

Randomly rolling in because I see a mention of 静夜思 and it's many iterations!

~ textual instability ~ (it's more likely than you think!!!!)

I find it interesting and super helpful to not hold on too hard to the idea that the versions of the poems and lyrics we read today are exactly what they were when they left the minds of their creators all those hundreds of years ago. There was probably never a true or 'accurate' version to be found out there at all xD

How did poets - with their varied social class, economic status and hence access to materials and tools - compose poetry, record poetry? We know Emperors probably had scribes 24/7 hanging on to their every word live, but what about when someone walking in the rain, a poor ordinary scholar, a relegated official, a minister on horseback or a lady on a boat are struck by inspiration? All they'd have to rely on is their own memory! Or maybe the memories of people fortunate enough to hear them speak a work into existence at the time xD Who knows? It could have been just a very everyday occurrence. Our lives are so far removed from theirs 🥺🥺🥺

And then! When does the work find its audience? How does it get transmitted? Is it repeated by friends casually in conversation? Is it sung in entertainment houses? Do people hum it in the streets? Does it get written in someone's little copy notebook, or did a husband murmur it to his wife? Did someone scribble an exiting new find in a letter to an appreciative friend in lands distant? Does the poet write it down when they finally got to writing implements and did they change their minds and swap out any words, or rewrite a line? Who compiles it all in the end and how is the work reproduced? Along the way, were there errors introduced? Did someone with a brush or coal pen miss a radical, or copy in an annotation? Did the hand of someone who carved and put the printing stamps together slip? Or did someone else down the road think the poem could be improved? Perhaps that it needed a title? Did manuscripts barely survive chaos and wars, or did someone keep it in moth eaten box for fifteen years and more?

I'll stop here. You get the idea xD

So if you've ever seen poems with multiple versions, multiple attributions or even different titles - it's probably any combination of those reasons and even weirder ones that we'd never believe unless it happened under our noses.

Some very famous examples

静夜思 by Li Bai and it's various versions (too many to write xD)

题西林壁 by Su Shi and it's two versions (远近高低各不同 vs 到处看山了不同)

七步诗 allegedly by Cao Zhi and its dubious origins (煮豆燃豆萁... vs 煮豆持作羹...)

赋得古原草送别 by Bai Juyi (离离原上草 vs 咸阳原上草)

It's often an extremely wild (though fun) experience trying to trace these branches. I hope readers don't ever dismiss it as just being a minor difference in wording. Every poem that's reached us today is so precious, as is the story of how it got here. I mean - what d'you reckon are chances of something we're writing right now getting into the hands of someone living a thousand years and more after we've died?

Embrace ancient poems, lyrics and prose and the journeys & transformations it's taken them to get in your hands!!!

PS: If you're interested in hearing how poetry sounds when it is sung, here is a playlist of examples. Obviously it's not going to be anything like in ancient times xD. But the thought that somewhere on this planet right now, there are people who still interact with poems in this way is so amazing.

I'm a casual reader of ancient Chinese poetry and translated Chinese poetry xD But I find Xu Yuanchong's translations so fun hahahha. He makes them rhyme! Maybe give him a try too?

the last post abt translation… literally think abt it in relation to mandarin poetry a lot… so here a couple of examples

1. this is one of the most famous poems, written by li bai

床前明月光 Chuáng qián míng yuè guāng [bed] [front] [bright] [moon] [light] Bright moonlight before my bed 疑是地上霜 Yí sh�� dìshàng shuāng [suspect] [is] [ground] [on] [frost] I suppose it is frost on the ground. 舉頭望明月 Jǔ tóu wàng míng yuè [raise] [head] [look] [bright] [moon] I raise my head to view the bright moon, 低頭思故鄉 Dītóu sī gùxiāng [lower] [head] [think of] [old] [home village] then lower it, thinking of my home village.

translation taken from here. there’s rhythm and rhyme (AABA) here! classic 5 character structure!

2. there’s also a whole BOOK ‘three character classic’ (三字经) which is entirely written in triplets of characters (and yes a Classic™, even i can recite maybe the first few pages)

this is the first few lines, copy pasted from wiki

人之初 (rén zhī chū) People at birth, 性本善 (xìng běn shàn) Are naturally good (kind-hearted). 性相近 (xìng xiāng jìn) Their natures are similar, 习相遠 (xí xiāng yuǎn)   (But) their habits make them different (from each other).

like this takes so much skill to construct…

3. chengyu!! idioms/proverbs basically. example: 画蛇添足 (to add feet when drawing a snake) which means to add to something unnecessarily. a lot of them are four characters and so many of them have stories behind them. which is so intriguing to consider in terms of translation because how would you translate these? literally (draw snake) or the meaning? or would u have to consider the cultural context of the language you’re translating into? which option would preserve the original text’s intention or is that not the point of a translation?

4. oh refer to this ‘nineteen ways to look at wang wei’. excellent examples of translation in practice and what it loses/adds.

it’s just so interesting to me - there’s an oral tradition for kids to recite the more famous ‘classic’ poems and books, and that inherent rhythm i associate with nursery rhymes is embedded in the language that shapes how things are written…. how are u going to translate that and preserve it accurately? & this is just a couple of thoughts on a language i’m familiar with, just thinking about what translations i’ve read from other languages that have lost some of the original intentions and that i’ll never get to fully appreciate is WILD

[faaun]

the way that diff languages sound r so fascinating they're all different and all so vivid

[maggiecheungs]

snippet from my translation of du fu's 'song of the army carts' (兵車行)

(original: 君不見青海頭，古來白骨無人收， 新鬼煩冤舊鬼哭，天陰雨濕聲啾啾)

[aurantia-ignis]

Every now and then I see screencaps that people take of C-dramas with English subs and...... Good heavens. The translations are so bad and inaccurate and often sound awkward/unnatural... that I wonder if non-chinese viewers actually understand the writing/story they just watched....

[ruiconteur]

every time i hear someone reference crazy rich asians when i talk about my country my temper gets a little bit shorter. kevin kwan doesn't know shit and the movie isn't any better.

[humanmorph]

i love forgetting I bought something 👍 surprise mail

edit: you can actually still get a physical copy

Translation Zine 2022

Translation Zine 2023

[melonymint753]

one of the most insane things about Chinese is the word for "sorry" is thought to have came from an expression of being, like, unable to complete a corresponding line of poetry when someone gives you the first

like

what?

why???

[fragmentedblade]

I should do something with my time other than hyperanalyse a gacha game

[homunculus-argument]

Huh. I figured out a way to solve a language issue that I had in The Book I'm Not Writing, that clears out some tangles that I hadn't really even thought of solving. Language barriers and different writing systems.

The first draft of the book featured two languages: The language spoken by the imperialist 'elite classes', and the common tongue spoken by the common people. It was a plot point that the protagonist - who was shipped to the Empire when he was 10 years old - learns to speak both of them fluently, but speaks Imperial like a finely educated nobleman and common like the lowest ranks of street thugs, and distinctly in the dialect of the slums of one specific city. But having a story with two clearly defined languages with no overlap between them started a lot of problems that distratcted from the plot, so I decided to discard that, and decided to just go with them being different dialects.

And just now it occurred to me that almost all the "lost in translation" sort of plot points that I did need the bilingual setting for were about writing, and that I could just resolve this by having two different writing systems for the (different dialects of) the same language. Like perhaps Imperial script is much like written chinese, featuring elegant, sophisticated, elaborate characters that can depict a number of different things, and the Common script is more like finnish, written phonetically with consistent sound for each letter - inelegant but practical, so one always knows how to spell a word they've only heard in speech, or how to pronounce a word they've only seen in writing.

The protagonist - being a baron - can read and write Imperial fluently, but having learnt the common dialect only from the stray boys he would sneak out to play with as a kid, cannot read Common script at all. So while he can fluently code-switch between speaking, standing and conducting himself like a baron, and moving and talking exactly like a Brethage slum stray, there is literally no way that he could fake being perfectly fluent in Imperial.

So to people who are on the upper end of the "lower caste" he does seem to be exactly as he seems - a stray lunatic who talks mad shit, occasionally claims to be a baron, but demonstrably could not read or write to save his life. But for someone who is familiar with the ways and etiquette of the nobility, seeing the Famously Batshit Foxtrap-Todd just casually code-switch and suddenly know exactly how to wear a rains banquet coat, properly pour tea, and be able to fluently read and recite poetry written in classic formal Imperial, would be as wtf-worthy as hearing a horse suddenly spontaneously start to speak.

