Chapter Text
Prologue: The Creation of the Realm
In a void before time, there were the Moon, the Stars, and the Golden Dragon.
The name of this Golden Dragon was Long—the God of Gods, the beginning of nothing, and the embodiment of Permanence.
But Long was alone in their eternity. So they embarked on a journey to transverse through planes untold, in search of meaning to their long, long existence.
For many moons, they thought.
For many moons, they pondered.
And when many, many more moons had passed, they had their first revelation:
“Companionship,” they considered. “An existence alongside I; what is Permanence, if there is no other to witness it?”
With this revelation, they molded their first sentient creation, one in their own image—The Azure Dragon.
Long took pride in their Azure Dragon, who possessed a will of his own despite their shared soul, and articulated profound thoughts on the concept of Permanence.
“Permanence is an idea greater than oneself. One of vitality, where there exists an expanse of life bound together by mutual transcendence,” their Azure Dragon said. “A realm of Spirituality, is a realm of Permanence. Create form in this void, and I will show you.”
Long agreed; and thus, created Space.
They molded vast pastures of greenery, wistful seas of deep blue waters, strong mountains reaching high towards an expanse of skies that held the Moon.
A formation.
“A star is needed,” their Azure Dragon said. “The Sun, as a companion to the Moon.”
Long agreed; and thus, created Time.
They forged a fresh star named the Sun and introduced him to the Moon, who welcomed him joyfully.
United, the Sun and the Moon graced the skies, alternating their presence, nurturing both light and darkness upon the formation.
"There is yet one more creation," their Azure Dragon imparted. "The most significant of all—Mankind. Social, ephemeral beings with finite existence, destined to return to the void once their Time in this Space concludes."
Long had given pause. “How will this ‘Mankind’ show me Permanence?”
“Permanence can be understood only in contrast to its absence,” their Azure Dragon explained. "The existence of impermanence, will serve as the pathway to reflection."
Long had agreed once more; and thus, created Mankind.
With gentle consideration, Long clayed a form, shaping limbs, a torso, and a head. They added features, such as eyes for sight, a nose for scent, ears for hearing, mouths for taste, and hands and feet for touch.
Finally, they breathed in life, infusing the clay with a beautiful, but fragile soul.
"Marvelous," whispered their Azure Dragon. "Now, behold the enduring Permanence of Spirituality!"
And behold, Long did. They observed the journey of Mankind from its inception: from primitive caves to the revelation of magic, from scattered tribes to the formation of rustic villages. Witnessing life's inception to its culmination, all under the guiding hand of the Azure Dragon, gently nudging humanity towards the understanding of a greater meaning beyond oneself.
Long learned that Spirituality was an excellent form of Permanence.
Yet beyond spirituality, the Realm had revealed to the Golden Dragon a plethora of other wonders—novelties that sparked their infinite curiosity, fueled by the notion of the finite.
They noticed Valor—the bravery and fortitude required for protection and triumph.
They observed Transformation—the embrace of new concepts, innovation, and evolution.
They contemplated Longevity—the preservation of wisdom and legacy extending beyond a single lifetime.
Fueled by the ever-growing curiosity within them, Long made their decision.
“Hear me now, for I have learned much about Permanence in the Realm,” they bellowed. “As such, I grant unto you, my four children, dominion over the Realm itself—each of you imbued with your own divine essence, and a Guardian in your image:
The Divine Crest of Spirituality, I bestow upon you, my Azure Dragon.
The Divine Crest of Valor, I bestow upon you, my White Tiger.
The Divine Crest of Transformation, I bestow upon you, my Vermillion Bird.
The Divine Crest of Longevity, I bestow upon you, my Black Tortoise.
My children, rule as my Four Celestial Beasts within this Realm, and live by your Permanence.”
Long gazed upon the Realm, enacting change for the final time, dividing it into four lands—linked, yet distinguished by unique conditions.
The East was filled with meadows stretching beneath the azure sky, dotted with blooms of every hue. Moonlight danced through the branches of branches, casting flickering patterns on the forest floor. The air was alive with the melody of birdsong, as creatures of all kinds emerge from their natured homes, basking under lovely plum blossoms whose petals flutter happily. The Azure Dragon’s Eastern Spring.
The West grew trees that don their regal cloaks of crimson, gold, and amber, painting the landscape in fiery hues. Gingko leaves twirled and danced on the gentle breeze, swirling like golden confetti in the air. The scent of fallen foliage mingled with the earthy aroma of harvest, as fields burst with ripened, strong crops against the crisp winds that rush through the lands. The White Tiger’s Western Autumn.
