by Mark Swaine
Yu-Huang watches the upward motions of water as time is slowed for him. It was incredible to look upon, like a lateral river of hypnotising calm. Slightly blue at its ascent, with an internal smooth jade due to all the nutrients being drawn from the sea bed. Yu-Huang reaches out to touch it as it slows to arm’s length, and as he drags his fingertips across its surface, he knows this is the end, and not even he can prevent it. As time returns to its natural pace, Yu-Huang disappears in a violent water clash. Yu-Huang suddenly opens his eyes and the bewildered man takes a second to realise that he had experienced a second vision. There is nothing on the horizon but a peaceful stretch of blue ocean, and all of his countrymen are still going about their daily business, yet he can still taste the salt on his tongue. The Emperor breathes slowly with controlled grunts of whistling exhalation as he calms himself.
“What was that?” he asks himself.
The Emperor suddenly looks down at the palms of his hands and notices a dim green light fading from the neat deep crevices. Yu-Huang dismisses the strange occurrence as he appears more concerned about something else. The Emperor stares at the dense circular domed cloud covering the flat peak of the tower one hundred feet below him, and he drops onto it. Whatever resides within the secure confines of that vaulted cloud is far too valuable and far too sacred to gain the trust of the solid security of the ground. Only a few know what lies behind the curtain of swirling cloud: the guardian Emperor Yu-Huang, his mother and father before him, his guardians the now departed five Elder Priests of the first Brotherhood, his friend the Japanese Emperor Tatsu Kazuko and the Black Dragon. Emperor Yu-Huang passes through the thick white mist and lands inside the domed room to ensure its contents are safe and at ease, for he is the closest thing they have to a mother. Yu-Huang knows not where they hail from, or how they came to be, but they are innocent, and believes the innocent must be defended. Yu-Huang smiles in relief at the dormant beings, after all, he's been minding them for so long he feels a paternal responsibility for their safety and well being. For as old as the Emperor is, he doesn't know everything, nor does he pretend to. For man is still fairly young, beyond Neolithic and capable of reason, but not so aged that remnants of the world had not yet forgotten their primordial origins. In a time deprived of technology, in a realm of time considered well recorded, time passes slowly without the aid of technology, as if the sundials were still and every cherished season seemed to last for an age. The people of the Huanghua territories know little of the outside world across the seas, yet there was little reason to.
The environment thrives with life as the people are gracious to live upon it, and the land gives much back to those that treat her with care and devotion. Every seed sowed maintains their simple lives with medicinal herbs, flowers, fruit and vegetation. Minerals and Ore run awash from the distant Kunlun Mountains and livestock breed in wealthy abundance, just as rapidly and healthily as the occupants who work hard daily to provide for their families. Though life is far from easy in an ever growing city; the growth was painful, and though they struggled, it made it more worthwhile to live every second in happiness as Yu-Huang the Emperor filled the Empire with light, warmth and security for the good people of his land in his rule of the Yù Xīng Dynasty. For as advanced as they had become, it’s a slow cycle of life that ensures the survival of the vast population, even though life was far from perfect for some. Yet the less fortunate held onto hope and find reason to endure, for everywhere was beautiful to look upon; remaining loved ones, the rivers, the magic of the four seasons, the hospitable earth accommodating every seed imaginable, the clear lakes and rushing fountains, even the simple open sky of night and day. For some it was their faith in the divine Emperor that gave them hope in this premature world. Yu-Huang treated his people well, and ruled with the highest standard of order without threat of tyranny, oppression or the temptation of greed. Life is simple, life is good, making each and every each day more precious than the last. In every direction, there was some sight to see, some picturesque view worth taking pleasure in; chits, cowrie shells and giant plump goldfish fill the wishing fountains; bright and colourful peacocks strut proudly through the market stalls and communal gardens fanning their tails out wide; huge bundles of black and white fluff sit human like on the soft grass enjoying their green sticks of breakfast. The giant Panda bears of the Chiharu forest love to battle after breakfast. The locals attending their everyday chores often make detours to see the ignorant and friendly bears wrestling and rolling atop each other. With their folded back wings and outstretched necks, juvenile dragons rush overhead the open moors if only to regain their bearings and sneakily snatch a stray cow or two. To the North and West, the Kunlun Mountains stand proudly and intimidatingly, shrouded in mist and mystery as they hide the birthplace of Yu-Huang among the highest of summits. The Lán Lóng (Blue Dragon) and Yīng Zhǎo (Eagle claw) waterfalls stand defiant in protest of those who might wander too far upstream the ever winding Yellow River. To the East, the distant ocean remains ever silent, or wild depending on which of the four seasons graces its unrivalled presence. Behind the great walls of the Huanghua territories, mutual needs form relationships based on trade and demand, and the working class had united for mutual advantage.