[himboblackdragon]

*squints, tries to remember what I know about Chinese poetry*

OP is right, it does rhyme in Chinese — just not in the AABBCCDD scheme. Or rather, it rhymes in modern Mandarin, because this is supposed to evoke a style of classical poetry known as tangshi, and when you’re talking about tangshi, rhyme gets complicated and is rooted in tables codified for Middle Chinese.

The most notable feature of the tangshi to me is the line length — every line has the same number of characters, which means it has the same number syllables. I’ve only ever seen line lengths of five or seven, though Wikipedia is assuring me that six-character lines are also possible.

Another feature is that the lines come in pairs, so much so that they’re often written as ten or fourteen-syllable lines separated halfway by a comma. I need to stress that this does not mean the pairs always rhyme, just that each pair usually forms something like a coherent thought.

Tangshi also come in different flavors with regards to number of stanzas and rhyme scheme, and frankly the English Wikipedia articles on them are a structureless rabbit hole, but after a research spree supported by my vague recollections of studying Chinese poetry, I feel like I can say that one of the most well-remembered forms of tangshi has stanzas with AABA rhyme patterns.

(There are more tangshi rules, some involving Middle Chinese tone patterns, but I can’t really say anything on that.)

Going back to LBFaD though, the reason this fate poem recalls classical Chinese poetry is its fixed-length lines, divided into couplets (and further grouped into quatrains). And yes, the presence of rhyme.

Here it is in Chinese:

半世锦绣半世尘，一舞惊鸿倾鹿城。 韶华等闲随烟柳，凭栏元夜闻笛声。 断肠几欲飞仙去，偏逢萧郎解语人。 缘定花朝丝萝梦，红烛剑影断芳魂。

Eight lines of seven syllables, divided into couplets. Pretty standard.

Now let’s look at the rhyme.

Pinyin:

bàn shì jǐnxiù bàn shì chén, yī wǔ jīnghóng qīng lùchéng sháohuá děngxián suí yānliǔ, pínglán yuányè wén dí shēng duàncháng jīyù fēi xiān qù, piān féng xiāo láng jiěyǔ rén yuán dìng huāzhāo sīlúo mèng, hóng zhù jiàn yǐng duàn fānghún

The ending syllables are:

chen, cheng liu, sheng qu, ren meng, hun

Now, -en, -eng, and -un are pretty close in sound, and as line-enders they sound pleasingly rhyming to the ear. “Liu” and “qu”…I’m going to say no, not in modern Mandarin and not in the old rhyme tables. So the rhyme scheme, divided by quatrain, is: AABA, CAAA. Pretty close to an ancient tangshi!

Chidi Nuzu's Fate Poem

The original Viki translation doesn't rhyme in English, but it does in Chinese. I rearranged the translation for rhyming - or in some cases, approximate rhyming in English.

The original translation:

Half a lifetime of glory, half a lifetime of dust. A magnificent dance stunned the whole of Lucheng City. Her beauty was just like the willow. Hearing the flute on the night of the lantern festival, She was heartbroken and about to end her life. She met her Mr. Right who understood her so well. They were destined to get married Her life would be ended on the wedding night by her husband.

And my reworking:

Half a lifetime of glory, half a lifetime of ash. All of Lucheng City stunned by a magnificent dance. Her beauty was like a willow tree,  During the lantern festival, a flute heard she. ​She wished to end it all that night, But then she met her Mr. Right.  The pair was destined to be wed, He killed her on their wedding bed.

[glassrowboat]

Daydream in a Nightmare

Authors note: I read a soulmate au where with dream sharing. Everytime you fall asleep you and your SM would meet in a world that would reflect your consciousness and who you were. So down below are the boys and what I think the places their dreams would depict.

Mondstadt

Diluc: The cathedral. His mom, back when she was alive, used to play during service and afterwards Diluc ran over greeting her with the biggest smile, asking her to play him one more song. She never failed to. Maybe that's why there's always a gentle melody playing whenever you see him as he rests his fingers over the same white tiles, simply trying to remember how to play.

Kaeya: The Dawn Winery. Or at least parts of it. Behind closed doors there's the scent of grass, of dirt, and the faintest smell of ash. He says it's simply the vineyard that in the real world would be right outside, but he knows well as he pulls your hand from the doorknob that it's ruins of a fallen nation haunting him right on the other side.

Albedo: Glass walls. A maze of mirrors and reflections. If you ever have stopped to bother to count between Albedo’s musings as he shares with you the secrets of the world, you'd notice that for some reason he always has more reflections in the walls around you than of your own figure. Like there's more of him than there is of you.

Venti: Old Mondstadt. Back before the revolution, back when there were people in the streets wishing their God weren't so unjust, but in his dreams that wall of spiraling wind is never there. A warped perception of a life he wished to have lived as he sits in your lap not as Venti the bard, but a wind sprite trying to bury into your clothes for warmth. Just don't call him pipsqueek or he'll try and bite your fingers. Playfully. You think.

Liyue

Zhongli: A place that no longer exists, one torn away by this world during the archon war. It's unlike him not to comment on a place, a trinket, an item, as you pick something up and fiddle with it, but this place he never goes into full detail on. However, he will tell you all about the artisanship of the table you two are sharing tea over.

Baizhu: His home back in Chenyu Vale, back before the illness hit his village, back before his parents passed away. Just a modest home that shows signs of being truly well lived in and loved. Mindlessly while you two talk he'll be cleaning the place, just the way he always does at the pharmacy. Though it does help give him something to fill the silence. It turns out he's a lot more used to Changsheng chiming in with comments than he thought. He just hopes you two get along when the time to meet in person finally comes about.

Ga ming: A festival. There's water kicking up at everyone's feet, up to everyones ankles as people with their face covered in all manner of masks walk you both by. Ga ming would pull you along from booth to booth, trying his best to win prizes despite the fact you both know they'll be gone by the time you wake.

Xiao: A Chinese pavilion in the sky. You walk among the clouds as you follow the path of the street, looking over the accents that seem somehow both rich in color and dull, muddied all at the same time. Something you've noticed from his dreams compared to yours, his always have a lingering black fog creeping in at the corner of your eyes. It makes you feel like someone else is in this world with you, like there's eyes waiting to do more than just watch.

Inazuma

Kazooha: A meadow. The wind passes you both by, stirring up pages of books you two sit reading in silence. You can't help but wonder if these are all books he's read before, especially the ones that wax poetry or something else. His thoughts, perhaps? Maybe Kazuha's very own writings? But that matters little as his head is resting on your shoulder as you try to catch words between the fluttering sheets of paper.

Itto: A kabuki play. It always ends up in you two hiding away in the back room where the performers would get ready before getting back out on stage for the next act. You would see the brightest of colors, richest of fabrics, and practiced movements so fine tuned that you can't understand why Itto is so focused on taking the makeup on the vanity in the back simply so he can paint your face with red marks just like his. To each their own you suppose, and who are you to complain when it means drawing hearts on his arm when Itto isn't paying attention?

Gorou: A tea house. It's a small place, simple, but certainly not lacking charm as Gorou pours you a cup. At first the fact you could actually taste the rich herbs on your tongue in this dreamscape threw you off, but now it's just another part of this odd reality. But saying that, the first time you spat out the drink he offered as soon as the bitter taste hit you. Apparently he never expected you to not already be used to green tea. The poor fella was apologizing for the rest of the night, ears laid flat on his head and tail tucked between his legs. It's okay though, you made it even by trying to give him dog treats. It was you having to beg for forgiveness then.

Thoma: It was different this time. No glowing blue flowers and a forest that you two would stroll through mindlessly while chatting for hours. No, this time Thoma was sitting on a wooden platform below a giant stone statue. Intriguing, yes, but mattered little compared to the rope burns around his wrist. He tried to tell you not to worry about it. That it was an accident. But that mattered little as your lips pressed to the red, irritated skin and he gave you a strained smile. You knew better than to ask about it more from there.

Ayato: It's ever changing. It's like he is constantly thinking of something whenever He falls asleep and it reflects in his dreams. Once it was a Japanese styled room the next it was some room in Fontaine's architecture. But it's always a bedroom. A place of relaxation as Ayato buries his head in your lap like it was a pillow. He'll whine about being overworked until you're tempted to pull on his hair just to make the man shut up for once, but last time you did that it led to the bed being used for a lot more than just rest. For now just pat his head and let him vent, the man needs it.

