There was no body washed ashore, no smoke rising in the distance, for the Qiao to confirm whether Bixian was alive or dead.
Instead, the spark of hope dimmed a bit with each passing day, so even if they still spoke of her as if she were among the living, after a year most of Clear Water Mountain considered her dead.
“There’s still somewhere left to look,” Tangyou muttered as she paced along the fields, already barren after the autumn harvest and the first winter’s chill.
“We’ve spoken to everyone we could,” Ao Luming replied. “Searched every peak and valley around.”
“Only the mountains around us. Only the people we know.”
“What else is there to do? Fly further?”
“We have only searched this world—”
“No,” Ao Luming reached out a hand and grasped Tangyou’s arm, his grip not enough to hurt but enough to hold her still.
“We can never return to Heaven, Tangyou. Not after what we’ve done.”
“Just a garden bird and a pillar dragon. Who would remember us?”
Ao Luming clenched his jaw. “But if they did…”
“Bixian always was the most aware of the repercussions awaiting us,” said Tangyou sadly. “I had always found her fatalistic. I guess the mistake was mine.”
Luming relaxed his hand on Bixian’s arm and drew her close to his chest. She rested her head against him for a moment, the lingering smell of incense a warm reprieve from the sharp chill in the air.
“There is one more path we have not taken,” Ao Luming said slowly, the plan formulating as he spoke it. “Did Bixian ever tell you the name of her master?”
It wasn’t too difficult to remember the name, nor was it to call on the local Tudigong, whom they had already sworn to secrecy, and find out where the Qilin Sage lived. “Though he hasn’t been around much lately,” the earth spirit warned. “Some affair up in Heaven keeping him occupied.”
Tangyou did her best to quell the worries in her chest as she and Luming flew along the river to the Qilin Sage’s temple. There could be many things happening in Heaven that required his attention; after all, from the little she knew of him, he seemed to be quite the go-getter.
Still, she could not help from worrying. It had been so simple to dream of a place like Clear Water Mountain with Prince Wenrong, Lady Liuying, and Luming. A dream that so quickly became a village stone, that became a gate, that became a home and soon many more. For the past ten years Tangyou was so busy learning how to wield a spade that she almost forgot her origins. A phoenix granted permission, granted honor, to serve the Jade Emperor. Flown the coop with a dragon prince as inconsequential as she was, to build a village with a snake demon and a mortal prince.
For so long, the struggle had been one of daily toil. Could the foundation support the house? Could the field grow the grain? All her focus was on the growing people of Clear Water Mountain—the growing number of people who called themselves Qiao, a clan name she had chosen herself. Now an outside threat loomed in the periphery, the doom it promised worse than even the coldest, hungriest winter night.
As she lighted from the air and resumed her human form, she looked over to watch Luming turn his long serpentine form into that of a man. He was paused halfway, his snout and horns still draconic in their form. The way she loved him best: between worlds, between bodies, the most comfortable he was with himself.
Ao Luming reached over and gently tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “We should probably disguise ourselves,” he said.
Tangyou nodded. As midday neared, two Buddhist monks approached the Qilin Sage’s temple, an alms bowl in one hand and a walking stick in another. They greeted the disciple at the gate and inquired after his master.
“I’m afraid he is currently away,” the young disciple apologized, introducing himself as Qian Hu.
With amitabhas on their lips the two monks assuaged the young disciple, asking instead for a warm meal and a walk along the nearby lake. They were shown hospitality and led to a pagoda near the lake, where an array of vegetarian dishes were laid out before them.
The two monks gave their thanks to Qian Hu, who became much more relaxed when he realized that the guests had ample news and gossip of the six realms. Soon dessert of sliced fruit was brought out, wine offered and refused, the three of them laughing jovially like long-lost friends.
“A pity we will not be able to meet your master,” one of the monks sighed after another cup of dark bitter tea. “He must be a great man, if he has such a fine disciple.”
“I’m afraid he has some affairs to attend to elsewhere,” Qian Hu said. “Although, if the enlightened sirs would be willing to wait a bit longer, I am sure my master will be back by nightfall.”
“A quick traveler, is he?”
“He is an immortal, after all. They have their ways.”
“I hear tell that the sage of this temple rides atop a crane, does he not?”
Qian Hu’s face darkened for a moment, his eyes glancing upwards, before he regained his composure and smiled the same small, tactful smile that gave away nothing except what was spoken. Under the table, Tangyou grabbed Luming’s hand and squeezed.
