Book Chrysanthemum Novels & Stories

I quickly place my backpack down and unzips the top, taking out a book with a girl dressed in a long white gown and a white rose tainted with blood in the front cover to pass time faster, the title reads 'White Rose' by Grace Angel. I open the page where I had left off, and forget the world exists as I read away. I'm at the part where Chase is visiting Jennie's grave, and he is still so hurt over her death that he yells. Screaming at the grave, he tells Jennie he hates her for leaving him. Unable to comprehend why she had died. Just when I'm ready to turn the page, my book is snatched away by Amber, making me look at her, confused.

She pats her abdomen for emphasis. Once she closes the door to her room behind her, she finds herself pacing back and forth, desperate for something to do. She can't seem to sit for too long. Her eye catches a book she's been wanting to read. Reading hasn't exactly fit her mood lately. In one swift motion, she grabs the novel off the shelf, jumps into bed, and opens to the first chapter.

When it comes down to thinking about Love, people get confused. I am taking the dance shoes you bought once from me. I am taking a few more things with me which will remain with me forever. In return I have nothing to give you except some painful memories from my end. But I grew a small bunch of Daffodils down there at the side of the lawn these days. Take care of them as they were my favourite. You know Daffodil means rebirth or hope. They struggle through the winter to come in Spring in order to decorate our nature with its colour of happiness.

he said excitedly to the others. The one with black hair closed his eyes, covering the irises that were the same color as the night sky. “She’s here,” he said in a whisper. He turned to the other three, a grin on his face, and continued, “The Moonflower.”

Lin Yilan's wandering thoughts returned to the shopkeeper's incessant sales pitch. She seriously considered which crystal cup Jasmine would prefer, examining the subtle differences in the natural ice-crack patterns with due diligence. Lapis lazuli bracelets, ripple-patterned crystal cups, hand-woven cloud-silk square rugs, Dream Epiphyllum dew... The long shopping list made Lin Yilan want to sigh. Her original intention was merely to visit an old friend she hadn't seen in a long time, but the result was this—

She was on her knees by the flowerbeds. “What?” I blurted, unable to come up with a full question and ask what I really mean. The blossoming chrysanthemums and dandelions that looked healthy and well when I took my customary morning glance were not starting to wither and die, right before our eyes. Their ageing was almost as rapid as their growing. It all just happened in seconds. As though someone had set them on fire.

The book is called The First Life: What the Practice Earned and What the Practice Cost. She sends it to Clara first. Not Cristina — Cristina is at the coast, seventy-six, making ceramics with the precision of someone who has been at it for eleven years and has found the bowl she was always building toward. She sends it to Clara because Clara is the person who asked for it. Clara is the person who will read it first. Clara reads it over four days. Calls on the fifth morning. "The first movement," Clara says. "Yes," Valentina says. "You described her exactly. The woman who was not unhappy. The specific texture of a life that was adequate and knew it was adequate and had no language for wanting

"I grew these yellow chrysanthemums myself, Donna Marchetti. I handpicked the prettiest nine blossoms and wrapped them especially for you. "You don't have to be polite with me, Donna Marchetti. It might be a lot of hard work growing these flowers, but the moment I thought about this bouquet bringing you joy, I didn't feel weary in the slightest." Upon hearing that, Leone Vittoria, my husband, instinctively pulled Carina into his embrace, his face etched with concern. Donna Marchetti scoffed and handed the flowers to the Soldato beside her. "Is that so? Why would you choose yellow chrysanthemums—a flower meant to wish death upon someone in our culture—if your intention was really to make me h

Vivian sat alone in the shadowed corner of the bar, watching strangers drift beneath the amber glow of the lights. She could not believe she had actually fallen for a rumor. “The real reason the Hayes and Carter families postponed the wedding? Sebastian’s ex was kidnapped. He’d rather call off the marriage than leave her to die.” One reckless sentence was all it took for her to book the first flight to Harbor City. Sebastian was the untouchable heir everyone admired—a fixture on the covers of financial magazines and the polished businessman delivering keynote speeches at charity galas. What could a man like him possibly be doing in a place like this? Vivian shook her head, set down her g

“The rest was already here. My mom started it before she passed. I just… kept adding to it.” Emilia’s chest tightened. And then she saw them. Chrysanthemums. Dozens of them, in full bloom. Their layered petals reached out like stars in shades of white, gold, and deep burgundy. She stepped toward them, as if drawn by something ancient and familiar. She knelt, inhaling their delicate scent. A small smile curved her lips. “My favorite.” “I know,” Max said behind her. She turned, startled. “How?” He shrugged one shoulder, almost sheepishly. “You said it once. Years ago. During a class project, I think. You probably don’t even remember. But I did.”