Sumeru

Kaveh: A sketch brought to life from his mothers blueprints. One he saw his mother sketching back when Kaveh was a boy and she would let him sit on her lap, let him comment on the drawings. She would always find some way to incorporate his addictions into the sketch. Nowadays he knows the building that was actually constructed in the end to be simpler, duller than the one his mother wanted, but in his dreams with you it stands tall and proud.

Al Haitham: An attic. It's dusty and it clearly had a hole in the roof that was covered over by some wooden planks and nails. A patch work job that needs to be fixed but if you ever take the time to bother with it while Al Haitham sits in an old rocking chair covered by a quilt reading the night away it will only be there the next dream cycle. It pisses you off. He pisses you off. All nonchalance and an apathetic look even as you plop yourself in his lap and take that book away. And what pisses you off even more? How he dares to call you needy as he holds you close. It's best to ignore the fact he started reading over your shoulder.

Tighnari: Pardis Dhyai. He'll sit on the walkway watching you kick the water of the ponds around, paying no mind to when you splash at him. Not anymore at least. He's learned quickly if he makes a snarky comment you'll give one back and it'll go on and on until somehow it ends in him getting dragged into the pond with you. Both dripping algae filled water as he wondered what gods made this numbskull his mate.

Cyno: Lambad's Tavern. Everytime he would come back from treks in the desert he would go there, get a drink, and play a round of cards with whoever was willing. It was a pattern. Work, work, rest, and more work. But now he didn't have to constantly be on work mode as he sat with you in the old booth shuffling cards as he tried to explain to you how TCG works. So far everytime you lose you've thrown those elemental dice and him, and with a smile he lets them hit him in the head despite being fully able to dodge them. His soulmate is such a sore loser.

Wanderer: Shakkei Pavilion. He hates it. Hates that this is the place his unconscious has chosen to sink onto so stubbornly. His wooden fingers would slide over the paintings depicting Scaramouche’s past that has now been severed from him in everyone's eyes but Nahida and the Traveler. If you knew, would you still hold his hand? Would you still trace the details of his joints and comment that you find his pretty face such a stark contrast to his sharp words? He's afraid to find out, the idea that you might be his fourth betrayal always lingering in the back of his mind.

Fontaine

Neuvillette: Under the water where the currents would carry stray bits of seaweed and fish swimming past. The first time you shared a dream with him here he had to calm you down as instinctively you held your breath, taking your hands in his and assuring you if he can talk like this, you can suck in air just as well. It took some time getting used to, but now he watches as you grab starfish off the ocean floor and bring them over to him like a prize to be presented. This is what humans must be like Neuvillette tells himself as you braid them into his hair.

Worcestershire sauce: A home. A nice one at that. Big, had decent furnishings, pictures of kids hung up on the wall. If you listened closely enough you could even hear children playing outside from the cracked open windows that showed the brightest sky outside. Wriothesly would walk behind you as you would watch the grass blowing in the wind, not saying a word as he rested his chin on top of your head. He never thought he'd be back here again. The very place made him feel sick to his stomach, but with you? It was bearable. Even as you tried to grab his handcuffs from him.

Snezhnaya

Childe: His childhood home. Back before the renovations he bought for the place with his money as a harbinger, back before the redecorating of rooms to fit more children, and back to what the house was like when he was just a boy yet to fall into the abyss. Back when everything was simpler. He would pick up toys that have gone missing, never to be seen again and stare in wonder how it all is exactly how he remembers it. It makes it so much easier to be Ajax with you, rather than Tartaglia.

Dottore: The hospital he was working in when trying to help Eleazar patients. For the life of him does he hate it, being back in the desert always having to tip his shoes out of sand that never seems to fully clear off. It doesn't help you try and pour sand down his shirt, but in a way he supposes it's better you two stay out here under that blistering sun than you going inside to be met with the smell of death. No, you don't need to know about that side of him just yet.

Pantalone: His office. It always makes it hard to tell at first if he's awake, not when the same scene greets him either way. You always joke about him being married to his work and you're the mistress in this relationship. At this point he counts on the comment as soon as his eyes flutter open and he's greeted with the sight of you sitting on the desk he's been using as a pillow. Still, he can never help the genuine smile at seeing you once again.

Captain: A flower field. The snowdrops peek out from under the fluffy blanket of white powder, crunching under every step he takes. Even in his dreams the cold of Snezhnaya is ever present, ever biting. It only makes sense you are shivering behind him even as he lets you steal his cloak that is more of a blanket on you than anything. This field, he knows it well, knows that what waters these flowers is more blood than anything else, but that matters little as he wraps his arms around you. Maybe he can find a way to dream you a proper jacket.

Pierro: A grand hall. It reminds you of the way ballrooms are described in romance stories as the couple depicted would dance the night away. Columns so high you have to tilt your head back just to see where they meet the ceiling covered in paintings you've never seen before. That is until Pierro steps into your view. He always offered his hand to you before you could ask, and as your fingers interlocked he would tell you about them. Always ready to answer your questions. It meant someone was curious about a part of his long lost nation. So, of course, he was always happy to share.

Scaramouche: A never ending fire. It's a small shack, engulfed by flames that never seem to dwindle or burn out the wood it feeds on. Like this place was stuck in time in his mind. He doesn't talk to you, not any more than a sharp shut up. The only time that glare he showed you disappeared is when you pulled your hand back from the curious fire with a hiss, not expecting it to actually hurt in this fake reality. For a moment you could have sworn he took a step towards you, but he never came any closer than that as he hissed at you to be careful. Dumb mortals should at least know not to burn themselves.

[barbwritesstuff]

The Goodreads Choice awards has happened. It included a 'romantasy' category and no 'graphic novel' category. I take that as permission to make up my own ridiculous genres as I tell you about what I read in 2023.

Obviously, 2023 is not finished yet, but I'm doing a reading challenge at my library, so I don't think I'll be reading stuff I want to read for the rest of the year. Just stuff my librarian friend thinks its funny to make me read.

I've read 65ish books. Here are the highlights sorted into easy and normal groups.

Scifi books in which the main character spends 99% of the book wandering around a horrifying cave:

I enjoyed both of these, but Piranesi was a joy to read.

Vampires:

Empire of the Vampire was wild. House of Hunger was horny. Dowry of Blood was both of those things.

Ace books:

Disclaimer: I didn't actually like Loveless or Let's Talk About Love very much but I know a lot of people did, so I thought I'd include them here.

Vanilla surprised me because I don't normally like poetry but it was really good. Heartbreaking, but good.

Memoirs by people way too young to write memoirs:

All of which were funny!

Books about white people being shitty to Asian (specifically Chinese) people in the entertainment industry with ambiguous endings and a huge amount of research into the industry on blast:

Yellowface is for you if you like Hbomberguy's latest video. Seriously, those two go together like a fine wine and a good cheese. The Whitewash was also fantastic and so under appreciated.

Books that made me want to quit my job and become a ridiculous but stylishly dressed criminal:

Seriously. Rogues included a step by step guide on how to become a wine forger... and I was tempted.

HISTORY:

Okay, so Babel isn't really history, in that it's actually a magical dark academia, but it's tied into historical events, and made me look up some history, so I think it counts. The wager was the most exciting history book I've ever read. I was so invested in the lives and deaths of these silly scurvy-ridden seamen.

There are other books I read and enjoyed but I can't think of funny categories to put them into, so you don't get to hear about them.

Anyway. That's it. Read books.

Also, get a library card if you can. I practically live at my local library and have learnt so much from reading.

Here's last year's post if you want more books...

[lilislegacy]

I saw one person talk about Annabeth knitting and crocheting stuff for all her closest friends, so enjoy some ideas of stuff she'd make

A cute little beanie with a bunch of wild colors for rachel

A small shark plushie for percy (with a note that has some cute romantic poetry or something)

A super soft sweater for Hazel because she seems to always be cold

A crochet choker with soft spikes for thalia

A little wolf plushie for jason that reminds him of lupa

Another Chinese finger trap for frank as an inside joke

A bag for Leo to help him carry around things that are too big for his tool belt (the hecate cabin helps enchant it to be a lot like his tool belt)

A cozy pair of super soft socks for piper because she deserves to feel comfortable

A little onesie and pair of socks for Estelle

Another cute hat for Grover to hid his horns when he has to go into the mortal world

I was just looking at some of the stuff I've knit and was thinking about Annabeth weaving

thanks for the ask @invadericee!

awww, i love all of these so much! they are all so thoughtful! the little onesie and socks for estelle got me 🥹😭

canon

[idcallmyselfhuman]

XiaoAether Masterlist 👹⛅

Edit: version 2.0 here

Or, every XiaoAether moment that I can remember (and an attempt to organize them)

Starting this off with the one scene that made us all go "wait a fucking minute" at the very start of the game,

Battle of Osial

Aether's feet were already steadied. Xiao could've let go, or let him fall as gracefully as Mountain Shaper did to that guard (I would've hated him forever) but considering that he insists that being near mortals is such a biiiig no-no, he could have, but he didn't. No, even more, he fucking tightened his hold.

