She was dressed in a white silk robe similar to the ones the virgins wore, except with a red sash and a golden spirit dragon emblazoned across the front. Her mortal body was shriveled and frail, with pure gray hair and deep lines etched into her soft face. Nuwa’s eyes betrayed the power of her divine nature.
I think this is when I loved her the most, when her ancient spirit and old body were most aligned. That’s when she most felt like my mother. I think she liked herself that way, too. She used to say an old body felt like worn leather, soft and comfortable.
Arm in arm, we walked down the Silver Stairs. I was dressed in a black robe and white sash, emblazoned with a mirror image of the same golden spirit dragon on mother’s robe.
As we crossed the grotto bridge, the villagers bowed low. She departed my side, stepped across the temple threshold and onto the pebble walkway. Nuwa raised her hands and called her people to rise.
“Stand, children, and rejoice in the renewal of the world.”
She never raised her voice, but her voice carried an otherworldly power and delicate strength. I cannot adequately describe it, for it floated with the airy lightness of a butterfly in flight that could instantly turn hard and cut with the strength of diamonds and fire. Only years later would I describe it as the voice of orichalcum.
She rarely smiled. More often than not, her expression was haughty. In front of her mortal servants, Nuwa was as firm as the mountains, as cold and powerful as the wind across a winter glacier. During the Offering Ceremony, I thought I detected a hint of entitlement in her expression, a trace of pride.
She approached the elder Holy Mother, who gracefully bent at the waist and kissed Mother’s hand. “Great Goddess, bringer of the dawn and guardian of life, I humbly present seven empty vessels. We honor you and pray we may please your perfect grace.”
Mother leaned over and kissed the Elder Mother’s forehead.
With a stern countenance, Mother slowly stepped from girl to girl and examined each in turn, as if they were wares in the market. The acolytes were instructed to look the goddess in the eye so she could test their souls. They trembled and tried to be brave. I pitied them. They were beginning to understand the true nature of the sacrifice they were about to make.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Beyond the polished granite pillars a pebble pathway wound through a scene of idyllic peasant life. A split log fence lined the path and led to a small cottage, much like those in the village below. To either side of the path, empty fields lay dormant under autumn’s midnight frost. In the distance, a shadowed outline of a pine forest encircled the fields. Though he could not see it in the darkness, Fu Xi knew towering cliffs jutted high above the forest in every direction, boldly pronouncing the summit of Tortoise Mountain was a crater.
The split rail fence surrounded the hut to form a small compound. A handful of goats slept in the fields under the starlight at the edge of the forest. To his right, a small bamboo barn stood at the edge of the trees. A stone draw well stood like a guardian only a few paces outside the hut’s door. He ducked under its long draw-pole as he approached the house.
The oil-skin windows glowed warmly from an inviting light within. Larger than a common villager’s, the hut still maintained the simple one-room style he taught the mortals for generations. Under the tranquil starlight, everything appeared as it should be, perfect and at peace.
Fu Xi’s wet hair steamed in the chilly air. His golden silk robe, out of place against the pastoral scene, did little to keep out the cold.
The bamboo door opened before Fu Xi could reach for the wooden lever. His mother’s small, hunched silhouette stood in the doorway. She clutched a bamboo cane in one hand and the door in the other. He almost gasped.
Physically, both in age and dress, she looked as he expected. She wore a homespun cotton blouse and trousers. A few gray tendrils fell across her face, like any other old peasant woman who had been performing chores all day. Her gray hair piled up in a bun and held by plain wooden pins. However, he saw no haughtiness in her face. During his entire existence, she took his measure with each glance, but now she couldn’t meet his eyes.
She looked mortal.
Nuwa glanced away and slowly hobbled into the hut.
“Welcome home, favored son. I have prepared tea. Heng has been anxious to see you. Come, sit and talk with him while I prepare something to eat.”
The fight evaporated from Fu Xi’s spirit. He walked around her and into the hut. He removed his sandals, placed them against the wall next to the door, and bowed low to his mother.