Fishermen, Weavers, Farmers, Masons, Woodworkers, Hunters, Musicians, Healers, Blacksmiths, Gardeners and Cooks, all worked together in trade. This was home, nobody knew anything for sure, but this was home, and it is far too difficult to imagine, for anyone to live out their lives anywhere else. The sky gliding stalks soaring beneath the hazy diagonal beams of light bursting through the clouds see the city in their aerial view. They see the endless wall rising and dipping, encasing a city filled with rolling hills, dense forestry, lakes of mirrors, courtyards and lofty Pagoda roofs that dip with endless rows of tiled eaves. The curved eaves grant home to hundreds of swifts travelling back and forth to feed their chirping young. The wall surrounding the outer territories remains guarded by the fifty foot high, strategically placed fortified watchtowers. Soldiers clothed in fawn and jade armour patrol the hundred foot high Huanghua wall; a wall that grows with yellow chrysanthemum flowers in the beginning of spring. The disciplined and battle ready soldiers watch for any form of attack, armed with bow and arrows, spears, and large Dao swords sheathed to their backs, they have never, and will never falter. Smaller forts, watchtowers and garrisons that house high-ranking officers and soldiers break the vast stretches of space. Atop one such watchtower, a clean-shaven soldier volleying a hide-skinned ball straps armour to his chest and relieves the soldier of the watch, an hour late.
The soldier grazes past the late arrival, and does well to hide his anger for the unpunctual and alert soldier. Liu Chan bounds to his post and looks around in paranoia whilst behaving as if he had been there the whole time. The Jade soldier looks to the East just as he always does at the beginning of his shift, hoping to catch a mere glance of the ocean. Just like always, he still cannot see even a mere glimpse of blue. The ocean will always be too far out of sight, regardless of how much he tries to stretch his vision. Liu Chan moves to the other side of the fort wall, and looks west to the Kunlun Mountains at the far-away 100ft stretch river of rapids rushing off the side. Liu Chan listens to the soothing sound of the rushing Yellow river driven by the colossal sized waterfall erupting from the mouth of mount Yīng zhǎo (Eagle claw). The soldier looks back to the East and can only imagine the sensation of ocean spray against his body on a hot summer’s day after a long game of Cuju, but all he has to go by are the tales told by travellers who had journeyed the coastal trail. All one need but do is to the follow the great Yellow River, and they would find themselves at the ocean, something that Liu Chan has long desired to look upon. The distracted soldier marches the fort wall in reverse formation to his more punctual counterpart.
Both monitor the distance just as keenly as one another, but for entirely different reasons. Liu Chan nears the edge of the wall and chips up the discarded ball lying nearby. Toying with its moveme
nts in a blasé manner, he volleys the ball into the air then hears a sudden twang of coiled fibre as his ball disappears. Liu Chan looks down and around and eventually notices his ball impaled by an arrow and stapled to the wall. Liu Chan appears angered until his expression turns to one of surprise and sheepishness as he sees the General of the Jade army staring at him as he stands by the steps. General Arachie stands poised with the other shamefaced soldier's bow in his hands, and he stares at the insubordinate soldier with contempt. General Arachie shoves the bow back into the other soldier's chest and storms off to carry out his days inspective duties. The General's armoured boots chink as he continues to the South moat entrance to check on the century guards. Any who near the wide stretch of river are welcomed by the harmonious chiming of the giant cast iron bells lining the wall perimeter. Providing they relinquish any weaponry, caravans and travellers all, are granted refuge into the secured territories. At sunrise, fusions of violet and cerise linger on the horizon, and the city wakes to the sound of Roosters and tweeting sparrows.
Teenagers and children occupy the green and pink petal filled stone courtyards teaching wounded and discarded infant dragons how to fly. They run in circles and lead the winged baby runts to the blustery lush green moors, laughing with their dragon fashioned kites blowing high behind them in the morning wind. The infant winged beasts chase the paper tails of the kites with struggling wings and heavy smoking breaths and try their hardest to remain in flight. In the citadel, a towering, beige and grey bricked Pagoda reaches into the sky. Its girth decreases the higher it climbs with articulately crafted Jade tile roofs and curved overhanging eaves decorate its upward climb into the misty white clouds. The peak of the Tower of Guāng is always shrouded by clouds; one might even be forgiven for assuming that the tower even generates them. The tower is a sight to behold, especially at dawn, with the clouds spread thinly across the dark blue morning sky and the pale shine of the dotted stars. At the base of the segmented tower, a gold and green palace monastery houses the ancestors of Yu-Huang the Great. Pagodas, courtyards, training grounds smaller monasteries surround the long and broad Shinnen temple. At the front of the heavily guarded structure, a wide flight of shallow steps leads a mile down to a large court yard of 10,000 Jade soldiers training in the Eighteen Arms of Wushu. Outside the indestructible security of the giant yellow walls of the Huanghua territories, an extent of peace remains still in this undiscovered age; and to exist in its wonder is peace giving.