The South was where the sun reigned supreme, casting its golden rays upon flame trees that bathed in warmth and light. Fields of sun-kissed flora swayed unapologetically, and crystal-clear streams meander through lush green fields that invited laughter and play from all who wander near. The Vermillion Bird’s Southern Summer.
The North was where the Realm lies beneath a blanket of glistening snow. A sheen of ice glinted on every surface and darkened trees stand sentinel, their branches adorned with delicate icicles that twinkle in pale sunlight. With the cold came connectedness, inviting whispers of laughter and the crunch of snow beneath Mankind’s every step. The Black Tortoise's Northern Winter.
With the completion of the Realm of Seasons, Long chose to rest, content with their work.
But before their departure, guidance was given.
"Should Permanence ever go astray, rouse me, my children, and balance will be restored," Long decreed.
With a final look at the Realm, Long turned to their children. Then, with a swift movement, they faded into the void, their golden form disappearing from view.
Today, Long slumbers.
Chapter One: A Child Born of Love
"Say, have you caught wind of the whispers?"
"What whispers?"
"They speak of an elderly figure draped in a cloak of regal violet, wandering the fringes of the Kingdom of Spirituality. Their origins and identity remain shrouded in the dark, yet rumor has it they possess celestial wisdom."
"Celestial wisdom? Such as?"
"Everything imaginable! From transmuting wood into gold, stones into sustenance… bringing the dead back to li—"
"Shh! Have you lost your wits, old friend!? Refrain from finishing that phrase aloud, lest we draw unwanted attention from the sentries."
"Ah, you worry too much—"
"How fascinating. Might I inquire further about these rumors?"
Unperturbed, Dan Heng observes as the two men startle at his sudden appearance—one lanky and one stout in stature. They fixed their gaze upon him with raised eyebrows and a surprised expression, their attentions shifted from their partially finished cups of tepid rice wine and emptied bowls of porridge; the humble fare of common folk.
Ah, I did it again. Dan Heng's footsteps were always quiet as a whisper, much to the chagrin of his attendants, who likened his silent approach to that of a ghost emerging from the depths of an unknown shadow.
The stout one recovers their composure faster than the other. "Young man, it's rather impolite of you to interject in conversations where you haven't been invited?"
"I beg your pardon for the intrusion. I am but a humble wanderer, recently arrived in the Kingdom of Spirituality. The conversation intrigued me, and I couldn't resist eavesdropping," Dan Heng says smoothly, his falsehood flowing effortlessly. Practiced.
"A wandering traveler, huh," the other remarks, studying Dan Heng's figure intently, his gaze lingering on the cloaked form. He narrows his eyes, perhaps attempting to discern his features beneath the hood. "And from where do you hail?"
Dan Heng had assumed that simply altering his attire would suffice to assimilate with the crowd. But it appears that his sense of otherness remains conspicuous despite his efforts. Something to consider for next time.
He folds his arms across his chest, stance resolute. "Though I hail from the Kingdom of Transformation, my roots lie with traveling merchants. Among all the lands, I've long been captivated by the culture of the Kingdom of Spirituality in particular, and thus chose to make it my home."
Not a trace of deception in his voice to be discerned; he makes sure of it.
Dan Heng nods in a general direction. “I craft efficient household wares—my creations are just twenty-two paces north, if you’d like to see.”
He catches their shoulders relaxing, their posture easy. Perfect.
"Ah, there's no need, young man. Time catches to us all,” the lanky one reassures, a touch of humor spoken for human ears. “Though our kingdom may be faring decently in recent times, we still cling to old habits. Apologies for any offense."
Dan Heng shakes his head. "Please, no need to apologize. A stranger remains a stranger, after all."
They both offer smiles. Softer in nature, their suspicions now relieved. "A traveling merchant, you were saying? Quite a common profession in your homeland, I imagine. Though it's regrettable about the state of the Kingdom of Transformation. Must have been challenging growing up."
The two men exchange a glance, the stout one covering his mouth with a sleeve before continuing, careful and considerate. "It's a marvel that land endures. How many years has it been, over a century? And yet, the Celestial Beast of the South still cannot be found. Fortunately, our Kingdom has our Divine One, no matter how youthful he may be."
Based on the lanky one's subsequent outburst, perhaps ‘careful’ and ‘considerate’ wasn’t a fitting observation.
"What have I just warned, old friend? If anyone were to take offense and see your words as insults, you'd be fortunate to retain your tongue. At the genesis of his life he may be, but our Divine One has been blessed to outlive our comprehension, of body, mind, and spirit.”
