When anger rises, think of the consequences.

Host: The sun had long disappeared behind the gray skyline, leaving the city bathed in a muted orange haze. A soft wind swept through the abandoned rooftop, carrying the distant echo of car horns, laughter, and the restless hum of life below. The air smelled faintly of smoke, iron, and rain that never came.

Jack stood near the edge, staring out over the city lights, his hands gripping the rusted railing. His jaw was tight, his eyes cold and alert, like a man who had just swallowed his own rage. Behind him, Jeeny sat on an overturned crate, her long hair caught in the wind, her expression soft but heavy with concern.

A single cigarette glowed between Jack’s fingers. Its smoke rose upward like a prayer that didn’t quite make it to heaven.

Jeeny: “You ever think of what Confucius said? — ‘When anger rises, think of the consequences.’”

Jack: He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift into the dark. “Yeah, I’ve heard it. Sounds like something old men say when they’ve run out of fire.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe something wise men say when they’ve seen too much of it burn.”

Host: The wind caught her voice, spreading it through the air like a quiet melody. The city below pulsed — alive, chaotic, oblivious. Jack turned to face her, his grey eyes glinting in the dim light.

Jack: “You think thinking stops anger? You ever been pushed hard enough to see red? There’s no philosophy in that moment, Jeeny. Just heat. Pure, blinding heat.”

Jeeny: “And that’s exactly why Confucius said what he did. Because in that heat, we stop being human. We stop seeing the line between right and ruin.”

Jack: He scoffed. “You can’t reason with anger. It’s not a debate. It’s an instinct — survival, defense, power. You think soldiers in war have time to think before they act?”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why wars keep happening.”

Host: The words struck like a low thunder. Jack’s eyes darkened, but Jeeny didn’t flinch. The sky above them was bruised with clouds, and a faint rumble rolled through the air, as though the heavens themselves were holding their breath.

Jeeny: “Anger’s not the problem, Jack. It’s the blindness it brings. Confucius wasn’t asking people to suppress anger — he was teaching them to see past it. To look beyond the explosion.”

Jack: “You make it sound easy. Like wisdom’s some kind of shield. But when someone lies to you, betrays you — when you’ve been humiliated in front of people you trusted — you think of consequences later. You react first.”

Jeeny: Softly. “And then you live with what you did forever.”

Host: Jack’s fingers tightened around the railing, the metal creaking under his grip. His silhouette, backlit by the city glow, looked like a man split between rage and reason — the battlefield no one else could see.

Jack: “So what, Jeeny? You’ve never lost control? Never said something you regret?”

Jeeny: “Of course I have. But I’ve also learned that anger doesn’t disappear when you unleash it. It just changes direction — lands on someone else, breaks something else. And it always circles back.”

Jack: His voice rose. “You sound like a sermon.”

Jeeny: “Maybe you need one.”

Host: The air went still. For a long moment, only the distant buzz of the city filled the silence. Then Jack turned, his face shadowed but fierce.

Jack: “You know who thought before acting? People who never acted at all. The world doesn’t reward patience, Jeeny. It rewards power. You think of consequences, and someone else walks away with everything.”

Jeeny: Her voice was calm but steady. “And what do they walk away with, Jack? Broken hearts? Burned bridges? Empty victories? The world might reward anger for a moment — but it never honors it.”

Host: The wind shifted. A plastic bag fluttered across the rooftop, catching in the rusted fence, then tore — quietly, like a sigh.

Jeeny: “Do you remember the story of that young soldier in Vietnam — the one who threw a grenade into his own camp in a moment of fury because he thought his commander betrayed him? Do you remember how many men died because of that single second of rage?”

Jack: His eyes flickered. “Yeah. I’ve read it.”

Jeeny: “That’s what Confucius meant. Anger turns seconds into disasters. It’s not about suppressing it — it’s about surviving it.”

Host: The words seemed to ripple through Jack like a slow current. His hands dropped from the railing, and he rubbed his face, suddenly looking older, heavier. The city lights reflected off his eyes like shattered glass.

Jack: “You talk like anger’s something to be cured. But it’s also what gets things done. You think civil rights, revolutions, change — any of it — came from calm?”

Jeeny: “No. But they came from anger that was transformed. Not the kind that destroys — the kind that awakens.”

Host: A faint rain began to fall — slow, deliberate drops that tapped against the metal and skin. Jeeny looked up at the sky, her face calm, illuminated by the trembling light of the city.

Jeeny: “Anger is energy. Confucius didn’t say, ‘Don’t feel it.’ He said, ‘Think.’ Think before the energy becomes a weapon. Because once it does, you can’t aim it.”

Jack: “So you’d rather sit and meditate while the world walks over you?”

Jeeny: “I’d rather walk through the fire and come out human. Not ash.”

Host: The rain picked up, soft but relentless. It dotted Jack’s shirt, darkening the fabric, clinging to the edges of his hair. He stared at Jeeny for a long moment — then laughed bitterly.

Jack: “You sound like a philosopher who’s never had her life torn apart.”

Jeeny: Quietly. “And you sound like a man who’s still standing in the fire, not realizing he can step out.”

Host: The storm reached its quiet peak. The city below blurred behind the rain — its lights bending, its edges softened.

Jeeny stood, walked toward him slowly, her shoes splashing against small puddles forming on the rooftop. When she reached him, she looked up — her eyes steady, full of both compassion and defiance.

Jeeny: “Anger is a storm, Jack. Necessary, maybe. But every storm has an eye — a stillness inside it. Confucius was telling us to find that stillness before we drown everything we love.”

Jack: His voice cracked slightly. “And what if you can’t find it?”

Jeeny: “Then you wait. You breathe. You remind yourself that every consequence — every scar, every broken thing — begins with a single unthinking moment.”

Host: A long silence followed. The rain slowed. Jack’s shoulders eased. The cigarette between his fingers had gone out.

He dropped it, watched the small ember hiss against the wet concrete.

Jack: “I nearly hit a guy once… years ago. He called my brother a failure. I don’t even remember his face now — just the look in my brother’s eyes when I almost did it. That was the consequence. Not the bruise I didn’t give him — the disappointment I couldn’t take back.”

Jeeny: Softly. “Then maybe you already understood Confucius. You just forgot.”

Host: The city began to clear, its lights brightening as the clouds drifted away. A faint smell of petrichor filled the air — clean, new, forgiving.

Jack: Nods slowly. “Maybe thinking of consequences isn’t about fear. Maybe it’s about remembering who gets hurt when you don’t.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The wise don’t deny anger, Jack. They redirect it.”

Host: She smiled faintly, stepping closer, her voice soft as the rain.

Jeeny: “The difference between a sword and a plow is just where you point it.”

Host: Jack looked at her, a small smile breaking through the storm in his face.

Jack: “You’d make a terrible soldier, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But I’d make a peaceful one.”

Host: They both laughed — quiet, tired laughter that felt like release. The camera would pull back now, rising slowly into the night. The rooftop became smaller, the city wider, shimmering under the last thin veil of rain.

Two figures remained — motionless, reflective — standing between shadow and light.

And as the wind brushed past them, carrying away the remnants of anger, the world below seemed to whisper the truth that Confucius left behind:

To think before anger is to love before regret.