by Mark Swaine
“My name is Lian Qian, but everybody calls me Peiyu (Care),” says the young teen drying her glazed eyes.
After asking the girl of her troubles, Lian Qian informs the important visitor that her many attempts to wake the Orchid have been useless, and fears the large flower will not blossom before the beginning of the winter season. Yu-Huang sees that Lian Qian is an outspoken and chatty girl, and as bright and wonderful as she is, she rarely stayed quiet long enough for him to speak a single word. Yu-Huang suggests an alternative technique to her method of whispering to the Orchid; and he requests that she closes her eyes and listens to the plant, and the plant only.
“I do not hear anything,” says Peiyu, a few seconds later.
“Patience,” whispers Yu-Huang. “Listen, all forms of life speak through vibrations. Should you care to listen to these vibrations, even the ears of a mortal are capable of hearing them,” says Yu-Huang, informatively.
With the Orchid dividing them, the two sit in silence opposite one another. From nightfall till sunrise, the two listen to various sound waves impacting upon the Orchard. Together, the two patiently await the blooming of the shy Orchid and eventually Lian Qian hears it speak in various tones. Lian Qian begins to speak in slow whispers, whispers only heard by Yu-Huang and the plant. Yu-Huang's limitless patience derives not from his knowledge that he has all the time in the world, for this is not the truth. Yu-Huang's patience was due to his little appreciation for immortality, for he is all too aware that a mortal’s life ends in the blink of an eye. As he sits with Lian Qian upon the grassy hill with the sun at its highest, his patience for Lian Qian is finally rewarded. Lian Qian smiles ecstatically as five bright pink and white striped petals coil open to reveal curved filaments of soft lilac. The head of the Orchid turns to face Lian Qian, overjoyed, she claps in excitement and happiness. Lian Qian looks at the Emperor as if to ponder upon something, then she quickly smiles with an affirmative nod. Taking a nearby trowel she carefully removes the Orchid with its roots complete and places it into a cracked clay flower pot. Patting black fertile soil around the root Lian Qian presents it as a gift, believing the Orchid will live longer in his presence. Yu-Huang assures her this isn't true and that it was in fact her gentle voice and ability to listen that had woken the Orchid. Refusing to take no for an answer, Yu-Huang graciously accepts the gift from the talkative girl, but asks that she cares for it until he returns. With the sun rising in the distance, Lian Qian graciously accepts his request and Yu-Huang returns to his inspections. It takes him weeks to fully ensure the garden is up to standard, and he isn't disappointed.
Yu-Huang bows farewell to the Carers and commends them on their commitment to the earth. He had hoped to see Lian Qian before he leave and retrieve the gift she had so persistently bestowed upon him. Yu-Huang leaves the Kang Fu gardens by the back meadows and autumn leaves fall around him like flat and crispy stars from above. Yu-Huang observes a slim distant figure with a sword sheathed by her waist and practising the art of ‘Huābàn Quántóu’ (Petal Fist). The Emperor smiles as she doesn't cease to surprise him, and her ability and knowledge in the rare art is astounding. As he watches her weaving and twisting her body whilst thrusting her palms forward, he wonders if she is able to rival him in the Huābàn Quántóu technique. Impressed by her Chi and combinations of rapid thrusts and punches, he watches in admiration as she creates a whirlwind of leaves around her. Tempted by the prospect of a new challenge, Yu-Huang considers challenging her to a sparring session. Yu-Huang smiles brightly at Lian Qian, and instead leaves her to her peace and training. Yu-Huang leaves the Kang-Fu garden and decides to return for his gift another day, and hopefully Lian Qian will be able to meet his challenge without the aid of many words. Yu-Huang wanders across vast green fields in a deep state of thought and ponders upon the personal encounters during his journey, for he'd never had so many in such a short space of time. Yu-Huang eventually stops to wonder where his feet have brought him to, and finds himself at the far reaches of the outer territories, and has walked much further than intended. But he instantly recognises the “Qiūjì Tiě” (Autumn Iron) village surrounding the Hamlet, a village built upon dipping hills and sturdy wooden platforms creating a bridge across a river of rapids.