The other shows frustration. “And as I’ve said, you’re far too sensitive! Not once have I insinuated heresy.”
Dan Heng seizes the opportunity to interject.
"I didn't detect any sacrilegious intent, but can see the underlying concern stemming from a bond of deep companionship,” Dan Heng places his hand on his own chest, on top of a steady, beating heart. “Actions borne of affection cannot be rationalized, after all."
The next words weigh heavy on his throat, a boulder of granite; Dan Heng forces them out nonetheless. "And, to answer you, I'm certain the trials of my life have been akin to yours in your youth—such is the burden of a new reign, or the absence of one.”
The men fixate on Dan Heng with probing curiosity before bursting into hearty laughter. It's a song of its own, a duet echoing with its unique melody and unique story. A harmony resonating with a lifetime of shared amusem*nt, intrigue, and underlying bitterness.
It’s ironic, really—how Dan Heng can empathize.
“A strange young man, aren’t you? But a wise one, nonetheless. Well then, welcome to the Kingdom of Spirituality! As a gesture of hospitality, why don't you take a seat and indulge your curiosities further?"
Dan Heng nods. "I would appreciate that greatly."
As Dan Heng sneaks into his chambers, the moon's glow dims and yields to the vibrant colors of dawn; they herald the arrival of a new day. It's admittedly breathtaking, a panorama that countless poets and musicians, both of this era and ages gone by, have spoken of in eloquence.
But Dan Heng has beheld it’s wonder thrice this week alone. Even the grandest beauty cannot be one’s muse forever.
Ah, I’m tired. Dan Heng pushes past the silk tapestries, dyed to painstakingly match the jade of his eyes and the aquamarine of his Spring waters. They descend gracefully from his lofty ceilings, their radiant glimmer flickering upon the polished ivory marble floors and the excessively ornate porcelain vases and trinkets in complementary hues.
Superfluous, it all is—and remarkably devoid of character. An excess no human, let alone a Celestial Beast, would ever need.
The mere thought makes his headache worse; how many refugees could he feed, if he simply auctioned one of these worthless trinkets? For all of them, could he provide for the entire Kingdom of Transformation?
Dan Heng can clearly hear the reprimanding cries of his Council of Preceptors—Suguang in particular vehemently reproving the idea.
He interrupts the downward spiral, sinking tiredly onto his lavish sheets as he removes his Glamor. His tail manifests, falling lifelessly to the side, the tips of his ears elongate, and his horns now protrude from the crown of his head. Clumsily, he shifts towards the plethora of pillows, his long hair leaving damp imprints in its wake.
He groans. His legs ache and his shoulders are tense from the journey outside the Spring Palace. To hell with bothering to dry his hair.
Dan Heng closes his eyes gradually, fully prepared to endure an earful from the handmaids later if it means he gets some extra minutes in sweet, wondrous nihility.
Scritch! Scritch!
Scritch! Scritch!
Dan Heng lifts his head from his soft sanctuary, using his tail to pull back the flowing tapestry of his bedside to find the source of the sound.
"Meiying," Dan Heng calls tenderly.
Scritch! Scritch!
Dan Heng summons a final surge of energy to rise and make his way toward his circular window. He gently pulls apart the two intricately crafted wooden sliding screens, adorned with translucent bamboo paper.
Upon first sight, Dan Heng sees his magnificent dragon, three times his size, radiating untold elegance with shimmering, azure scales that mirror the beauty of Spring's early morning dew.
‘The Great Guardian of the Azure Dragon’, or so the people say.
Meiying reclines leisurely, her lengthy, serpentine form curling in on itself as she lowers her head and wags the tip of her furred tail playfully. A clear demand for affectionate pets.
Dan Heng smiles in exasperation. One of the Four Great Guardians she may be to the people, but to him, she is nothing less than his cherished Meiying. His lifelong companion from birth, who epitomizes vitality as she soars and roams across the Kingdom of Spirituality to watch over his people with eyes of jade. Yet without fail, she always returns to him as a steadfast presence. A friend who stands by his side.
Such is her covenant: the essence of life she can possess, connected to Dan Heng’s.
Should one day the realm face its end, Meiying will be with him, stuck in his divinely sanctioned eternity, even when all else fades away.
He extends his hand to gently stroke the very tip of her snout, placing just the amount of pressure she likes. "Meiying, you've been away from my side for quite some time. Found a better playmate?"