-

Teyvat Food Notes (Sweet Dream, Adeptus' Temptation and Satisfying Salad)

Next! The promotionals during Xiao's release as a playable character. Specifically, Teyvat Food Notes. To celebrate his release, they made an Almond Tofu + Sweet Dream Food blog.

Note: Both google translate and Papago seem to use Mandrill instead of Xiao, so... just know that's who it's talking about.

This is where we learn that Xiao didn't even make "Sweet Dream"; this dish was Aether's thank you gift to him. Xiao's specialty dish is a gift from Aether. I'm- agh. ANYWAY.

We actually also see Sweet Dream in Childe's birthday art. And I'm really sorry to Tartaglia but seeing it stole all his thunder. I could not get over it.

I like to think Aether was so busy making Childe food that he absentmindedly started preparing Almond Tofu in the way he's used to (because of how often Xiao requests it :'> ).

Just when I thought that was it for the Teyvat Food Notes and I could've moved on, I found this in the Adeptus' Temptation food note; the one they made for the first Lantern Rite.

Note: "Fairy/Buddha Jump over the Wall" is apparently an actual Chinese delicacy that the Adeptus' Temptation is based on!

I found this part really cute, especially right now because of the poetry event. Since the beginning, Aether's always known that Xiao was capable of being poetic, it just took them being close and his encouragement for Xiao to actually make a poem.

Lastly, Aether's Satisfying Salad. This isn't connected to the food blog this time (since that one's for Mona), but rather, this and Almond Tofu are the first dishes Aether has ever given Xiao in the game. I included this despite it being pretty minor because in Moonlight Merriment, Smiley Yanxiao actually brings this up again.

Smiley Yanxiao: The boss told me to take care of him, but this guy, let me tell you - he is one tough nut to crack. He usually turns his nose up at everything that isn't Almond Tofu.

Xiao willingly ate something that wasn't Almond Tofu because... because what, it was given to him by a cute blonde traveler? The jury's still out on that one.

-

Lantern Rite 1.3, Baizhu Story Quest

I'm sure we're already familiar with this scene, right?

The very first time Xiao promised Aether that no matter what, as long as he calls his name, he'll be there. Right after that was Moonlight Merriment, where the game literally specifies that Xiao made that promise just for Aether. Way to make your commitment subtle.

Ah, Xiao, you're so easy... Of course, this wouldn't be the last time that Aether calls for him and Xiao arrives immediately. This also happened during Baizhu's story quest to, yet again, the astonishment of everyone around excluding these two. (Xiao's dedication is one of a kind)

Xiao worries over Aether often, despite knowing that they're both formidable in their own right. I also think it's sweet how every time they meet, Xiao's departing words are always a reminder to call for him whenever needed, to the point where there are times that Aether just goes "Yeah, we know." before he can even finish the sentence.

Unfortunately, though, there is one time where Xiao failed to reach Aether when he called him, but only because he physically wasn't able to.

-

Perilous Trail (Interlude)

The only thing that prevented this man from getting to Aether like always was being in a different plane of existence. Romeo and Juliet wish they were this romantic istfg

Aether: Come find us.

Xiao: No.

Yanfei: But Aether's in trouble!

Xiao: How do we meet?

Now where else did someone pull this tactic recently-

...Again, XIAO YOU ARE SO EASY. But anyway, back to the Chasm bc I wasn't quite done with that-

As soon as Yanfei tells Aether that Xiao is awake, Ae comes running. Just full on "stop saying you're fine i'll be the judge of that"

And he looks so angry when Xiao brings up writing a will. augguh they are sooooo- (i would put a reaction pic here if i didn't have an IMAGE LIMIT fuck tumblr bro)

To finish off the Chasm Interlude on a more serious note, this entire conversation was really touching, and I love seeing the progress these two have made over the years. Xiao letting himself open up with Aether's help year by year is one of my favorite things about this game.

-

Teapot and Character Voice Lines + Birthday Letters

For the first and second Lantern Rite, Xiao was still adamant on not even stepping foot in Liyue Harbor, declining every invitation to go there because of how much he disliked being near mortals.

Yet in his teapot voicelines, once you reach a high enough friendship with him, Xiao actually takes the initiative to invite Aether to go to the city, if only to understand him better. Xiao explicitly says that his willingness to go to the harbor was for him.

More About Xiao I: I'm willing to protect you.But don't think about getting close, and stay out of my way, or all that awaits you is regret.

More About Xiao V: It's too late. The connection between us is too strong. Even if you wanted to, it's too late to sever it. Hm? You've never thought to sever it?

About Shenhe: It seems Shenhe places a great deal of trust in you. Well, how could she not. There are few people in the world as kind and good-natured as you.

Shenhe, About Xiao: My first impression of him was that he's not one to smile. After meeting him again more recently, however, he's still as reserved as ever, but… he seems a lot more relaxed now. Maybe he… met someone special.

That line by Shenhe made me happy. Aether's effect on Xiao benefitted not only him, but the people surrounding Xiao as well. We even see that in his birthday letters, where at the most recent one, he follows Ae's advice and goes to spend time with old friends.

They're also all just insanely romantic, I feel like that goes without saying. Every year, I wonder how Genshin would possibly top the one before it that isn't just an explicit confession of undying love.

-

Lantern Rite '23

I'm here to remind you all of a beautiful scene that should never be forgotten for years to come.

Regardless of Genshin trying to be mysterious and making us guess who saved Aether, the fact that they both came rushing over is incredible on its own. They know that Aether isn't a damsel in distress, and Paimon's acting was so on the nose, but they still couldn't allow even the slightest possibility of harm to come to him.

Xiao looking away and talking in circles just to say he really was worried is the funniest fucking thing.

For the Lantern Rite event itself, if you've read this far in, you're probably already familiar. I really wish there wasn't an image limit because I have so many screenshots I want to put in here. If you want a refresher, watch this and start around the 2-hour mark

I wanted to put my own video in the post but you can only put one :/// I'm fist fighting whoever put these limits. 1 video file and 30 images? who are you

BACK TO THE TOPIC

There really isn't much I could say that I haven't already said before. For XiaoAether shippers, this was hoyo spoonfeeding content on a silver spoon. It's Aether and Xiao at their most comfortable with each other, talking and spending time with the people they care about. It's Aether fulfilling his end of the bargain of bailing Xiao out of uncomfortable social situations, because if you haven't noticed throughout all of these examples (or even outside of that), Aether is so perceptive when it comes to the comfort of the people around him.

This was also the event where we find out that for Xiao, the most distinguished guest in his eyes was Aether (Even though Ae thought he was going to say Zhongli..)

I have a lot of love for this event. But since this isn't just a lantern rite post, I'll move on.

-

Waterborne Poetry

The catalyst for this post. The reminder of how lovely this ship is, and how far these two have come.

As we have all learned from Xiangling, Yanfei, Venti and Hu Tao, you only need to mention Aether's name to convince Xiao of whatever it is you're planning. The part where Aether and Team Chongyun were trying to convince him to come with them and touch some fucking grass was really cute.

This event and the previous Lantern Rite also had Aether and Xiao talking privately, only to get interrupted by Paimon/Xiangling (as well as calling them out lmao)

And, of course, the scene that everyone freaked out over,

This. I don't think I'll ever get over this.

The fact that they had Zach voice this- A short, but sweet moment where Aether looks at Xiao from afar and immediately gets inspired, performing a poem where the real meaning is shared only between the two of them...

And Xiao's smile.

An expression that Aether had done so well to bring out.

2023 was the year of XiaoAether. Thank you, Hoyo.

-

Done! I HAVE SO MANY SCREENSHOTS AND I COULDN'T EVEN USE MOST OF THEM ToT. I actually had clips that I edited but Tumblr said no. Good thing there's YouTube.

Another reason as to why I made this was because some shippers said that XiaoAe didn't make sense because it lacked depth and I was so affronted by it that I did all this out of spite (and love for these characters. mostly love.)