“Thank you, honored mother. It is good to be home.”
While similar, several notable differences existed between their home and a peasant hut. In contrast to mud brick, a sturdier baked brick hearth stood against the left wall. Also, neatly joined cedar planks covered with fiber mats, not dirt, composed the floor. Whereas peasants took their meals from a central bowl on the floor, a low pine table sat against the far wall with three wool cushions placed around it.
Two simple bed rolls, linen sleeves stuffed with soft wool, were rolled up by the table. A third roll, this one of silk, sat rolled against the wall.
She hasn’t prepared my sleeping mat.
Against the right wall, an old man lay on a low, cushioned couch. Like Fu Xi’s robe and silken bed roll, the luxurious couch, carved of rich mahogany and covered in plush silk cushions, existed in marked contrast to the rest of the simple hut. Unlike his mother’s peasant garb, the old man wore a blue silk robe.
Nuwa walked toward the hearth where a brass pot hung over the fire. Fu Xi sat down cross-legged on the floor next to the sleeping old man.
A pang of sadness stabbed Fu Xi’s heart as he saw how time had ravaged his old friend. Heng’s hands, once strong and broad, were now bony and covered in liver spots. His beard and hair, once as black and full as the midnight sky, were now thin and wispy. Heng labored under slow and raspy breaths.
Fu Xi remembered how his own father looked near the end.
“He is sleeping, mother. I do not have the heart to wake him.”
Nuwa approached, leaned over her husband, roughly shook him and shouted, “Wake up, Heng! Fu Xi is here.”
Heng’s eyes fluttered open and rapidly darted left and right as if confused. Slowly, they came into focus and rested on Fu Xi. After a moment, recognition and a toothless smile graced the old man’s face.
“Fu Xi! How are you, old boy? Your mother and I have been expecting you. She said you would be home today.”
Fu Xi took Heng’s palsied hand and softly patted it. “It is good to see you, too,” Fu Xi spoke softly.
“Eh?” Heng said and held his hand to his ear.
“I said IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU,” Fu Xi said loudly and slowly.
Heng’s pale, glassy eyes couldn’t quite focus and teared at the edges. Fu Xi knew his mother’s husband hovered on the edge of death.
“I tried to stay up until you came home, but I knew you would be too busy celebrating in the village. I wish I could have been there, under the willow tree in the convent when you came home. I miss those days.” Heng’s eyes went somewhere else. “Did you see Tiejiang? How is my grandnephew and his children?”
Fu Xi struggled to maintain control and looked back at his mother. She hunched over the tea pot across the room and would not look at him.
“Yes, I saw everyone,” Fu Xi smiled the best he could. “We all danced under the willow tree, under the lanterns. They all miss you and send their love.”
“Did you say you danced, eh? Ahh, that is good. I miss them, too. It’s been a long time since your mother and I went down the Silver Stairs,” Heng continued. “My knees are not what they used to be, you know.”
Heng’s eyelids began to droop and his voice trailed off. “I want to hear about your journey, but I’m afraid you will have to tell me all about it in the morning. I am weary. I hope you found some dragons...I so want to hear about the dragons...” Heng’s
eyes closed as he drifted off to sleep.
Fu Xi stroked Heng’s hair and whispered, “Sleep, old friend. We can talk in the morning.”
Fu Xi stood and turned. His mother knelt on a cushion by the table, a white ceramic cup of steaming tea in front of her. A paper lantern hung above the table, casting a dim light that highlighted the deep lines on his mother’s face.
Fu Xi knelt on the cushion opposite her. Before him sat a steaming cup and a wooden bowl full of rice mixed with bean sprouts and strips of goat meat. Two wooden chopsticks sat next to the bowl.
“You journey has been long. Eat, and then we will talk,” she said.
***
Leaning heavily on her cane, Nuwa paced up and down the line of acolytes. The Elder Mother tried not to show her trepidation that her selections may not please the goddess.