She huffs in response, sending a gentle gust of air that causes Dan Heng's dark locks to flutter over his shoulders, yet refusing to move away from his rhythmic motions. A resulting temperament at his accusations, it would seem.
Dan Heng hums. “Is this what they call the rebellious phase? Perhaps you and I truly are no different, Meiying. Or so the Preceptors would think.”
Meiying sneers a low rumble in response, offended.
Dan Heng pinches admonishingly. "Now, now. I understand you're not fond of them. But for the sake of peace throughout our Kingdom, concessions must be made. I was not born to be a tyrant."
Nor was I born to be free.
Feeling his shift in mood, Meiying withdraws from his hand and tenderly leans her cheek against his, closing her eyes of jade in a gesture of soft affection.
Dan Heng huffs, amused by her concern. "I’m not that upset, you know."
But as is customary, Meiying's intuition proves true—because despite Dan Heng's protests, he inevitably finds himself seeking solace against her gesture. His hand glides over tufts of fur as soft as clouds and sleek textured scales, and basks in the gentle rhythm of her sweet purrs.
A Celestial Beast and his Great Guardian, content in their world of two.
Dan Heng struggles to stifle a groan of despair. Seizes himself from clawing his eyes out.
"O’ Divine One, I implore you to reconsider!” The plea grates at Dan Heng’s sensitive ears.
How many times has he heard this same script today thus far from other claimants, six?
“While the people of your vast lands certainly have the means to bear a mere modest increase in prices, my business and fellow partners simply cannot sustain selling our products at parity any longer. We risk being unable to provide for our own families if this continues!"
The merchant pleads with reckless abandon, clasping oiled, unmarked hands together in pitiful reverence toward Dan Heng’s throne. He briefly notes the merchant’s fingers, each one adorned with more jeweled lavishness than the last. Hands unfamiliar with the scars of hardship.
"I have three daughters, O' Divine One! How will they find suitable husbands if we continue to struggle so?"
Dan Heng remembers the stout individual from town speaking affectionately about his family—a sizable one of eight members.
‘It's been challenging at times—we're still recovering from the loss of Lord Dan Feng. The years of his failing health were difficult for all of us in the Kingdom. But having lived through the fall of a Divine Beast, I grew stronger in my faith, and am closer to the meaning of spirituality.
Young man, keep your faith close. In our lands of an eternal Spring, no matter how barren they may become, they are destined to flourish anew, alongside the dawn of a new Azure Dragon.’
Dan Heng stares down at the man before him. He clenches his jaw.
How shameless.
“Merchant, you finance a significant portion of the trade routes along the Harvest Roads—the only ones sufficiently paved to link our Eastern Spring with the Western Autumn. A connection that was made to serve as a symbol of mutual prosperity, and a nod to the enduring friendship between my predecessor and the White Tiger. Yet you have the audacity to come here and complain that the profit I've allowed you to make is insufficient?”
Dan Heng props his chin on his palm, allowing his weary eyes to wander in boredom. "Bring forth the next petitioner."
“O’ Divine One—!”
"Our Divine One has spoken, merchant," Taoran declares from his right, as fiercely loyal to the Divine as he is ruthless to his offenders. "Depart with what shreds of your honor remain, or confront the repercussions."
"Preceptor Taoran, I simply cannot fathom a denial to my humble request. Your opinions are not needed here,” the merchant snaps rudely with a vicious glare.
“Why you—”
Amusing enough, Dan Heng has eaten gold before as a child; it’s tasteless, really. A hunk of material only sought after solely due to the perceived and assigned worth of economic exchange. In moderation, it grants access to opportunities previously unattainable. In excess, it becomes a tool for amassing power, influence. Hoarding.
Despite the looming value depreciation affecting everyone else, merchants like this one, and many before and after, choose to line pockets with the hard-earned coins of Dan Heng’s people. Exploiting the resources of Spring for his own gain, a parasitic attempt at squeezing every last bit of profit from Dan Heng’s lands.
All while defiling the sworn friendship of mother and Jing Yuan. Dan Heng’s irritation grows.
“Please, spare my livelihood. Lord Dan He—" A sword's tip presses against his throat, drawing a trickle of blood.
"Hold your tongue, merchant," a guard snarls. "You dare utter the Divine One's name without permission? Let us see if your greed spills as readily as blood."
The merchant collapses, his legs quivering with fear as his face pales to a ghostly hue. “B-but–”
“Spare your livelihood, you say?” Dan Heng questions blankly, unamused. "And what should I spare it for? The hard-earned coins of my people? And yet, it appears even that's still not satisfactory for you.”