[hannahssimblr]

Days slink by, a haze of heat, blank, blue skies, the lazy buzz of insects, the trickle of a fountain. We enjoy the sights, eat the food, take a trip to Pompeii to wander on ancient, cracked stone. Crumbling pillars, sun worn brick, frescoes of decadence, excess, figures draped in togas, languishing about. Through glass enclosures we view plaster casts of Vesuvius victims with solemnity, feeling perhaps self righteous in our thoughtful sobriety while other tourists laugh and take photographs of themselves. 

The sunburn that follows feels almost poetic. At least that’s what Astrid says. Like the pain we feel is only a whisper, a ghost of what those poor people went through. Sometimes she says things like this to me, just, like, on the bus, or something, with such a serious face, and I’m forced to think of Jen. Jenny Smythe, laughing at the sad poetry kids in their thick, ugly shoes, waxing lyrical, interpretations of Plath’s work to the point of extreme awkwardness. What would she think of all this? Of the things I listen to, and in fact, actively indulge, without laughing at all. Without pointing out what may actually be hovering perilously close to the line of ‘honestly, a bit stupid’. “Well, yes, that’s a good point. I would have never thought of that,” I’ll say, and in so doing, allow it to continue. 

Mornings, I’ll wake, normally alone, and make breakfast, sometimes delighting in plucking a fresh orange from the tree outside, digging my thumbs into the flesh, eating it segment by segment in the garden, basking in the view while Astrid swims, or reads, or speaks to someone on the phone, fragments of conversation, Danish, floating through the foyer. Strange sounding language.

It twinges, still, the intimacy thing, like a sprain, as does the conversation we avoided the morning after. I don’t internalise, I compartmentalise, make a choice to not think about what it means; a young couple, five months in love, two gorgeous, fit, sensual bodies, and one, luxuriating in the bath upstairs, while the other masturbates in the shower, dodging the water. The hot, burned skin of his neck. 

Silvio and Suzana, of course, are still a factor of our afternoons and evenings. Trips together, meals, drinks, lounging beachside. Them, tongue kissing, practically dry humping on the sunbeds while Astrid reads a book and applies, methodically, punctually, on the hour, factor 80 sun cream to her tattoos. 

I hate them, actually. Loathe their very existence, there, touching each other, cooing into one another’s faces like infants. Can I do that for you, baby? What do you need, baby? That drink looks so yummy, can I try some? You’re so cute, no you, no you, no you.

There’s an understanding, a fact not lost on me, that I don’t actually hate them. Only their love and their affection. Why should they have it? What have they done to deserve it? Why not me? Et cetera. 

Astrid, when she’s feeing social, is not socialising with me, but Suzana. There by the shore, laughing like that, while I’m stuck with Silvio, trying to talk to me about Formula One racecars or something. Lewis Hamilton? Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him, I think. Going out with the hot one from the Pussycat Dolls. 

He’ll always throw some comment in about his girlfriend, too. Like, “Look at her there, isn’t she gorgeous?” Like, yes, objectively, I suppose, but why are you asking me? 

Sometimes, for no reason, I’d like to punch him, but I picture it happening like a cartoon, where my fist would go kind of inside his head, turning his face inside out, and it’d take a second or two to pop back, like rubber. The reality would be like punching Fitzy on the rugby pitch in sixth year. When I flung myself at him and pretended it was an accident. “How’s your Chinese girlfriend?” he said. “The lads were saying you smell like fried rice.” I felt his nose crunch under my knuckles. It was weird. Blood on his face, up my arm, and when he collapsed onto the pitch with a groan, the exhalation sprayed a fountain of blood up my jersey. A gruesome victory. 

If I did that to Silvio, for what? Not being racist, for annoying me. How would that look? An intrusive image comes, him, clutching his face, blood pouring between his fingers while everyone screams: There’s a violent maniac on the beach! Like, no. I’m just a nineteen-year-old boy on holidays, and I’m very bored. 

Imagine the financial implications. The teeth alone. Teeth. I squint my eyes as he talks to me. It’s actually more like one tooth. One huge, horseshoe shaped tooth wedged into his gums. Uncanny. Ringing my dad, like, hey, I broke someone’s veneer. Singular. No, no, not the normal ones, but, like, one huge grotesque slab, the ones they put in animatronics. Do you have those in stock at the clinic? 

Late evening, one night after saying goodbye at another bar, we take the seafront route back to the villa. We can see it from here, lights in the windows yawning from the mountainside, Astrid’s heeled sandals clacking on the pavement. She’s going on about Sorrento. Why did we book Sorrento, anyway? An extra thousand euros for two nights, all because Elias said to her it was nice. Two extra nights spent being acutely miserable, when I could have done it for free in Berlin. Maybe she will invite Silvio and Suzana, too, as a fun joke. Ha ha, Jude, you thought you saw the last of them, but here they are! In Sorrento this time! 

These thoughts carry guilt. She walks ahead of me now, in a short dress that makes her body look sensational and the cruelty of life seem monumental. She’ll break up with me, probably, after all this, when she has squeezed the last she can from me. Used my money, sucked out my dignity. I flinch outwardly at that. Its viciousness shudders down my arms and out of my fingertips. This is the kind of thought to be ashamed of. An ugly thing. I never saw myself like them, those boys you’d get stuck with at school, their contempt for girls who didn’t like them. Stupid bitch, they’d say. She’s rotten anyway. Wouldn’t touch her if she begged.

Ugh. 

“Astrid.”

She stops, turns. The expression of surprise suits her face, makes her lovely. I move to kiss her.

Slippery satin under my hands, the silk of her hair over my arm. She’s warm and real. Lips soft and inviting.

“No, come on,” she’s saying. “Let’s just go back to the villa. I want to finish my book.”

“Astrid.”

“What?” Already, she’s leaving. 

“Come back.”

“Why?”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She stops. “There’s nothing.”

“There is. You hardly let me touch you anymore.”

“Oh, Jude, please. We are in public.”

I look around us, vacant, cobbled streets. Cafes and shops shuttered. The perfect silence of night. “Sorry, what? You didn’t want to kiss me in front of all these people?” 

A sound. Short, dismissive, and indignation surges.

“Why do you do that? You just brush me off and act like I’m a burden.”

“Oh, stop. Honestly.”

“Like that. See? You just did it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. You make me feel like I’m not worth speaking to.”

She huffs and stomps toward me, her arms crossed over herself. “Come, please. We can talk back in the villa.”

“We won’t. You won’t talk to me there. I know you’re just going to read in the bath for two hours until you think I’m asleep, and then creep into bed when you know I won’t pull the moves on you”

“So, you want to do this here?” She tosses her hands. “Standing in the street.”

“Please.”

“You’ve done this on purpose,” she says. “You kissed me here because you wanted to start an argument.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, though maybe that is what I did. “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? Here we are. I just want you to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Preferably about what’s gone wrong, or what I’ve done to put you so drastically off me.”

She scoffs. 

“We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Is that the only thing you think about?”

“Well, it’s not, actually, believe it or not, but it’s been on my mind pretty regularly, seeing as recently I’m not doing it at all. Out of nowhere, too, like you switched off the fucking tap.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re so cold,” I cry, surprised by a swell of emotion. “I hate this, how I’m trying to talk to you and you stand there like that, like a robot or something. It’s like you’re punishing me. You won’t even tell me what I’ve done. Can you imagine how that feels?”

She hesitates, eyes flicking to the ground. “No,” she says. 

“Well, tell me so I can be sorry for it.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“You don’t.”

“No,” her eyes flicker to mine, an unexpected uncertainty in them. “No. I really don’t know.”

Along the shore, the waves hiss through pebbles. The clunk of wooden shutters somewhere, drawing in over a window. 

“I’m confused too,” she says. “I don’t know why I feel this way, and I wish I didn’t.”

“Because you don’t fancy me anymore.”

Lips open, close, and her hand comes to her neck, blotchy, I see. Pink, abstract blobs like the ghosts of bruising. Like months ago now, when I bit her there. Haven't done that for a while now, as it involves being close. Access to her neck. “It’s normal for a relationship to have periods like this.”

“It’s never been like this for me.”

“Never?”

“No, I–” I sigh. The past: Never asked about, never offered. “My last girlfriend, you know, from school. We were constantly at it. It wasn’t a good relationship, in so much as we fought all the time. She was a bit volatile in her own way, but in… you know, the sex department, things were good. I liked it with her.”

“How long were you together?”

“About eleven months.”

She nods. “Maybe it’s different for me.”

“Well, what about you, then, and your, um, your other boyfriends?”

Her eyes flash in the moonlight. “I’ve never been with another man for as long as I’ve been with you.”

“What?”

“No, never. This is the longest. The steadiest thing I’ve had. I met you and I thought you were so cute; that maybe my life would be calmer with such a nice person.”