Even to Yu-Huang, the river is still a marvel to behold. Half of the river consists of a torrent of muddy iron, and the other half flows with fresh water so clear you can count the scales on a rainbow trout. The river is wide and partially divided by a riverbed that rises into a triangular dip keeping the fresh water pure and free of metallic contaminants. Everywhere Yu-Huang looked, every sound he heard, there is something dedicated to the purpose of something positive. Constructive, clear indications of progress in this busy little village. Strolling down the winding narrow cobbled paths of the breweries, homesteads, butchers, fishmongers and furniture huts, Yu-Huang knows exactly where he is. He'd watched this place from afar many times during his meditation and is impressed at the townsfolk’s use of resources. His head turns as he listens to the catchy iron song of hammers creating a rapid succession of steel beats. Yu-Huang finds himself drawn to the backdrop of violent watery hissing drowning out the metallic beating of forging hammers. Yu-Huang suddenly finds himself in his element, for even though it had been centuries since he'd crafted a sword, he still admires the level of craftsmanship required in forging metal. The Blacksmith quarter of the village teems with steam as he admires the various weapons and armoury in the making. The Emperor watches with slight envy as he watches them work, and as red hot iron and steel is smelted and moulded and beaten before being immersed into barrels and channels of water, he instantly feels a rush of adrenaline. The Blacksmiths rarely stopped for a break, but when they did, it was purely to fill their stomachs and quench their thirst in their sturdy shacks of rock and metal. Yu-Huang listens to a serious altercation not too far away and sees a bulky tall Blacksmith holding a dishevelled robed man by the scruff of his collar.
“You crazy fool, look at my hand, look at it!” bellows the Blacksmith, holding up a swollen, burnt and cut hand.
“Ahhhhh, what happened?” says the scruffy travelling trader in amazement.
“It exploded! I want my twenty cowrie shells back!” seethes the Blacksmith.
“So sorry Wèizào, no refunds. I shall make adjustments during nightfall and return it good as new at sunset, with my new invention free of charge,” replies the much smaller man in an upbeat tone.
“I do not want any more of your crazy inventions!” shouts the Blacksmith, shoving the remains of twitching mechanical chicken into the inventor's chest. “Your creations are dangerous and stupid. Refund my shells or bow goodbye to your teeth,” warns the Blacksmith.
“But my new invention is a goooooood invention. Cat made of steel, good for catching mice,” says the inventor, smiling nervously at the four knuckles pointed at his mouth.
Yu-Huang observes the Blacksmith's rock fashioned hut and the entrance is barely big enough for the sweaty, muscular, bald headed man to fit through. His arms are almost the width of dragon claws and his chest is almost comparable to the wingspan of an eagle thinks Yu-Huang exaggerating. The Emperor strolls to the Blacksmith’s display of packed sword racks and can find no fault in the assortment of perfectly crafted armour and weaponry. Yu-Huang begins paying closer attention to the argument occurring at the front of his stall.
“How am I supposed to work with this hand!” continues the Blacksmith.
“Cat of iron and steel, goooooood for scratching back,” says the inventor, offering a useless consolation.
“I have no need for a mechanical cat, I needed a Rooster to wake me up in the morning!” shouts the Blacksmith.
“Sorry my friend, one Rooster not enough for you. You would need every Rooster in the realm crowing all at once to wake you from your slumber,” says the crazy inventor.
“You claimed this contraption would wake me from my slumber, NOT BLOW UP IN MY HAND!” shouts the Blacksmith.
The Blacksmith
suddenly catches sight of a sparkling key around the salesman's neck.
“Give me that piece of silver around your neck: I will accept it in return for my troubles,” says Wèizào, reasonably.
“No! do not touch that, you greasy, bald-headed fool,” bellows the salesman grappling with the hot-headed giant.
“You con me and now you insult me!” screams Wèizào.
“You take heed! I served hard time in Liumang prison,” warns the inventor.
“You have served hard time in the Liumang prison? You lie, you would not last sundown till sunrise,” sneers Wèizào. “Believe me, I should know,” adds the Blacksmith.