Dan Heng raises a solitary arm, adorned with delicate golds—crafted by an artisan whose skill surpasses anything this merchant could ever attain. “Tell me, if my people have nothing left to spare for your coffers, then do you greed after my own?"
The merchant gazes into the glow of his jade eyes in fear, face as white as the porcelain vases Dan Heng hates. “O’ Divine One, please have mercy. I wouldn’t dare—”
"But dare you would, merchant. Speak further, and it won't only be the denial of your request. Risk your entire business venture, if you so choose. Or perhaps..."
Dan Heng’s nails elongate to claws, trails of blue veins pulsating with promise. “We can conduct a test—to ascertain if those consumed by avarice truly do bleed in coins.”
He hears a sharp inhale from his left. Dan Heng ignores it.
“So then, what shall you, merchant?” He cracks a thumb joint and lifts his chin at the man below, ending his turn to a game he’s already won.
—
“Lord Dan Heng, Merchant Li has brought our lands exceptional profits in the last few years. It would be a dire waste if his great trading acumen is clipped by the blades of fear.” Preceptor Suguang follows Dan Heng frantically by the tail—quite literally.
Dan Heng briefly wonders if there exists magic that can silence voices. Just for a time.
He continues striding forward, at a slightly quicker pace. “Then what do you suggest, Preceptor Suguang? Let the merchant raise prices once more, when some of my people already struggle to afford a comfortable life?”
He thinks of a smaller village on the fringes of his Kingdom, with their dilapidated homes and meager harvests, their outdated farming implements. Memories of the kind family of four who displayed a generosity to him—a clandestine stranger—that is seldom found in the wealthier regions of his Eastern Spring. The full piece of bread he was given despite their clearly limited wares and thinned crops and even thinner frames.
Dan Heng remembers how he couldn’t bear to eat his customary breakfast the next day.
Suguang keeps to his pace. "My Lord, you must consider human nature rationally. A utopian society is unattainable among self-interested creatures destined for a fleeting existence. The Council does not oppose your decree on the merchant’s greed, but the threatening severity of its implementation was too harsh!"
Dan Heng pointedly doesn’t respond. Just a little further.
He hears a frustrated sigh. "O’ Divine One, your stubbornness is rivaled only by your kindness. But a leader who seeks to aid all, will find themselves aiding none in the end."
Dan Heng clenches his fists. I know that well enough.
He is acutely aware, in fact, at how Suguang’s words hold considerable weight. But Dan Heng also knows that he speaks of words meant for a good ruler.
And Dan Heng—Dan Heng has never wanted to rule, has he?
They stop at the front doors, crafted with the luxurious designs of the Azure Dragon surrounded by lotuses.
Finally.
Dan Heng pivots to confront Suguang, arms crossed and brows furrowed.
“Very well—I’ll heed to your consideration. Let it be known I will make an effort to prevent my more… blatant thoughts, from showing to the masses.”
He swings his tail irritably, eager for this to be resolved. “Now, will that be all, Preceptor Suguang?”
Suguang casts a wary glance at the door behind him, but wisely refrains from voicing his thoughts.
Good. He is keeping to his word.
"...Tomorrow, we must delve deeper into certain political murmurs from the Kingdom of Longevity. We'll summon for you at the break of dawn."
Dan Heng watches as Suguang shifts away, waiting until he vanishes down the corridor before easing his posture and facing away. It's caution, rather than paranoia.
Dan Heng takes a deep breath.
Knock knock.
“Who requests for my presence?”
“It’s Dan Heng,” Dan Heng responds, his heart fluttering at the voice. Deep yet gentle. The sound of home.
A moment’s pause. “Enter.”
Dan Heng slides open the doors immediately upon permission, stepping inside to the sight of the setting sun casting its colors through the translucent windows of the lavish bedchamber.
Shined on lovingly by the sleepy sun, Yingxing beams with his trademark toothy grin.
"Baba," Dan Heng murmurs softly, his heart swelling, as he swiftly closes the door behind him and hastens to his father's side.
"A-Heng," Yingxing replies affectionately, stretching out his arms eagerly. Dan Heng sinks into his embrace, feeling himself melt against his chest. He holds onto the comforting fabric of Yingxing's night robes, burying his face in the familiar silver locks and breathing in the gentle scent of blooming lotus. Dan Heng is certain; this is the aroma of love.
“Baba, I missed you,” Dan Heng whispers, holding Yingxing tighter.
