Ao Luming sighed as the day’s processions slowly ground to a halt and the procession of sages and minor deities left the Jade Emperor’s alabaster halls, taking to the skies on clouds or on the backs of cranes back to their own domains. Soon the Jade Emperor himself stood up and, without even a nod to Luming or the other seven dragons in the hall, retired to his palace.
At last, Luming could relax and uncoil himself from the pillar where he kept watch for the entire day, which felt like it had taken twenty years. Perhaps it did—time moved slowly in Heaven compared to Earth, and as such his sense of time was not only affected by his longevity but also by celestial metaphysics.
Around him, the other dragons—his aunts and uncles, some more distant than others—also began to relax, though few of them left their pillars. He recognized the dragon closest to him, iridescent dark purple with a mane of white hair and milky white eyes, as his great-aunt Ao Xue from the Southern Sea. She caught his eye and beckoned him over with a single claw.
“Well, if it isn’t Little Sheng’s brat!” she exclaimed, and Luming bowed his head in deference. She was the older sister of the Dragon King of the Southern Sea, and he was merely the second son of one of the Eastern Dragon King’s numerous children.
“It’s good to see you, auntie,” he said quietly, his voice croaking from disuse. “It is an honor to serve alongside you.”
Ao Xue scoffed. “Don’t be so formal, boy. The gods are far gone from these halls and it’s only family here! Isn’t that right, Pengpeng?” She called over to an emerald dragon resting a few pillars away, who Luming recognized as his uncle Ao Peng, who lifted his head from where it rested against his arm.
“Family that never shut up!” the other dragon rebuked, and lowered his head back down. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep? All the talk of droughts and edicts have given me a headache.”
Ao Xue shook her head. “Pengpeng still hasn’t learned how to sleep with his eyes open. Always cranky and tired, that old slug.”
“Who’re you calling old, you ancient hag?”
Swift as a whip, Ao Xue flew from her pillar and pinned Ao Peng’s head against the ground beneath one of her great talons. “Mind your elders,” she hissed. Ao Peng halfheartedly flailed a couple of times before settling down, and lamely pounded the floor as a sign of defeat.
Ao Luming nervously watched the altercation from behind his pillar, compressing his body to be as small and unnoticeable as possible. He was used to witnessing acts of dominance between his family members within the Eastern Court, but it was much different to see the sister of the king of the Southern Court discipline a prince from the North. The delicate threads of political and familial balance that he saw woven into every station granted and interaction met were shearing at the sight of his great-aunt roughhousing with his uncle as if they were siblings squabbling over who got the last piece of meat at dinner.
Once Ao Peng settled down and it was clear there wasn’t going to be some great political catastrophe, Luming cautiously crept near his aunt and asked, “Do you sleep during the meetings, Auntie?”
Ao Xue gave him a withering look and he retracted more within himself. He had said the wrong thing. At the sight of his embarrassment, her gaze softened and she huffed, “Don’t be ridiculous, dear nephew, these are important affairs of Heaven and Earth that go on within these halls. It would be impudent, not to mention unwise, to not pay attention.”
“Which I am,” Luming quickly interjected.
“I don’t doubt you,” she replied, patting his head with one of her great paws. “Now, why don’t you take a walk through the gardens? This may be the only time you have for yourself in a while.”
“If you wish, Auntie,” Luming said, though the twitching of his ears betrayed his excitement. Ever since he was chosen to guard one of the pillars of Heaven, he had wanted to explore the majesty that rivaled even the Eastern Dragon King’s court. “I’ll be back before sunrise.”
As he slithered towards the entranced, he heard his great-aunt call after him, “Don’t explore in your true form, you’ll startle the birds and goddesses!”
Ao Luming sighed and compressed his long serpentine body into a human torso, grimacing as his spine shrunk and his arms and legs twisted in their joints. Soon he was the size of an ordinary man, albeit one with stag horns and a flowing mane of seafoam green hair. A small mustache perched above his mouth instead of his long whiskers. A robe of deep blue, the same color as his scales, covered him from neck to ankle, beneath which his tail peaked out. He was still having some trouble bringing his tail in when he took on a humanoid form.
He brought his hands together and bowed to Ao Xue and the other dragons of the celestial court. “Esteemed uncles and aunts, I will be taking my leave.”
Once he stepped from the Jade Emperor’s alabaster halls, Heaven unfolded before him like a mesmerizing dream. The ground was covered in clouds that still held the color of sunset—orange, purple and pink, rolling about lazily with softness and grace. Bridges embroidered with red and gold connected pavilions, surrounded on all sides with peonies and willow trees. Out in the enumerable distance great palaces loomed: the homes of gods and sages, shelters of beautiful and wondrous things. Further out, he could see the tops of the trees in the Queen Mother’s orchard, guarded as they were by an impenetrable wall. Everything was picturesque and peaceful; a slight breeze was all that disturbed the scenery.