A crack in the disciple’s veneer. One step closer to an answer.
“Lately my master has been traveling by different means.”
“Has something befallen the crane?” Luming tried to keep his voice steady as he asked.
Qian Hu pursed his lips and shrugged. “The mind of a beast is different than the mind of a man.”
Tangyou swallowed and dug her nails into her leg to steady herself. It was subtle at first, but there were enough tells to clue her to Qian Hu’s true nature. It was easier given she had seen the Knife of Sublimation’s work firsthand. No matter how well the young man talked and moved, he could not fully erase the scar the knife left on his body.
Qian Hu was a man carved from the body of some beast, a tiger perhaps. And though he smiled a human smile and gestured with human hands, Tangyou could sense in him a constant ache with every move he made. It broke her heart to think little Liuruo must live with the same pain for the rest of her life.
In that moment it was impossible not to hate the Qilin Sage, even as she played the role of the grateful monk. It was easy to hate Bixian as well: how easily she offered the knife to Lady Liuying, as if it was just another skin to be shed, instead of carving a person’s own being into two.
Knowing Qian Hu’s true nature made it easy to weasel more information out of him. He still sidestepped every question, playing by rules of social tact to reveal the least amount of information, but still the story came together piece by piece: the Qilin Sage was currently in Heaven, attending the trial of his former mount and first disciple. Bixian was on trial for consorting with demons, and hiding the location of a cabal where humans and demons intermixed.
The sun was beginning to set when the two monks took their leave, despite promises of a humble dinner and the sage’s return. They left quickly, for if they stayed any longer Tangyou would have burnt the temple to the ground, and torn the Qilin Sage’s throat out with her talons if he returned.
When they were a ways away from the Qilin Sage’s temple, Tangyou could no longer walk and collapsed against Luming. He held her close as she wept, loud and raw, each sob closer and closer to a scream.
Tangyou wept for Bixian, even as she could not forgive her. She wept, her heart full to bursting with love for the Qiao, for Clear Water Mountain, for the unlikely bonds forged at the side of a river. Even as she hated the Qilin Sage, hated Bixian, hated Lady Liuying and her ambitions, almost as much as she hated her own selfishness.
Did she forget about Heaven’s wrath? Did she not think of the retribution in store for the likes of her and Ao Luming, for the likes of all of the Qiao as they stood in very defiance to Heaven’s laws against different worlds intermingling? Did she forget about the Weaver and her bridge of magpies, Sansheng Mu beneath the mountain, and the monkey crushed under the Buddha’s hand?
Ao Luming did not know what to say, so he simply held his lover as she cried, her wails sounding ever closer to dying. He held her close as her tears stained his chest, a chill in the autumn night.
Finally, when there were no more tears and her voice was hoarse, Tangyou looked up at the dragon prince whom she had stolen away from Heaven. “What have we done?” she whispered, her knuckles white as she held onto Luming as if he could be taken away at any second. He knew better than to answer. “They won’t find us,” he replied instead. “We’ll make sure of it.”
It was dark when a dragon and phoenix departed for Clear Water Mountain. The two did not follow the same path, however, but parted as the mountain range neared.
Ao Luming, scion of the Eastern Dragon King, dove headfirst into the river that gave Clear Water Mountain its name. He swam for a bit until his body was the water itself, and then he turned, and the river crashed against the banks as he did so, rough currents swept into whirlpools and eddies as the water washed upon soil and grass, a river forcibly rerouted by the dragon that swam inside it.
Meanwhile, Tangyou lighted on the tallest peak and plucked at the downfeathers on her chest until it was naked and raw. Each feather was blown in a different direction and became a cloud, until the entire mountain range was covered in a dense fog. If only she had been born a roc; she would simply have to raise her wings and darken the sky. A roc would be able to fly free amongst the storm clouds, not tethered to a goddess’s garden.
Would she have met Luming then? Tangyou shook her head and banished the treacherous thought. Their fates were connected, this she was sure. If not in Heaven, then somewhere on earth or hell, they would have found each other.
Loving Luming gave her the ability to love herself in ways she did not think possible. She met herself as a stranger; the phoenix who led the Qiao was not the same as the phoenix who met Ao Luming in Heaven’s garden. She didn’t want to be the person she was before Luming. She could not fathom who Tangyou would be if she had not found the village in Clear Water Mountain, insisting mortals and demons alike to call her Auntie, giving herself and others a surname if they didn’t have one.