Finally, Nuwa stopped in front of the smallest and youngest of the seven acolytes, a girl of about eight. I saw the child gasp under the goddess’s stare, knowing what lay ahead of her before the sun set that day.
It didn’t surprise me Mother chose her. She had full cheeks and a complexion like the finest ivory. Her eyes were bright and intelligent. She would grow to be a strong, beautiful woman. Mother would choose nothing less than the finest, of course.
Excited murmurs issued from the crowd when Mother took the peach from the child’s hand. She took one small bite and handed the little girl the rest.
Then the goddess spoke the ceremonial words, “Your life is my life. Your blood shall be my blood. Your flesh shall be my flesh.”
On cue, the child ate the peach and finished every bite. Self-consciously, she wiped the juice from her mouth with the back of her hand, took a deep breath and spoke, “Your spirit is my spirit.” She paused, overwhelmed by the moment. When she continued, her voice quivered and cracked. “My blood shall be your blood. My flesh shall be your flesh.” With those words, the child placed the peach pit in Nuwa’s hand.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Nuwa’s face was softer now, content. She turned to the first acolyte in line and placed the peach pit in her hand.
The crowd cheered again. This girl would become the next Holy Mother, a guardian of the Temple of Nuwa and the gateway to Tortoise Mountain. This girl was older than the acolyte chosen for the Offering Ceremony and in her last year of eligibility. Taller and thinner, she had a long face and narrow hips. She bowed to the goddess. She would spend the rest of her life a virgin, dedicated to the service of the goddess.
I once asked Mother what criteria she used to make her selection, but she never answered. When I asked her what criteria she used to select the next Holy Mother, her answer came swiftly and accompanied by a rare smirk.
“The ugliest, of course.”
Mother turned and handed me her cane. She raised her hands over the villagers, who fell silent and dropped to their knees.
“Blessed are all of you, oh Children of Nushen! In the bloom of spring’s promise, the cycle of life shall renew. Go, and be at peace.”
Under the watchful eye of the Holy Mothers, the remaining virgins turned and strolled in single file to the convent’s East Gate. There, they would carry their peaches to the sanctuary and cast them into the fire.
I took one of Mother’s arms while the acolyte supported the other arm. A Holy Mother took the cane from me. It would be stored in the Sanctuary until the goddess asked for it again, perhaps a lifetime from now.
The villagers drifted away, some singing. The Goddess Nuwa would make another Offering and the world would be renewed. Tonight, they would rejoice.
I would return to the village that evening. It wasn’t a celebration unless Lord Fu Xi presided. I had my eye on a few beautiful maidens and there would be drink.
Everyone knew I would get drunk, though the villagers never knew that I needed to get drunk. For the villagers, the ceremony was over. For Mother, this child, and myself, the Offering Ceremony had just begun.
I caught my mother looking over her shoulder at the dissipating crowd. Her old eyes lingered upon Heng, one of the boys in the village on the edge of manhood. I knew she had already laid her plans.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Fu Xi slowly finished his meal while his mother quietly sipped her tea.
She finally spoke. “Tell me of your journey.”
Fu Xi stopped in mid-sip and looked up at his mother. He clenched his jaw, not wanting to hear his mother wax and wane. The peace of the fountain faded and the raw images of Nushen began to burn through his calm.
“You sent me to find dragons. I failed. Now you know of my journey.” His voice was as sharp as his red sword. “Tell me of Nushen.”
She didn’t react to his tone. Nuwa took another sip of her tea. “Your anger will accomplish nothing.”
“You are correct, anger is futile. How mortal of me.”
Nuwa’s eyes bore into her son across the table. “The fruits of truth cannot be found in the briar patch of rage. Anger has never tainted my Inner Realm and I will not permit it now.”
Fu Xi challenged his mother’s stare. “Was it your rage that permitted the Ice Men to slaughter your children?”
“No, but it was rage that led you to slaughter women and children in that cellar.”
“It’s not the same!” Fu Xi shouted.