“I serve one full season Blacksmith, where do you think I have been all this time! Now I have better, stronger inventory in my stall. Care to take a look?” smiles the inventor.
The Blacksmith suddenly snaps and thrusts his burnt broken fist toward the man's face, but his knuckles stop short of his front teeth as a potential paying customer calls for his attention. The Blacksmith releases the crazy inventor and warns him the issue is far from closed. The Blacksmith soaks a rag in a barrel of water and wraps it around his broken hand. Threatened by thieves and raiders alike, he casually throws his giant forging hammer to rest over his shoulder and strolls up to the stranger.
“I have never seen your face around these parts,” says the Blacksmith.
“I am just passing through. It has been some time since I forged steel, but I could not help but overhear your plight. I am at your service, free of charge.”
The black-moustached blacksmith, confused at the insanity of the customer’s offer, arches backwards with his hands on his waist and bellows a great laugh, exposing his toothless gums. Yu-Huang momentarily smirks at his reaction and the Blacksmith's laughter subsides as he looks upon his staid face.
“Free of charge?” asks the Blacksmith.
“Free of charge,” repeats Yu-Huang.
“Wei Li, but my satisfied customers know me as Wèizào (Forge),” says the Blacksmith. “Well do you have a name?” chuckles Wei Li expectantly, “or should I just hail you as Donkey?” adds the Blacksmith.
“Donkey is fine,” replies Yu-Huang.
Wei Li muses upon the generous offer, waiting for a catch. Wei Li looks at his hand then beckons Yu-Huang into his hut with a smirk, knowing just what kind of gruelling donkey work lay in store for this slow minded fool. Wei Li refers to the Emperor as donkey for the duration of the next twelve hours, but Yu-Huang doesn't mind one bit. The two men alternate their banging rhythms of hammer upon steel and Wei Li becomes exhausted as he struggles to match Donkey's pace. Yu-Huang smiles as he works, for Wei Li hadn't even realised that his broken hand had healed completely. Yu-Huang's face hardens as he dips a glowing band of steel into a barrel of water, and as billows of steam engulf his face and naked chest he lays the final piece of shaped ore on a mantle. The blacksmith throws his hammer down with a satisfied and shattered grunt and looks breathlessly at the result of their labour. To Wei Li's astonishment and glee, they had met his quota for the next ten sunsets. Racks upon racks of broadswords, daggers, spears, armour, mace and shield line the shack in a gleaming articulate display. Wei Li realises he has clearly underestimated the stranger, and that Donkey sincerely wanted to help. Wei Li smiles a million smiles in one proud toothless grin and gratefully pulls Donkey into his hot and sweating, solid hairy chest. Overcome with joy, he lifts the Emperor up and down as if he would a visiting niece or nephew lumbered with their silly Uncle. After the giant bear hug, Wei Li finally sets him back onto his feet and escorts Donkey to the selection of brand new items, insisting he choose one as a parting token of gratitude. Donkey attempts to refuse, graciously expressing that his time working with steel once more has been more valuable than the items he was offering. Wei Li refuses to take no for an answer, and Donkey begins to realise this back and forth exchange of gratitude could have easily lasted for the remainder of the day, and dusk was slowly creeping up on them. So Yu-Huang approaches a weapon at random.
“Not that one,” informs Wei Li.
Yu-Huang smiles at the response a common man would have considered to be pure audacity, then moves to another at random, a morning star.
“Or that one,” says Wei Li.
With chagrin, Yu-Huang invites Wei Li in choosing his gift.
“Show me your hands,” says Wei Li, grabbing Yu-Huang's wrists.
Wei Li analyses the shape of his hands and the extension to his wrists, then begins scavenging through a corner of discarded weapons, some of them lost and found. Burrowing through the banquet of weaponry, the thrilled confirmation in his deep voice informs Yu-Huang he has found something fit for his feminine stature, much to Yu-Huang's bemusement. Wei Li holds up a green and silver scabbard in triumph, a scabbard containing a sword with a lime marbled hilt. Wei Li insists that Donkey should try his "new toy" as he believes it fitted best to his posture, and just like the stranger, he knows not of its origin. Yu-Huang slowly removes the blade with a beautiful smooth ssssshhhhhyyyyinggg! And amazingly, it appears with the shine of a thousand of the brightest charted stars forged into one single blade.