He crumbles at the gentle stroke on his head, fingers threading through his hair. A familiar gesture since his childhood. "A-Heng, it's only been a week, my little moon," Yingxing remarks.
Excuse me? Dan Heng pulls back momentarily, looking up with thinned lips. "Didn't you miss me?"
He hears laughter, and the twinkle in Yingxing's eyes warms Dan Heng's weary demeanor. "Every single moment. How could I possibly not miss you?"
Content with the answer, Dan Heng returns to the embrace, closing his eyes in peace—a wave of exhaustion returning.
He feels the vibration of Yingxing’s questioning sound, ever perceptive. "Had a tough week, A-Heng? Is that stuffy old Suguang giving you a hard time again?"
Dan Heng groans, reluctantly breaking from the hold. "I don't even want to think about it. Ten hours of summons? Ten?"
Yingxing chuckles again, softly resting his hands on Dan Heng's shoulders. Dan Heng meets his gaze, captivated by the shimmering lavender eyes, which seem to hold a galaxy of his favorite stars. "So much like your mama in many ways, aren't you? Though perhaps your restlessness comes from my influence."
Dan Heng averts his gaze. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
Yingxing hums in suspicion. “So my ears have been deceiving me, then. On your little escapades outside the palace.”
Dan Heng jumps slightly. Caught. But how—
He grimaces, placing a hand over his face as he connects the dots. "Preceptor Taoran."
Yingxing folds his arms, a gentle smile gracing his features. “Now, now, Preceptor Taoran is a good man. He only ever seeks council with me when you get a little too… hmm… stubborn.”
Dan Heng's irritation surges, his fists stiff as he scowls at the marble floors.
“Perhaps if the Council knew their place as my aids rather than my captors, I’d be more willing to hear their considerations,” Dan Heng speaks pointedly. Bitterly.
“It’s all to maintain balance in your Kingdom, A-Heng. While they may lack flair at times, few are as adept at ruling the courts,” Yingxing reasons, always so willing to give the Council the benefit of the doubt.
Even when they so effort to tear him away from Dan Heng.
Through clenched teeth, he asserts, "Father, I've fulfilled every obligation as demanded. Not once have I faltered in attendance—be it an event, a summon, a briefing. I've danced their political tunes, donned a facade of civility when necessary, and shielded our Spring from unwanted threats, unfailingly, each time they emerge."
He whispers, pained, “I've even agreed to limit our time together to just one night a week. Just a singular night. Am I not even permitted to my own time—when I’m already barred from spending it with you, Father?"
Dan Heng clutches the fabric of his own intricate hanfu—so beautiful yet so heavy—the pressurized gravity of a Divinity he did not choose.
Yingxing immediately pulls him close, stroking the crown of his head in a placating gesture. An apology.
"Oh, my little moon, please don't be distressed. I should've noticed how exhausted you were."
Dan Heng lightly smacks Yingxing’s shoulder, still upset. “You can be so tasteless at times, Father.”
Yingxing sighs. “Your Mama would say the same thing. Aiyah, scolded by my wife, and now by my own son. What’s a father to do?”
“Turn a blind eye to his outdoor excursions?” Dan Heng questions hopefully, widening his eyes a centimeter and oscillating his tail in a sweet sway. Purposeful.
His father was always a bit weak to the strangest things.
Yingxing laughs heartily, used to Dan Heng’s tactics.
But what started as laughter, transforms ominously into a deep, visceral cough.
Dan Heng’s heart drops; it doesn’t stop. Not again.
"Father, let's sit down," Dan Heng suggests, guiding his coughing father towards the bed.
He pulls aside the violet tapestry that drapes over it with a tail. Yingxing sits down slowly, and Dan Heng proceeds to lightly pat his back.
Dan Heng furrows his brows. “Should I call for a handmaid to retrieve purified water?”
Yingxing holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Thank you, my little moon. I’ll be fine, however. It’s just another coughing fit. Nothing unusual.”
Dan Heng bites the bottom of his lip. Another coughing fit, he says.
Yingxing, a master artisan renowned for his countless groundbreaking innovations, possessing the strength to move the heaviest of metals, even fabled to have forged weapons from bolts of lightning, claims that experiencing painful coughing fits is perfectly normal.
“Father, hold still,” Dan Heng commands, his fingers reaching out to gently touch the apple of Yingxing’s neck.
Dan Heng closes his eyes, and focuses.
He immerses himself in his everlasting Spring: the gentle rustle of fresh leaves unfolding, the industrious buzz of bees tending to his blooms, the playful rustle of small creatures scampering through his grasses, and the cheerful laughter of his people basking in the glow of the setting sun.