I blurt it: “But you were engaged.”

“Excuse me?”

“Last year, you went to Paris with a man. He asked you to marry him.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know. Someone told me months ago. Everyone knows.”

She stares, a light wind rippling across the hem of her dress. “Alright, well, it was meaningless. I said yes for fun. I didn't intend to actually marry him. It was like a play, and we were the actors. I hardly knew him at all. It was a thrill, and he was exciting for a while.”

“And me,” I say, foolish. “Am I exciting?”

She says nothing. A wrenching feeling in my chest.

“How was your sex life with him?”

“Don’t ask questions like that.”

“Well, there’s my answer then, isn’t it?”

“Jude, I–”

“What did he do for you I don’t? I do everything you say, I swear. At this point, I barely think about myself. I’m just,” I clench my fist, wanting to tear the front of my hair. “I’m just trying to make you happy, and it seems like the more I try, the further away I push you. That’s so confusing to me.”

“You are just… I do love you. Okay? You’re a kind person.”

“What do I have to do? Do I have to put you on the back of a motorcycle and whisk you away to Paris? How about Vegas? Would that be your taste? Lose all my money in a casino and marry you in a little Elvis chapel? Does that make you horny?”

“No, obviously not. That's tacky.”

“Then tell me what.”

“You’re…” exasperated. “You’re so nice. I know, and I’m thankful. You always do what I want you to do, but… I want you to do something else.”

Sharply. “What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to have to tell you.”

“I don’t get you at all, Astrid, to be honest.”

“You should just do whatever you like to me.”

“I already do. What I like is making you happy.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s…”

Frustration is fading into numbness as she trails off. “Am I getting this? You want me to do what you ask, but at the same time, you don’t. Now you want me to do whatever I like with you, but not if that involves doing what you ask.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You think I should want something else?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

She’s struggling, eyes darting around, settling on nothing. “Well, what about the things men say to each other, or think on their own, but would never ask a woman to do? Isn’t it what you all secretly desire? To take a beautiful woman and disrespect her?”

“Ah, so you expect me to hit you across the face or something.”

It’s an outrageous thing to say to her, and my voice sounds loud, bellowing it through the streets in indignation. I imagine people inside their houses, the windows cracked, and listening. “He wants to hit her,” they’re whispering. “A crazed man. Someone help that poor girl.” 

“If you ever thought it would turn you on, I’d like to think you’d hold me down and do it.”

In the stunned silence that follows, she doesn’t waver. I reel back, abhorred.

“Have other guys done that to you?”

“Sometimes.”

Actual repulsion, then. A wave, like I might throw up over the pier. “Well, that makes me feel fucking sick, then.”

“You think I’m sick.”

“No, those guys are. They’re scum.”

“Fine, then pick something else.”

“Something else? Something worse than that, is it?”

“Anything you’ve ever wanted.”

My head buzzes, the sound of my own breath in my ears. Of course, I’ve had fantasies, things I’d like, but never admitted to. What about the things in my head when I’m having sex? The words that make me certain biblical hell is not real, for if it were, God would cast me down there for the crime of thinking them. Impure. Does she want me to say them out loud to her? But doesn’t it turn me on a bit, the imagined freedom of speaking them? The whole dirty dialogue, out loud, like, yes, this is what I think of you. This is how you look to me when I have you like that. This is what I’m doing to you. Tell me you like me doing it, and so on. It’s theoretically possible to say those things, but looking her in the eye and doing it...

“I’m only nineteen,” I say, my voice tearing. “Can you not just let me be nineteen for a while and have sex normally? You’ve clearly done all of this extreme stuff, and it freaks me out, to be honest. I can’t live up to that. Maybe we can work up to it, but this feels too sudden. Like, it’s jarring me. You assume I have all these secret fantasies about you and I’m holding back, but I’m not. I just love you, and I think you’re beautiful and I want to kiss and make love to you and talk afterwards in bed. That’s basically all.”

I don’t know how to read that look on her face, but there’s a feeling in my chest. A piece bored out of it, leaving behind something hollow. 

“Well,” she says, chin high. “That’s okay, then.”

“Is it okay?” I feel it is not okay, in fact, at all, but she’s already turning her back. “Astrid?”

“We should go back to the villa. My feet are hurting.”

A long, dreadful silence. “Alright,” and a finality in that.

We don’t walk together, but ten feet apart. Her ahead, the sound of her shoes, the moon rising, becoming full. The beauty of Amalfi, hills, sea, warmth in the air. I try to hold this; The way it feels, while I remember how it felt before. It wasn’t this way. Never had to be. Here I am wondering, in misery, if this is it. Adulthood. My parents, her parents, me and her. My life, a thousand times this, over and over again.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[ryin-silverfish]

Ghost Month Special: Heibai Wuchang

Today is the middle of Lunar Seventh Month, a.k.a. Zhongyuan Festival, and I feel like there can't be a more appropriate day to do a deep dive on my favorite ghost cops, a.k.a. the Black and White Impermanences, a.k.a. Seventh and Eighth Master, a.k.a. Tua Di Ya Pek, a.k.a. Xie Bi'an & Fan Wujiu.

Now, I've talked briefly about them in my Chinese Underworld post, and if you watch C-dramas or play certain Chinese games, you might have seen these two + learned a few things about them already. But for those who haven't, here's the five-minute summary:

-they are (one variant of ) Chinese psychopomps, who show up to take the souls of the deceased to the Underworld.

-they are also ghost cops, who go after troublesome ghosts that are disturbing the living.

-both wear tall hats with four characters on it (which also varied), as well as nearly identical black and white robes.

-for their Hokkien, Taiwanese and SEA versions, there's a significant height difference between the two; the white-robed one is tall and skinny, while the black-robed one is short and stout.

-the White Impermanence is often depicted with his tongue hanging out of his mouth (reminiscent of those who died by hanging) and a more cheerful expression, while the Black Impermanence is dark/blue-faced (reminiscent of death by drowning) and relatively more grim and fierce.

-the White Impermanence is also worshipped as a god of wealth by some.

However, outside of these bullet points, their tales and trajectory of development are a fascinating rabbit hole. I'd call them thorough folk gods, who evolved out of the greater existing character archetype of "ghost bureaucrats fetching people to the Underworld" and became their own unique characters almost entirely through folklore and oral legends.

So, without further ado, let's dive in.

Impermanence

The Great Spectre of Impermanence could arrive unexpectedly. (无常大鬼，不期而到) ——Sutra of Ksitigarbha's Fundamental Vows

To start talking about these two, we need to go into the general category of beings they separated out of later: Underworld officials.

Some conceptions of those petty ghost bureaucrats that mirrored living ones already existed in the Han dynasty; in burial goods and "grave scripts", there were paperwork dedicated to those officials, who were supposed to keep track of the Dead People Belongings List and maintain the segregation between the dead and the living.

Their characterization would get expanded a lot as time went on, in Northern-Southern dynasty and Tang legends, but this isn't an article about the ghost officials as a whole.

We are still tracing the origins of two specific ones, and to do that, we have to start with etymology——the "Wuchang" in their names.

It is the translation of the Buddhist concept of "Anitya", referring to the impermanence of everything, which is always changing and dying and being reborn, with no constant to be found.

Yeah, you can see why a word describing the fleeting nature of life might eventually become associated with death and native psychopomps at some point in the Northern-Southern dynasty.

In the 39 chapter translation of the Dhammapada (interlaced with additional parables) by Fa Ju and Fa Li, the "Killing Spectre of Impermanence" (无常杀鬼) was first mentioned in the "On Impermanence" (无常品) chapter.

Another name for this grim-reaper-esque figure was "The Great Spectre of Impermanence", which appears in the quote at the beginning.

It appeared earlier than Ksitigarbha's Sutra, though: in another Northern-Southern dynasty translation of the Sutra of Golden Light, a Great Spectre of Impermanence was mentioned as this scary being that swallowed a king's younger son up whole.

By the Tang dynasty, the Spectre of Impermanence had appeared in both poetry and Buddhist text collections, as a generic name for the ghost that came to get you when you die.

However, the name wasn't exactly common or widespread, as made evident by all the N & S. dynasty and Tang legends about ghost bureaucrats where they were just referred to as, well, ghost bureaucrats.

Similarly, the Scripture on the Ten Kings doesn't mention anything about a Spectre of Impermanence. Instead, the second variant of the sutra says there are 3 ghosts working under King Yama——the "Soul-seizing Ghost" (夺魂鬼), "Essence-seizing Ghost" (夺精鬼), and "Spirit-binding Ghost" (缚魄鬼), responsible for dragging souls away in chains to the tree near the Underworld entrance pass.