“SILENCE!” she snapped. The earth trembled and the lantern swayed from side to side, casting Nuwa’s face in alternating shadow and light. In each shadow, her eyes faintly glowed with a blue light.
She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. Fu Xi saw the turmoil on her face and it frightened him. He’d never witnessed pain on her face, even when his father died. Nuwa flexed her hand over and over.
“Clear your mind, son, and speak to me with respect. My wrath is not one even the great Fu Xi would care to witness.”
Fu Xi reached up and steadied the lantern. “Please forgive me, dear mother. My heart is torn with pain.”
“My grief is every bit as deep as yours.”
“Mother...” Fu Xi leaned in. “What happened?”
Nuwa picked up the tea cup with a trembling hand. “Son, why did you journey to the Unfinished Men all those years ago?”
In typical fashion, she answered a question with a question. He needed direct answers. “Mother, I simply want to know...”
“No.” She held up a finger. “Answer me. Why did you go to the northlands centuries ago?”
If he wanted answers, it would be on Nuwa’s terms.
***
It was almost sunset when we reached the Threshold Dragon. As was required in the ancient ceremonial etiquette, the girl did her best to support Mother. But, as usual, I ended up supporting the goddess up the mountain. It would have been easier if Mother just let me carry her, but Nuwa wouldn’t hear of such things. She insisted she ascend the mountain with her own strength.
The little girl’s awe renewed with each new switchback. She gazed in wonder over the lush valley far below.
“The world is so big,” she blurted. I enjoyed seeing my familiar home anew through the eyes of a child. In this way, I learned to love my home all over again.
I also wanted to remember what this little girl’s eyes looked like, to burn their image into my mind before they disappeared forever. She had so little time to see through them.
I knew this little girl’s name was Lian, but we could not call her by her name. That part of the ceremony Mother and I always honored.
As we approached the last switchback, Mother sat down on the stone bench next to the silver torch.
“Let me rest a few moments and enjoy the sunset,” she said.
Lian walked to the base of the final flight of stairs and looked up at the seven giant pillars. She pointed up to the Threshold Dragon. “Lord Fu Xi, is that a real dragon?”
I knelt down beside her. “Yes and no. That is a spirit dragon. It represents the power of creation bestowed in the Goddess Nuwa. It serves as a guardian of the goddess’s realm and carries
her prayers to her father, the Emperor of Heaven.”
She frowned and paused for a moment. “Are there real dragons?”
“Yes,” I said with all seriousness and sat down on the stairs. “Once, dragons of flesh and blood filled the world.”
“It looks so fierce. It frightens me,” Lian said and scooted closer to me. I picked her up and put her on my lap.
“They had to be fierce! For dragons were created to battle giants.”
Lian’s eyes grew wide. “Giants are real, too?”
“In the most ancient of days, the spirits of Chaos and Creation were incarnate as flesh; powerful giants that roamed the world. Like the fires of a volcano, these giants were magnificent and terrible. They swam through the seas and flew through the air. The earth trembled when they walked. Their roars were like the thunder of a thousand storms.”
“Lord Fu Xi, did you see these giants?” she said, amazed.
“No, but the goddess did. She also told me in those days the giants always fought and there was no peace. Sometimes, the powers of Creation held sway too long and the world faded and became icy and sterile. When Chaos reigned, all was fire and ash. The Emperor of Heaven formed the race of dragons out of both flesh and spirit to subdue Chaos and Creation and bring them into balance.”
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, feigning a scolding look. “Didn’t the Holy Mothers teach you about this?”
She held her hand up to her mouth and whispered, “Maybe. I can’t remember.”
I winked and tousled her hair. She gave me a delightful smile under her hand, like the sun behind a puffy afternoon cloud. It was times like this I panged for a family. Holding this child was another reminder of the price of my immortality.
“That’s all right. I will refresh your memory.” I pointed up to the Threshold Dragon. “The Emperor made dragons out of both Creation and Chaos, so that they might do battle with the giants, but that was not enough. These forces only gave them raw power, but not Grace. He knew the dragon needed more...”
Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi Page 18