The smaller yet still imposing Twelve Temples of the Brotherhood stand erect with various wings protruding from the various tiers of golden curved roofs. Some of the temples are better maintained than others and poses a true reflection on their living conditions and state of wealth. The landscape of the distant and mammoth, brown and grey Kunlun Mountains adds a sense of adventure and awe to the pilgrims who make it safely to the city. Even beyond the mountains, more layers can be seen in the far of haze, with their summits graced with layers of wintery white and lush greenery. Civilians who lost their lands to famine, or had fallen foul of raiders and had lost their homes, all one need but do is make the long journey to the Huanghua city. Nobleman, Peasant, trader or mere drunkard, it matters not, all that pay homage to the Emperor and heed his rule are welcome to begin a new life under his reign. Many arrived under the impression Emperor Yu-Huang might bring them wealth and fortune, others are simply down on their luck and are looking for a second chance. Wanderers, warriors, farmers and great believers in the divine would make the long pilgrimage to the city well-known as "The Land of Pure Felicity and Majestic Heavenly Lights". Many bring gifts to honour their Emperor and lay them at the entrance of the golden flowered gates. But the journey to the Huanghua city is treacherous; to journey from the South often means a death at the hands of raiders, or hiding from scavenger dragons, but the trail from the North means traversing the deadly terrain of the Kunlun Mountains. But those who make it are welcomed with open arms regardless if they arrive empty handed. Many had adventurous stories to tell, sketches of unclassified beasts, dragons and demons they had fought. Others would arrive broken or injured, and had lost their earnings along the way and fallen deep into sorrow or the comfort of Baiju, wine and mead.
More recently, a handful had arrived that spoke of horrors so strange, it was just too difficult to imagine being real, or happened too far away to care or worry about. These less fortunate arrivals, although they had managed to survive the very threats they spoke so gravely of, appeared to have lost their sanity along the course of their journey. Haunted by their own tales, their ability to convey what they saw was limited, and was considered doubtful and who would want to believe such horrors are possible in such a perfect world. These latest rumours were of a disturbing nature and were carried by the mouths of every town gossip; heard by every eavesdropper; passed on by every busy tongued old lady carrying a wicker wash basket; every jolly ridiculing drunkard, and every wise old man that reminds the mocking sceptics that there is more in this world than "what they think they know". The latter are the superstitious folk, the kind of folk that your parents would warn you not to look at, even if they did offer an innocent well meaning smile in passing. But even the wise are fearful and weary, and they are not foolish enough to disregard their concerns for all things that affect their world, for if they did, their words of caution would hold no worth. They are the believers in folklore, the kind of old men and women you would prevent from reciting one fable to reach the innocence of your child's ears, regardless as to its authenticity. They believe in the danger of the unknown, and think nothing of voicing their cautions to those who find it difficult enough to fall asleep without a lantern glowing by their bed side or an incense stick burning by an open window.
The tales not only scared the young, but sent shivers down the spines of the spineless, and secretly crept up the necks of the brave of heart. The horrible tales ceased for a short period, and overtime they became nothing more than campfire stories; stories to frighten the mind of a child into attending to their chores, or to 'go to bed', or to 'play nicely with their brothers or sisters'. They were nothing more than parables of the bogeyman, just another reason for an insecure child not to walk down a dark alley alone. After a much enjoyed break from the unreal and nightmarish accounts, out of nowhere, they reoccurred, and became more and more frequent, to the point where each tale was fresh and recent. And this time, these more recent claims came not from the stuttered and incomprehensible ramblings of a few scared peasants, they were screamed in frantic gasps and tears of despair, from the mouths of mortally wounded noblemen and land owners. As usual, the stories were passed along, not in comical jest, but in worried whispers; tales of the dead. Many attempting a recital of these unique horror stories regarding a plague of “rising dead people” were often corrected at their first mistake... ‘not dead...undead’. Tales of folk awaking from their place of rest, but reawakening not in peace, but in a torment of some kind. The tales evolved as more and more broken families arrived, not only from their homeland, but also from the Islands of Japan.
Tales of crops and livestock dying in the spring season, and a plague that was mysteriously sweeping across the faraway land of Japan. Many still passed these stories of as crazy, insane talk from the mouth of a tired and delusional mind. Only Emperor Yu-Huang paid heed to they're severity when they were brought to his attention by the sceptical voices of his council of High Priest Ministers, and they're first ignorant question as a force was... “why had he not foreseen this?”, to which he did not reply. More rumours spread, of something dark, something evil taking a grip of the land of Japan. Dispatched messengers that had returned from the far ends of China had similar stories recount, of how they arrived at their destinations only to find flames, screams, blood and chaos. These messengers had no reason to lie; endurance was their life. Relaying news was in their blood. For although many chose to use cranes as a preferred method of communication, many still preferred to rely on the sturdy legs of a mounted horse. While
some had only witnessed farms and homesteads feeding a wild burning fire, few were actually able to confirm these people rising beyond death without any credible proof. Just one was able to faithfully recreate the day in a frenzied state of terror before the cold clutches of death left his eyes in a widened state of shock before they reluctantly fell. He recounted in detail how the dead were reawakening in decay, trapped in their own walking rotting corpses, wandering aimlessly around in limbo; while others were cannibalistic, crazed, and carnal.