(Their names might have corresponded to the idea of the Three Souls, each grabbing one of them, or the alternate division of Hun-Po plus the "vital force/essence".)

Right after that, however, they mentioned two demonic-looking birds sitting on the tree, one of which was named the "Bird of Impermanence", who would angrily scold and torment the dead for their misdeeds.

In this text, whatever the birds were, they were seen as a separate thing from the 3 ghosts that brought the souls of the dead to the Underworld entrance.

(A brief tangent about the 2 variants of the Ten Kings Scripture: the first could be found in the Dunhuang manuscripts, its name was 佛说预修十王生七经, and, as Teiser's translation of the scripture at the end of his academic book has showned, didn't have the 3 ghosts or the birds.)

(The variant mentioned above is 地藏菩萨发心因缘十王经, which is likely a Song dynasty Japanese apocrypha based on the first variant.)

Buddy Ghost Cops

When the ghostly officials of the Tang legends showed up, they could be alone, in pairs or in groups.

It was only in the Song-Yuan era that the idea of ghost cops showing up in pairs began to populate, and the first mention of the "Two Spectres of Impermanence" appeared in Vol. 3 of the Song dynasty 随隐漫录.

However, even without the word "Impermanence" attached, in various Song texts, the idea of there being 2 ghosts coming to get you instead of a single one or a group had already showed up with more frequency than before.

Come Ming dynasty, the Two Spectres of Impermanence got even more notable mentions in vernacular novels: a descriptive poem in Chapter 115 of Water Margins brings them up alongside the "Generals of the Five Paths" (五道将军), another native Underworld deity that showed up in Tang novels.

Plum in the Golden Vase, a.k.a. "that one Ming classic novel that often got censored and un-classic-ed because of its graphic sexual content", also has a folk Precious Scroll singing session (a story within a story, basically) that mentioned them.

In this story, King Yama sent a pair of "Impermanence Spectres" after Lady Huang, the protagonist of the scroll, who were also referred to as "Divine Boys/Acolytes of Good and Evil".

Now, the Boy-Acolytes of Good and Evil (善恶童子) were a pair of existing Underworld deities that had appeared in Dunhuang manuscripts and Ksitigarbha-themed artworks, responsible for recording the good and bad deeds of people respectively.

Their first mention was in the Tang translation of Surangama Sutra, and according to the second variant of the Ten Kings Scripture, the one recording bad deeds was said to look like a Raksha, while the one responsible for good deeds just looked like a regular divine acolyte.

Plum in the Golden Vase might have briefly aluded to that quirk too, in the story-within-a-story, where it was said that "Good people are welcomed by the acolyte(s), while bad people get the Yaksha(s)".

In the earlier Song dynasty compendium, Yijian Zhi, there are also mentions of two kids leading a fortunate guy's soul out of the Underworld, as well as showing up to inform some guy's wife that her days were numbered.

The second story is kinda funny, because after she had pretty much rolled over and accepted her fate, the two kids suddenly returned and were like "Excuse me, was Zhao your maiden name, or your husband's?"

Upon being informed that it was the latter case, they were like "Dangit, almost got the wrong person." Immediately after they left, another woman in the neighborhood whose surname was actually Zhao died.

Both stories do not use the specific name of "Acolytes of Good & Evil" for them, though, nor are they described as recorders of good and evil deeds.

For all I know, these two kids could be just like the pair of "young boys in blue robes" (青衣童子) who led Taizong into the Ghost Gate and the Underworld proper in JTTW Chapter 11: generic ghost workers.

But in Plum in the Golden Vase at least, they seemed to have been absorbed into the larger category of the Impermanence Ghosts, even though the Impermanence Ghosts still weren't their own characters yet, or gained any iconic uniforms.

Rather, it's more that 1) the catch-all name of "Impermanence" has become somewhat widespread for the generic ghost cops, though not yet universal, and 2) the Underworld apparently has a buddy-cop system in place now, where there had to be two ghostly officials for every newly dead person.

Psychopomp Outsourcing

In the late Ming and Qing dynasty, we got another twist on the Wuchang thing: Zou Wuchang, literally "Walk as Impermanences".

I've talked before about the early version of Taizong's trip to the Underworld, where Cui Jue/Ziyu, instead of being posthumously made a ghost judge, was a living official working part-time for the Underworld.

Well, Zou Wuchang is similar, but less prestigious, and you don't get paid either. The Underworld is short of hands (somehow), so they just grab a random living person and be like "Go fetch dead people for us."

The earliest mention of such a tradition in the Ming dynasty 语怪 placed the custom in Fengdu, the famous "ghost city" of Sichuan.

According to the text, when someone's soul was yanked off its streets to work as part-time psychopomps, they just fainted on the spot, and would revive after a few hours or overnight. The phenomenon was so common, the locals weren't even shocked, nor bothered getting them any medical attention.

Yuewei Caotang Biji goes further into the rationales of why Underworld needed those living conscripts. Apparently, all the living people clustered around a sickbed created a blazing aura of Yang, which certain venerable/fierce/brutish individuals also possessed in abundance, and was anathema to the ghost cops.

They were beings of pure Yin, after all, while the conscripts, whose bodies were Yin but still had plenty of Yang-aligned Qi, didn't have to worry about that.

Zou Wuchang was also not gender-exclusive, and there were mentions of multiple female conscripts in Qing legend compendiums.

Also, though the recruitment was forceful, you could actually retire after serving for a number of years——in one tale from 庸闲斋笔记, a woman fought the conscript for her mother-in-law's soul, who took pity on her and reported back to the City God.

In response, the City God said he'd send a report to Yama to see if she could be spared, and also released the conscript from her duty on account of her kind heart.

The popularity of this tradition across multiple sources and a long stretch of time signalled that, to an even greater extent than before, the ghost cops weren't generic ghost cops no longer: they are The Impermanences, which is only a few step away from developing into their own characters with unique iconography.

Black and White

First: where did their signature robe colors come from?

According to the first variant of the Ten Kings Scripture, officials under the Ten Kings were supposed to be dressed in black robes, riding a black horse, and carrying a black banner.

But in Tang folklore compendiums, that dress code wasn't a thing at all. A Taiwanese paper actually goes through tales of ghost officials inside Taiping Guangji where their appearances were described, and counted 22 cases of them wearing yellow robes, 7 cases of red robes, and only 8 stories involving ghost officials in either black or white robes.

Though ghost officials in black as well as white robes never appeared in the same story, they did have two things in common: 1) they tended to be quite tall, and 2) almost half of them were carrying weapons of some sorts.

The very late Ming/early Qing novel, Cu Hulu, also has a character ask Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha a bunch of questions in Chapter 12.

One of them was about the discrepancy between the depiction of Underworld officials in temples and the ones he personally saw, and he mentioned that the statues of "Impermanences" were 1) dressed in mourning robes and 2) about a Zhang and two Chi (3+ meter) in height.

Which suggests that, by the novel's time, the ghost cops had already gained a set of uniforms, one associated with funerary affairs.

(Also: I love Ksitigarbha's answer to that particular question——"Yeah we used to have a really tall ghost cop like that, people just call him 'Wuchang' because they don't know what the heck he is. Also, Impermanence isn't actually a real name, it's a concept.")

However, as far as I know, the earliest mention of a pair of ghost cops, one in white and one in black, was in Vol. 19 of Yuewei Caotang Biji. And the story is quite funny.

Basically, this Sun guy was temporarily residing in someone else's house, and the host's mother was severely ill. One day, the family servant boy carried in some dinner for him, and because Sun was busy with something else, he told the boy to put it on a nearby table in another room.

Suddenly, a white robed guy just appeared out of nowhere and entered the house, followed by a short black robed guy.

Sun hurried into the room, saw the two guys stealing his dinner, and angrily yelled at them. The white robed guy noped out of there, leaving the black robed guy behind and hiding in a corner, unable to exit the room because Sun was blocking the door.

He kinda just sat outside and kept an eye on them for a while, before the host of the family suddenly showed up, telling him that his mother had just spoken.

Basically, the ghost officials had come for her, and one of them happened to be cornered in the room by Sun, so would he please move? She didn't want to be punished for showing up late.

The host didn't know if it was true either, and was just going out there and checking. But the moment Sun went and sat somewhere else, the ghost in black scampered out of the room. Soon afterwards, wailing began to come out of the mother's room, suggesting she had been taken away.

