The child startled awake at Qing Xiong’s shriek, and the jade feather slid from Chong Ming’s lap and fell to the ground with a bright tinkling sound before tumbling down the steps of the dais. Glancing down, the child found that he was clutching at Chong Ming’s robes. He looked up once more, meeting the man’s eyes.
A hot teardrop fell onto the child’s face. He reached out, puzzled, and touched Chong Ming’s cheek, wiping away the man’s tears. Timidly, the child asked, “Who are you?”
In Hebei, near You Prefecture Terrace, bloodred maple blossoms danced on the breeze as far as the eye could see. A scholarly man and a beautiful woman stood before the grand building atop the terrace and leaned over the balustrade to gaze at the magnificent landscape laid out below.
“Struck by the vastness of heaven and earth, I shed bitter tears as I stand alone,”3 the man recited offhandedly. “Boyu truly was a genius of unbelievable proportions.”
“Waxing poetic all of a sudden?” the woman behind him asked, her voice measured. “Now that Di Renjie is dead, there is no one to stop the yao from overrunning the human realm.”
“There’s no need to rush,” the man muttered. “Who knows what cards that old fart still has up his sleeve? How go the preparations with Mara’s vessel?”
“The vessel is willing this time. The integration process has gone exceptionally well. Still, we can’t be certain until after the observation period. But aren’t you worried about the problems that might arise from killing Kong Xuan? If the master of the Taihang Mountains rallies his strength and enters the fray…”
“He would have come ages ago if he had the power to do so,” the man said with a laugh. “Fortunes rise and fall with the inevitability of the tides, and Yaojin Palace has long been on the decline. Chong Ming is afflicted with fire venom—he wouldn’t have retreated into solitude two hundred years ago otherwise. No—as things stand, Chang’an is ours to rule.”
They could hear the sounds of music in the distance. The man stepped closer and ran his fingers through the hair at the woman’s temples, studying her beautiful face. “Let’s go,” he murmured. “His Majesty awaits.”
Twelve years later, in Yaojin Palace atop the Taihang Mountains, brilliant midsummer sunlight spilled through the leaves of the parasol trees, casting dappled shadows that swept across the ground like passing meteors.
A youth as beautiful as a jade sculpture perched on the branch of a parasol tree, mixing a bowl of white pollen. He wore a short, sleeveless crimson tunic adorned with embroidery beneath a green robe with a patterned border, tied off at his waist. His clever eyes darted periodically toward the main hall’s open window as he worked.
Within the palace, Chong Ming reclined on a couch amid the fluttering gauze curtains, his face turned toward the chain of sunlit mountains in the distance.
“Hongjun!”
“Shh…” The youth named Hongjun glanced down at the base of the tree and lifted a finger to his lips.
The speaker was a yaoguai—a being that had absorbed and refined the energy of the natural world through the practice of spiritual cultivation until it gained a higher level of consciousness—more specifically, a carp yao. He had the torso of a large fish, nearly two feet in length, and the hairy legs of a man, which allowed him to walk on land. His arms, which emerged from behind his pectoral fins, were presently wrapped around the trunk of the parasol tree. The creature looked exceptionally bizarre as he shouted up at the boy.
“Get down from there!” A stream of bubbles poured from his mouth as he spoke. The fish yao swished his tail from side to side. “You don’t know how to fly—if you fall and hurt yourself, I’ll be in for a beating from His Majesty!”
Hongjun finished mixing his pollen and said quietly, “Dad’s been sitting there all day. He refuses to see anyone, and loses his temper whenever anyone goes in.”
“He’s waiting for someone,” the carp yao responded. “His Majesty’s in a foul mood today.”
“Who’s he waiting for?” Hongjun asked.
As the carp yao hemmed and hawed, Hongjun hopped down from the tree and darted around the side of the main hall. One after another, the servants bowed as he passed, calling “Your Highness” in greeting, to which Hongjun replied with a nod. When he reached the back of the hall, he tossed out a grappling hook and swung himself up onto the palace roof.
Kneeling down, he shuffled along the roof in silence until he was right above the spot where Chong Ming was resting. Quietly, he lifted a glazed roof tile, picked up his bowl of medicine, and blew gently at the contents within. The medicinal powder seemed to take on a life of its own, shimmering with white light as it floated down into the main hall. Outside, among the parasol trees, the carp turned aside to watch through the entryway.
Chong Ming was asleep, his face still turned toward the gleaming peaks of the Taihang Mountains, the burn on his neck flashing with red light. The pollen drifted into the room, where it sparkled around Chong Ming like a river of stars before slowly settling against the scarlet burn mark, forming a white layer of frost.
The carp’s open mouth gaped wider.
Chong Ming inhaled the pollen as he steadily breathed in and out, still asleep. Then his eyes flew open—an odd expression came over his face.
Success! Hongjun cheered to himself. Jumping down from the roof, he ran around the hall to watch alongside the carp as Chong Ming scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting frantically around the room. His face twitched as he glanced toward the entrance of the palace.