“You appear familiar to me stranger, have we met once before? Perhaps I fired you a long time ago, or reclaimed stolen property by threat of razor’s edge,” muses Wei Li, scratching his domed shiny head.
“You say you know not of the blade's origins?” says Yu-Huang, dismissing Wei Li's question.
“No, I found it waiting for me resting against the door to my shack,” replies Wei Li. “As remarkable as it is, ‘tis a weapon too small for my hands,” adds Wei Li.
“Tis the most unique, most beautiful blade I have ever laid eyes upon. Neither Dao, nor Katana. I do not recognise its craftsmanship, ‘tis truly one of a kind Wei Li, my gratitude,” says Yu-Huang, besotted with the shard of steel and smooth rounded marble hilt.
“You have earned it my friend,” states Wei Li, in a friendly manner.
Yu-Huang would have liked nothing more than the feel of sheathed blade strapped to his waist once again, but in his great wisdom he could not. Not after the devastation he had caused the earth during his early battles against his primordial enemies, Gong Gong the water God, and Zhu Rong, the fire God. Even though he had defeated them with his hand in sword, he was barely able to contain his rage. Through rising, winding tornadoes of fire, Yu-Huang cindered Zhu Rong to a scattered cloud of ember with a trillion strikes of scorching blade, and upon his celestial death, the land was black and burning. Through waves of salty sky high crushing water, Yu-Huang sliced a path to victory, then drowned Gong Gong in her own blood upon a desert of dry seabed.
“I cannot take this,” sighs Yu-Huang. “Will you hold it for me, until the day comes that I return to claim it?” asks Yu-huang, disappointedly.
Wei Li agrees, looking forward to another visit from the best Forge hand he has ever worked with. With arms folded and resting on his hairy puffed out belly, he gives Donkey a smile and nod of approval. With that, Yu-Huang bows farewell and begins another long walk. Unbeknownst to Wei Li, the crazy inventor appears beside him holding a wind up cat and a chicken made of cogs, wheels and springs. The eccentric man observes Wei Li's bandage hanging off his hand, and then rips it off, alerting Wei Li to his presence.
“You lied! Your hand suffered no injury!” says the inventor angrily.
Wei Li looks down at his hand, and to his amazement he finds it completely healed. Pondering all possibilities as to how his hand is miraculously void of any wounds or scarring, he finally realises. Realises that the stranger is in fact Emperor Yu-Huang, and that he had been addressing him as Donkey since yesterday. Wei Li drops to his knees and begins bowing uncontrollably as the Emperor turns and waves. Yu-Huang looks strangely at the inventor as he quickly slips away. Yu-Huang then disappears from sight as continues his journey to the outskirts of the city.
A week later Yu-Huang reaches ‘Shāngrén (Trader) town’ where the Huanghua wall begins to merge with mountains. He arrives
at nightfall and checks into a small lodge. Yu-Huang feels beat as he enters his small and simple lantern lit room. Yu-Huang crashes onto the low straw bed, and with the corner of the roof missing, he stares into a skylight of stars. Yu-Huang sleeps well, he dreams of things that mean a bright future for all of China. But through the night, his dreams turn on him, and for the first time since he was a boy, he has a nightmare. In his unnerving dream he finds himself deep in thought whilst looking out to his great hall from the seat of his throne. Suddenly he senses a vibration under his feet, his arm rest and the seat of his throne. He glances at the entourage of Ministers congregated in quiet chanting prayer, and to the maids casually going about their business. Realising he alone senses the tremor, he crouches to the floor and rests his hand atop it. Yu-Huang closes his eyes and senses the origins of the tremor and suddenly removes his hand as he senses its coming strength.
“Oh no,” exclaims Yu-Huang in an urgent whisper. “Thousands will die,” he adds.