As hilariously pathetic as these two unnamed ghost cops are, the only thing connecting them to the Heibai Wuchang of much later times is their robe colors, and the black-robed one being short.

There are no tales featuring both 1) a pair of ghost cops in black and white, and 2) the pair being referred to as "Impermanences", though.

The middle-late Qing stories that do refer to the ghost cops as such tend to only feature a single Impermanence: unnaturally tall, dressed in white robes and hats, either holding a fan or carrying strings of paper money on his shoulders, sometimes bleeding from his eyes or nose/mouth.

(Yep, you know how the White Impermanence is often seen as the older of the two sworn brothers? As far as their historical existence goes, he really is the older guy.)

It was in the 19th century 醉茶志怪 that we saw the first signs of the two converging. In the three stories with "Impermanence" in their titles, two featured the "white-robed ghost cop in tall hat" alone, one of which described him as looking like a 10+ years old kid, standing at the side of the road like a temple clay statue.

The third story, however, featured a sighting of two giant ghosts, one in white and one in blue/green, near the City God's temple. Out of the four people involved in the encounter, three died after a few days, and the only survivor was the one who had his line of sight blocked by the palaquin.

How did 1 become 2?

How did the single unique Impermanence become the Black and White Impermanences?

Well…it's a complicated question with no definitive answers. We know that in the (probably Qing dynasty) Jade Records, there are already mentions of a pair of ghosts called Huo Wuchang ("Life-is-Impermanent" or "Living Impermanence") and Si Youfen ("Death-Has-a-Part").

The former wears a black official hat and formal robes, holds brushes and papers in his hands, with blades on his shoulders and torture tools on his belts. He has big bulging eyes and is often laughing.

The latter has dirty, bloodied face, wears a white robe, holds an abacus, carries a sack of rice on his shoulder and has paper money dangling in front of his chest like a necklace. He has a sad frown on his face and is always sighing.

As you can see, there are similarities, but also notable differences from the "iconic" Black & White Impermanences. Whereas the White Impermanence is usually depicted as the cheerful one in white robes, carrying an abacus and wearing strings of paper money, here, he is the sad and grim one.

Their jobs also differ: instead of fetching souls to the Underworld, in the Jade Records, these two are responsible for pushing the dead off the bridges after they have drunken Mengpo's amnesia soup, into the scarlet river so they can reincarnate.

Personally, I view them as a transistory stage between the "Generic Impermanence Ghosts" and "The Two Unique Psychopomps We Know and Love", one strand of the folk god evolutionary process that was captured in written sources.

A Japanese paper goes into another strand in the evolution: the addition of the Black Impermanence. Namely, he might have grown out of a ghost that commonly showed up in City God worship and parades, the so-called "Wall-touching Ghost" (摸壁鬼).

The claim was based on very late Qing newspaper illustrations, where the Black Impermanence was depicted as holding up his two arms like this:

Which was a gesture commonly used by the "Wall-touching Ghost" during parades in the Jiangsu area, who also wore black robes and tall hats.

The author of the paper then dug into sources about the Wall-touching Ghost, and not only found records of the parades, but also a Qianlong era Mulian opera script, 劝善金科, that paired him together with the Impermanence Ghost as fetchers of the dead.

(The two were also given names in this opera: the Impermanence Ghost is named Ba Yang, and the Wall-touching Ghost, Wu Qi.)

Earlier mentions of the Wall-touching Ghost in Qing folklore compendiums, however, didn't depict him as a ghost cop. The story in 夜航船 just described it as a ghost thing that hid between walls and used its chill breath to suck up people's souls.

Another story in the 1878 浇愁集, even though it described the ghost more——dark-faced, holding its arms up like in the drawing, could turn into a cloud of black smoke and disappear into walls——still had it as your typical "ghost shows up, people die" ill omen.

So the paper's proposition is that, after the White Impermanence has separated out of the "Generic Ghost Cop Impermanences" and become his own thing, people in southern Jiangsu built on their existing Wall-touching Ghost and made him into the former's partner, absorbing most of his iconography in the process.

Similarly, the "tall and short" pair-up that was popular in Fujian and spread across Taiwan and SEA might also be a result of parallel local evolution, together with the name Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu.

Xie and Fan

Yes! At last, at last, we are getting to the most well-known and popular origin story, a.k.a. the Nantai Bridge Tale.

A summary: Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu were a pair of best friends/sworn brothers from Fujian, working as constables for the local magistrate. One day, while they were out on a mission, they saw a storm brewing. Xie went back to grab umbrellas while Fan waited for him under the bridge.

Unfortunately, the downpour soon began, causing the river to flood. Fan, unwilling to break his promise, continued waiting for Xie under the bridge and drowned. When Xie returned and saw his sworn brother's corpse, he hang himself out of guilt and grief too.

(…As a casual reader, I, always wondered why "waiting ON the bridge instead of under it" never crossed his mind as an option. Okay, sure, it was raining. But that's all the more reason to not stand under the darn bridge.)

Touched by their loyalty to each other, the City God/King Yama/Jade Emperor appoints them as ghostly constables, responsible for fetching the dead to the Underworld.

This story bears a lot of similarity to the fable of Wei Sheng in Zhuangzi. Basically, the guy made a promise to meet a girl under a bridge, the girl didn't show up, there was a flood, and, unwilling to leave, he drowned while still clinging to the bridge pillar.

Zhuangzi's opinion of the guy wasn't too high, because honestly, what a stupid way to die.

However, Sima Qian held him up as an exemplar of loyalty and keeping one's word, and the reading stuck. For later folktales about Wei Sheng as well as others that adopted the basic premise, like one tale in the 七世夫妻 story cycle, it also tended to get turned into a straight-up love story.

Though the Nantai Bridge Tale is the most popular version of their backstory, it's far from the only version. One version has them as Tang dynasty officials, working under the historical figure Zhang Xun, who died during the Anshi Rebellion.

While they were trying to get reinforcements, Xie was caught and hung on the city gate by the rebels, while Fan accidentally drowned.

When Zhang Xun was made a City God after the city fell and the rebels killed him, these two also became deified as his attendants.

In another version, Xie was a filial son with an aging mother, who had been wrongly imprisoned because of a friend's crime. During the Lunar New Year, Fan found him crying in the cell, and, upon learning about his sad backstory, released him secretly to visit his mother, on the condition that he returns after seven days.

However, his mother died soon after his return. Busy with her funeral, Xie did not return in time, and Fan, unable to answer to his superiors, committed suicide via drinking poison. When Xie returned and learned of the terrible news, he, too, hang himself.

And these three are far from the only known versions! Like, seriously, there are probably as many variations of the story as there are variations of the objects they held in their hands.

Though some elements stay more constant——using their deaths to explain their iconography, Xie being more commonly associated with the fan, umbrella, and abacus and Fan, chains, everything is subjected to changes and regional differences.

(For example, SEA oral legends tend to associate them with opium. Most of the time, they are constables or mercenaries employed to track down opium smugglers and other criminals, but some have them as Robin Hood-esque opium smugglers.)

Anyways, I hope this long post has offered some insight into the two iconic, yet also somewhat obscure ghost cops. I might add an "Appendix of Fun Facts and Tales" that doesn't fit into the main body of the post, but for now? That will be all.

May the readers who celebrate it have a nice Zhongyuan Festival.

Bibliography:

蔺坤:《无常鬼考源》

大谷亨：《黑无常的诞生与演变—— 以江苏南部的摸壁鬼传说为中心》

陈威伯、施静宜：《七爷八爷成神故事研究》

江義雄：《臺灣「黑白無常」與「范謝將軍」研究》

吳彥鋒：《臺灣七爺八爺傳說及其與信仰關係研究》

中国国家博物馆藏《十一面观音变相》的阐释

劉榕峻：狂放不羈、怪異獨特：談香港藝術館展出的「揚州八怪」

Stephen F. Teiser, The Scripture on the Ten Kings and the Making of Purgatory in Medieval Chinese Buddhism

Fabian Graham, Voices from the Underworld: Chinese Hell Deity Worship in Contemporary Singapore and Malaysia

CBETA: 《地藏王菩萨本愿经》

CBETA：《佛说地藏王菩萨发心因缘十王经》

夷坚志/支癸07，“赵彥珍妻”

《金瓶梅词话》，Chapter 74

《醋葫芦》，Chapter 12

《劝善金科》Vol.5, Part 2

The Jade Guidebook: Appendices, translated by David K. Jordan

Journey to the West Vol.1, Chapter 11, translated by Anthony C. Yu