He hears the haunting creak of decaying branches in the wind, the mournful call of a lost songbird, the distant rumble of an impending Spring storm, and the somber cries of his people as they brace for another arduous day.
He sees the breath of drifting molecules, the resilient bonds of atoms, the pulsating core of life itself.
And now, he softly implores his Spring to heed his wishes and mend a wounded spirit. His hand tingles with warmth, ephemeral and soft, imbued with their blessings to grant his wish.
My dear Spring, please heed my call.
After timeless moments pass in his ubiquitous reality, Dan Heng opens his eyes once more, graced with Yingxing’s smile, one full of loving pride.
“Thank you, my little moon. Your healing is as stunning to witness as it is comforting to receive.”
And yet—
Dan Heng looks down regrettably. “But it’s not enough to completely cure you of your chronic ailment, Father.”
Yingxing pats his head adoringly, careful of his horns. "I've lived for a long time, A-Heng. Witnessing your growth like this, for as long as I’ve been able, is the greatest gift I could have ever hoped for."
The same thing he’s heard again and again.
Time. Dan Heng thinks angrily, biting his lower lip. The thing Dan Heng has in abundance. Excessive abundance. Eternal abundance.
Where every dawn in his Spring, marks the very beginning of his life.
Dan Heng goes to hug Yingxing close, Glamoring his horns to fully nuzzle into Yingxing and listen to a beating heart. A reassurance to make sure it is still beating. Strong. And more importantly, alive.
Yingxing holds him tighter, whispering:
"When you venture out of the palace grounds, take care, my little moon. You never know what may lurk at the fringes of where the seasons touch."
When Dan Heng arrives where Spring and Winter meet, he meditates.
Although his power doesn't visibly diminish near the borders, it tends to unsettle him. He becomes more agitated, more prone to aggression, more likely to act impulsively—moving his body versus thinking with his head.
And so, he needs to center himself. Remind himself to breathe.
To meditate.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Good.
After he meditates, he thinks.
‘While there's little beyond what you've already heard in the rumors, young man, I happened to glean from a courtesan acquaintance of mine the other day that this enigmatic figure is only sighted on the nights where the seasons touch, and when the full moon dances at your feet.’
‘At our feet?’ Dan Heng questions, incredulous.
‘Haha! That’s what they say, young man! You are searching for one who holds Celestial wisdom, after all.
What is an adventure, without a little challenge?’
After he thinks, he reflects.
Dan Heng stares down at the stilled mirror of a pond; he sees himself; he sees the trees; he sees the full moon.
Dan Heng starts to remove his clogs, placing them carefully beside his feet, then unfastens his dark cloak, allowing it to gracefully descend to the ground. Piece by piece, he sheds his layers until only his ivory robe remains, swaying gently in the breeze of a Spring’s night.
After he reflects, he deliberates. He questions. And he understands.
Dan Heng is the great Azure Dragon of the East; a Child of Long; one Celestial Beast of Four; the Divine One of the Kingdom of Spirituality; the Bearer of Yin Energy; a God.
A being of eternity, meant to serve his people for eternity—
Breathe in. Breathe out.
—But he is also the child of his beloved mother, and raised by a loving father.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
A child born of love.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Dan Heng stands atop the water's surface with grace, moving carefully towards the center where the moon's glow is most bright beneath his feet.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He gazes up at the starry expanse and the majesty overhead. He unfurls his fan.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
And he dances.
He twists and turns, jumps and spins, bends and slides, looks to the sky with his shimmering jade eyes and greets the cosmos above.
It's a dance of exquisite beauty and profound poignancy, unlike any seen by his people before; a poem of love that his Spring adores, along with the moon who shines her favor.
It's not a routine crafted by his court entertainers, nor is it one he's witnessed from the village street performers. It’s intimate, tender, familiar—one that holds a special place in his heart. The dance he cherishes most, the one that brings a heartfelt smile to his father's face.
After all, it was crafted by his mother.
And now, it is his.
Water droplets dance in glee alongside him, reflecting the shimmering moonlight below with each gentle movement as his gilded hands and feet glimmer delicate golds. Dan Heng senses the subtle vibrations of the surrounding forests, the wind tenderly caressing his billowing sleeves and flowing locks, the petals of plum blossoms fluttering down like shooting stars in his wake.
His Spring is happy. The Moon is mirthful.
Dan Heng wants to cry.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe—
Snap!
Dan Heng’s eyes dilate. His fan is his mask.