Ao Luming took in the grandeur of Heaven and let it shake his soul. The serenity was so foreign to him, who was familiar with the pomp and chaos of the dragon courts. Within those underwater kingdoms there was no such thing as stillness. Even the ocean currents made themselves known within the court, and adaptation was the only means of survival. He wondered what it would be like if he bared his teeth up here; would anyone recognize it as a show of power and pride, or would he be struck down on sight by some minor god’s sword?
He was suddenly overcome with an urge to fly through the gardens in his true form, to feel the slipstream and see if the sky compared with what the ocean had to offer. Brash and childish, he chided himself. An accidental swish of his tail could destroy the peonies, and his great claws would certainly crush a willow tree should he try to perch atop one.
Perhaps that was why the dragons clung to the pillars during the day, as still and silent as stone. They would be too wild inside Heaven’s court, their ways too chaotic and feral for the genteel gods.
Dismayed, he walked over to a peony bush and examined one of its blooms. As he held the flower, he noticed the sharpness of his nails—his claws—and the flower fell into his hand.
Something rustled from a nearby willow tree, and a figure emerged from its shadow. They appeared to be a woman, clad in a light orange robe with intricate black embroidery and a long flowing train. Her hair was coiled into three braids and adorned with long golden feathers. A small brass pot hung from a chain on her wrist.
She looked at Ao Luming with scorn mixed with curiosity. “Excuse me, but I’d like to have that flower before you crush it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he stammered, placing the peony in the goddess’s hand as gently as possible. As he neared her hand he realized that her nails, like his, were sharpened into talons. A fashion choice?
The goddess caught him staring and gave a slight cough. “Haven’t you met a celestial phoenix before?”
Startled, Ao Luming quickly retracted his hand and sheepishly buried it within the folds of his robe. “Forgive me,” he spluttered, trying to remember the proper form of address for a member of the Jade Emperor’s menagerie. “This is indeed my first day here and this may be the first conversation I have had here in heaven with someone not of my own kind.” His stiff body rocked back and forth, unsure of what pose to take. Bow or genuflect, and must he show his hands again?
The phoenix stared at him, sharp black eyes darting from his face to his hands and back again. Then, with one fluid gesture she brought a hand to cover her mouth as she laughed, clear, crystalline and a bit shrill. Her jubilation echoed through the garden, creating small eddies of wind that brushed through the clouds and flowers.
“Forgive me for my rudeness, prince,” she said, though her voice was filled with much mirth and little sincerity. “It has been a long, long time since I have talked with someone as refreshingly young as you are.”
“Young?” Ao Luming stammered. “I am almost one hundred and fifty years old! I was born alongside the fall of Wu.”
“Well,” the phoenix laughed. “I was born alongside the fall of the Wei: one hundred and fifty years exactly, so that makes me your elder.”
The dragon prince did not have the time to remember history from before he was born. It intrigued him, however, that they both measured their births by the dissolution of kingdoms. What did a phoenix in Heaven make of mortal affairs, and did it differ from what he witnessed gazing up at the human realm from the Eastern Sea? He gathered himself into a light bow and huffed, “My esteemed elder, Lady Phoenix, I ask your forgiveness for my impudence.”
“Can I accept such a weak apology?” she mused, fiddling fiddled with a strand of her long black hair before tucking it back in place with a hairpiece. “I may need to report this behavior to the Queen Mother.”
Seized with fear, Ao Luming pounced forward and grabbed the phoenix’s arm. “Please don’t, I beg of you.” Realizing his infraction, he quickly released her arm and quickly retreated. “I apologize for that also, and any disturbance to this garden I may have caused in my clumsiness. I will return to my station now.”
She caught his sleeve as he turned to leave. “You certainly are a nervous thing, aren’t you?” she said, her voice kinder than it had been.
“There is not much that can be done in my position,” he sighed. “I am the younger son of the sixth daughter of the Eastern Dragon King, my position and power are in name only. Any merits I earn are hardly noticed, while any mistakes I make reflect poorly on my entire family.”
“What is your name, princeling?”
He told her. “Mine is Tangyou,” she said. “Third granddaughter of Siuran, matriarch of the Western Dawn clan. I hope to see you again, Prince.”
“As you are my elder, I believe you may call me Luming.” He made no mention of his station, didn’t want to think about it around her. Tangyou laughed, and Luming’s chest swelled with joy. He would make a fool of himself five hundred more times if it meant he could hear that laugh again.
“Then you can call me Tangyou,” she replied, then dismissed him with a wave. “Now go, the day is starting.”
Ao Luming is written 敖露明, and Tangyou is written 唐呦.