She was so different from the phoenix that rested in Heaven’s gardens. Qiao Tangyou was not born as the kingdom of Wei fell; she was born slowly, crafted layer by layer just as lacquer transformed wood. She was born on Clear Water Mountain, when she made a second clan bound not by blood but by circumstance. By choice.
Somewhere people were free to love whomsoever they chose. Somewhere children may grow up free. A vision turned to a place on a map, turned to a spot seen in the air. Turned to the first gates and houses built, half with magic and half with brute strength and grit.
She had put so much of herself into Clear Water Mountain, that if she died her spirit would surely continue to haunt the land itself.
And now it was to be sealed away; a shameful secret hidden from Heaven’s wrath. The most beautiful thing she’s ever created was inaccessible to all except those already part of it. No more greeting haggard travelers at the village gate with open arms and a smile she didn’t know she had, a smile that only came with the words, “You belong here.”
Tangyou brought a sleeve up to her eyes and dabbed away her tears. The wind carried her tears down the mountain like drops of rain, falling into the new river her dragon prince carved.
Even with her eyes closed, she could sense Shuangtou approaching.
“The wind is different today,” the deer demon said.
“We are compromised,” Tangyou replied. “I hope you don’t mind Luming and I changing the scenery to better hide our village.”
‘Who is coming?”
“Heaven.”
“And you think you can hide from them forever?”
Tangyou did not answer. In her heart of hearts she knew that the fog was only a stopgap measure. Sooner or later, Heaven will employ a tracker whose powers exceeded hers and Ao Luming’s, and Heaven’s armies would descend upon Clear Water Mountain.
She was brought back to reality from this wonderful dream. What did she expect Heaven to do regarding her truancy? Turn a blind eye? Heaven did not forgive; even the kindnesses it did spare were mere pittances. A bridge of magpies every year, as if a single day was enough time to spend with one’s family.
There was a chance she could appeal to Guanyin, and hope the bodhisattva’s kindness exceeded that of the Jade Emperor’s. But if their plea falls on deaf ears, Guanyin would have no recourse sending them to Heaven to be judged.
There was truly no way out. Only precious time, ticking away every second.
Shuangtou kicked at the dirt, waiting for Tangyou to speak. When the phoenix did not respond, lost in contemplation, the deer demon spoke instead.
“There is a kingdom of women to the west. It is said they have a spring the citizens drink from that will let them bear children without the need of another set of hands.”
Tangyou breathed a sigh of relief at the change of topic. “And you wish to seek out this spring?”
“Your village has grown since you first came, and I can’t help but wonder what it is all about.”
“You are always welcome to join us.”
“Not the village. The little ones scurrying between each household, their scents a mix of human and demon. I wonder what it is like to have a child.” Shuangtou looked at Tangyou with their large doe eyes. “Have you ever wanted children for yourself?”
“Not born by me, no,” Tangyou laughed. “Without that spring of yours, children are not feasible with my and Luming’s biologies.”
“Knowing the spring exists, would you try?”
Tangyou considered the proposition. Of course she had thought about the possibility, after watching Prince Wenrong and Lady Liuying raise their daughter. It seemed that most of the Qiao sought the village’s auspices not for themselves, but for the children they had borne, these children who belonged to neither mortal nor demon worlds. The Qiao took these worldless children in and gave them a home; Tangyou had carved out a space in her heart for each and every one of them. Already she was filled with love; there was no reason to spread it thinner, to give it preferentially to something hers by blood, when all the children of the Qiao were hers by bonds.
She said as much to Shuangtou, and the deer demon pursed their lips. Tangyou hoped her words would not dissuade them if a child was what they truly wanted.
“I just wonder,” they said after a pause. “With Clear Water Mountain hidden now, if I go to find the spring…”
Tangyou reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Shuangtou’s ear. “Even on the periphery, you are one of the Qiao. The fog will part for you. The mountain will guide your way back.”As the deer demon turned and climbed down the mountain on nimble hooves, Tangyou called down a blessing of safe travels.
Winter passed and the river thawed, the water followed a different path through the mountain range. While warm spring winds cleared away the chill of winter, Clear Water Mountain remained covered in fog, hidden from all except those of the Qiao.