He swiftly turns from where he stands on water, mouth in a hidden snarl and he glares at the fringe of Winter.
“Who’s there? Reveal yourself.” He demands. Cautious, but hopeful.
His heartbeat quickens. Have I found them?
Yet what is revealed from the shadows of a snow-touched plum tree, is but a shivering figure; one with a body too large, too tall, too youthful, to be fitting of the one he searches for so desperately.
And as Dan Heng focuses further, too injured.
The smell of blood. Too much blood.
Dan Heng pauses. Was now the time to concern over a half-dead man from another land? Especially one from the Northern Winters?
He grits his teeth. I don’t have time for this! What if the one who I seek appears?
He must meet them. For Yingxing.
For his Baba.
And yet, to his utter dismay, his body moves of its own accord before he can even complete his rationale.
Dan Heng throws his fan and rushes from the pond to get on dry land, feet bare, getting as close as he can to the fringe at where Spring and Winter touch. He hardly feels the sediment embedding into his skin, nor the dirt clustering in his toe nails. He runs, and thinks nothing of anything else but the dying man in his sight.
He stops a single pace away from the fringe, and pivots towards the cold, wintery breeze, determined.
Dan Heng always did have a bit of a bleeding heart.
He cups his mouth and bellows, “Quickly! Pass over the border from Winter to Spring! I cannot heal you, otherwise!”
Yet the man does not seem to hear him, leaning against the same tree, the blood dripping from his arms, his torso, his legs—so many wounds.
Dan Heng calls once more, frantic and voice raw. “Hurry! Your wounds are too deep!”
When the man does not respond, nor move, Dan Heng tightens his fists and scowls in frustration.
Suguang is right.
Not even Dan Heng can save every human.
But is he truly so powerless, so hopeless as a Divine, that he cannot even rescue one standing right before him?
Dan Heng’s Glamor is removed, fangs elongated, horns thrumming with magic and his jade eyes glow with power.
No. He is the Azure Dragon.
And should he Command it so, it shall be.
“Come before me at once!” He roars, voice distorted, the echoes of an ancient resonance.
The injured man’s body stills like a taut string and begins to move on its own, fettered by his words until it passes over the border into the lands of Spring.
The God's Command.
Dan Heng rushes over, calming his Divinity and catching the dying man before he falls to the ground.
Immediately, he gets to work. Swiftly yet tenderly, he cradles the man's head in his lap, invoking his healing abilities. With intense focus, Dan Heng moves his glowing hand over the numerous injuries, mending each wound with meticulous precision—
What? Dan Heng’s eyes widened.
He pauses his healing, watching as the grotesque tatters of severed flesh begin their eerie coalescence, wetly stitching an unnatural synthesis that makes even a God shudder.
Broken bones crackle, ripped joints creak, a missing finger reanimates anew.
Dan Heng feels sick.
The man abruptly screams in a cacophony of heartbreaking anguish, sweat dripping profusely from his clumped and matted midnight strands. His pained moans and mournful whimpers as visceral as an abandoned erhu’s first screech.
Dan Heng snaps out of his shock, grasping the man's hand tightly and channeling in a burst of healing energy, hoping to alleviate the pain of this... this...
Whatever this is.
“Shh, shh. I have you. Just hold through a little longer,” Dan Heng whispers gently, a stark contrast to his other hand forcing a wild arm down from making reckless movements.
He persists in his healing efforts, whispering tender words of desperate encouragement. His heart aches for this stranger, Dan Heng’s mind racing to find any possible way he could ease the pain more effectively. More efficiently.
He’s so sick of seeing people in pain.
Just as Dan Heng was about to push in another burst of healing, the man abruptly halts his screams.
Too abruptly, enough to make Dan Heng tense his muscles—
Bam!
He's suddenly winded, slammed against the trunk of a plum blossom tree with a potent force. Powerful enough to knock a Divine.
I was careless—! Dan Heng gasps, taken by surprise, struggling to draw breath as he holds onto his stomach.
Looking up wildly, he sees the man standing shakily to his feet, omitting an ominous aura.
Primal and raw and bloodthirsty.
What would happen, Dan Heng wonders. If one were to hunger for the ichor of a God?
“Run away, now!” The man snarls fiercely. It’s a gravelly voice, one shredded by a thousand stones. A grating roar akin to that of a wild beast.
Yet Dan Heng remains frozen, mouth hanging open in fearful awe of eyes ablaze with eternal hellfire.
Before him, is a cursed human, punished by the natural laws of Long, and the greatest sin to ever walk the seasons.
An immortal.
