死也难安
Disclaimer: But—why?
...
"我在远方，
花落心餐。
生亦何歓，
死也難安。"
- 元方
...
Her cheeks were pink with cheer, and they remained with her even under the guise of man; she went to Hangzhou, because her father loved her. And so he let her.
Hangzhou was a new place, and though the world would not have accepted her had she been a woman, it strove for hospitality and knowledge alike; it gave her Liang Shanbo.
Japan was a tiny thing when China found him. China had not expected such sophistication from one so little, so distant from Zhong Guo; hardly a sea away, but phantom-like. Yao could only see him through a mist, until he found the child among the bamboo. Yao loved children, and Japan—tiny little Bentian Ju—with his eyes that stared like galaxies—he was a child to be taken. He was a new nation, and Yao had little wish to let him suffer the way he himself had—war, corruption, swollen in the tides of the Chang Jiang and Huang He. With Chinese experience, which he would lend, the little Japan would grow up big and strong.
Yao did just that.
As much as he could; Japan was always little to him, and though he did not approve of everything he did, he loved him as a brother. Xiao Ri Ben. That was it. He was Xiao Ri Ben, who called himself Honda Kiku. Good little Ri Ben, talented little Ri Ben. He gave him his influence, and Japan worked everything out—everything. Yao was proud to be his brother. The only thing they were not was sworn brothers, but China could never press him.
He had the Warring States, the Three Kingdoms; the Dragon King. Though he could smile, there were days when Yao would press his cheek to the dust of the Great Wall, eyes closed; they were baked and completed in the sun, with construction miles more away, where he could not see another man fall. The stone was gray and beautiful, and built by human labor; it was a wall of bones. The blood spilled had long faded from the surface, but Yao felt it, tasted it, and would forevermore. And now he had a brilliant child's hand to hold, a child that would stare and listen as Yao sang the lament of those lost souls; their wives.
In a world that had taught him corruption and war, he had found a little boy to love.
Years were spent with Liang Shanbo; one room, one class. They were always together, as sworn brothers were. Zhu Yingtai became a man, but remained a woman.
When they parted, Zhu Yingtai promised her "sister" to Liang Shanbo; try as she might, he never gained inkling that she was a woman, until she revealed herself to him. "Shu dai zi," she called him, and appropriately so.
And so they were in love; but Yingtai was engaged to another. It was evident that Liang Shanbo would never have her, and Zhu Yingtai would never have him.
All Zhu Yingtai did was cry.
All Liang Shanbo did was die.
Nightmares, nightmares—when that little boy's hand slipped away from his, and the warmth with it. Suddenly Japan was gone, and Bentian Ju as well—the wind clawed them to the west. He left for guns and tanks and skin white as bone; he left Yao with nothing but a trail of bleeding chrysanthemums. And a slash upon his back—
Wang Yao had been backstabbed.
Along the way of her wedding procession, Yingtai found the grave of her Shanbo; Ma Wencai, he protested and ran after, but a wind clawed at the earth, and her tears melted into the dirt. A clap of thunder, a split of earth, and Yingtai leaped—leaped into the grave, which sealed.
China saw little of Kiku after the war. Yao could never forgive him, never forgive him for what had happened—the betrayal, and the wild suffering, for so, so long...
He let him go. Mao wanted a strong nation; Yao complied.
He saw his Honda Kiku, his Bentian Ju—after, after so long. Madness, that was all there was, and Yao had always had it. Even his little brother had torn it away, the happiness, the existence that could be happy. The Great Wall fell away to sand and time; the bones were ground to dust; they collapsed. Time, it ran along the tides of the Chang Jiang, ran ocher with the Huang He; no, yellow.
Xiao Ri Ben was big now; a strong man. Yao, he could see nothing but the little boy who had clasped the moon with both hands, sticky with mochi. Nian gao, mochi, nian gao...
The little boy, clasped in his arms again, riding in the basket upon his back...
The young man, who gave the most reluctant of smiles but listened to his da ge singing to him, never too old.
The old man and the sea, and the latter that took him away, his flesh white like bone, blood on his lips...
If there could be a day, when they held hands again; when Yao could hold him like a child, like a mother to her son, a father to a daughter; like Guan Yu to Guan Ping, warm hands in his, soft or calloused...
Would there be no rest?—but no—even in rest, death, would Kiku return to him, the little brother who held his hand beneath the moon; beneath Chang'e, beneath the xian tu.
And Yao had lived for so long—
A sob escaped him, as he stared across the water, blood on his hands. Kiku, Kiku, his Kiku...he reached out, a light wail piercing the sky; he was being stabbed again, in the heart, because Kiku was gone, gone from him; why, why was he given the boy only to have him taken away? Why—after the years of nothing, but a cycle of human suffering; why take away his pride and joy, little Japan—
He collapsed against the wall, eyes closed as if dead; oh, he wished for death then, a powerful urge to end thousands of years of blood and betrayal. The craving; his heart bleeding and screaming, and Japan's face ghosted before him, blank, eyes little brown galaxies that stretched wide, wide, so wide—
If only, if only the bamboo was still there, and he could return to the little warm glade—
There was only a sea between them. Tears ran in rivers, restrained as Yao was. Smile gone, brother gone... China sat alone, patting the cold stone of the Great Wall, looking east; waiting for the sun to rise red.
From the grave rose two butterflies, dancing in the air. They flew away together.
...
PT: The Butterfly Lovers. Or else Liang Shanbo yu Zhu Yingtai. Known as the Chinese Romeo and Juliet, but I personally think would be better described as a romance-based Hua Mulan, be it the ballad or Disney. Nian gao and mochi basically describe the same thing—rice cakes. Also, Bentian Ju is the Chinese version of Honda Kiku—本田菊。"Xiao Ri Ben" is a condescending term for the Japanese—literally "Small Japan." My headcanon says Yao called him that out of affection, but in the end it became entirely condescending. Guan Yu and Guan Ping were father and son, generals from the Three Kingdoms period: They were executed together. And the title and song lyrics are from the song "Yuan Fang," which is actually the theme of a show about the Butterfly Lovers; check it out, nee?
So yeah. It's late, I haven't written these two in a while, and I just pulled out of a slump. So yeah :)