It was hard to keep track of time in the mortal realm while he was in Heaven. Back in his grandfather’s court, Ao Luming could number the days by the sun and the months by the moon. While the full force of the seasons did not reach their watery realm, he could still distinguish summer’s heat from winter’s chill.
The weather barely changed in Heaven. Clouds were cultivated as easily as mortal crops, and aside from parts where rain pooled like rice paddies, neither wind nor rain disturbed the comings and goings of the gods.
He learned tricks to keeping time. Great-aunt Ao Xue carved tallies in her pillar, keeping count by the nightly exits of the Evening Star. Ao Luming did not have the confidence to efface divine structures, so he simply kept count in his head, his whiskers resting on specific scales on his back to track the hundreds and thousands of days. Some, like his Uncle Ao Peng, gave up completely.
The young dragon prince had another way of telling the time. When the Jade Emperor and Heavenly Mother were finished attending court, and all the gods and goddesses left to attend their own affairs, Ao Luming would descend from his pillar and take on humanoid form. He would exit the hall through a side door and meet Tangyou in the courtyard, near the same stone bridge where they first met.
Each time he saw her, Luming found himself letting go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Was it the suffocating façade of watching the Jade Emperor hold court, or did Tangyou steal the remaining breath in his lungs? It was hard to say.
He could be himself around her. Past their painfully awkward first encounter, a solid friendship grew out of a shared dislike of pretense. It shocked Tangyou to learn that Luming’s stammering sycophancy grew out of his childhood, and the pressures of being an insignificant grandson of the Eastern Dragon King. Phoenixes did not live by such strict structures, she informed him. Deference was paid to the clan elders, but otherwise everyone spoke on equal terms.
“Heaven’s hierarchies must have come as a shock,” Luming noted.
“Not as much for the likes of us,” Tangyou shrugged. “Our main duties are to tend the garden, dance and look pretty. Otherwise we can largely come and go as we please.”
“Why stay in Heaven then? Aren’t there things you want to see down in the mortal realm?”
“What about you?” she countered. “Why did you want to serve in Heaven?”
“It is a great honor to be here,” Luming said, the words tumbling out of his mouth with no meaning.
Tangyou laughed, though it rang emptier than usual. “It most certainly is an honor.”
That particular conversation weighed on him for many days as he took his position at the pillar. What did his presence offer to the court? He could replace himself with a mirage and it would suffice. Leaving the hall without permission, without so much as a farewell to the important figures assembled, was tantamount to treason. As Luming kept on counting day after day, however, the prospect of leaving during an active session became more alluring.
By his count, he would have to commit the infraction if he didn’t want to miss his friend’s important event. The phoenix was definitely rubbing off on him, as he made his decision with little hesitation. Something other than nerves bubbled inside him—something dangerously akin to mirth. He had not felt this kind of joy—the joy of harmless rule-breaking—for a while, if ever. He was never a troublesome child. Why did he feel such excitement now?
Breathing deeply, Luming channeled his powers, calling on skills he had used since he learned them. The air shimmered around him, and as he pulled away from his pillar a part of him remained, like a cicada breaking free of its nymph shell. Stepping quietly, he compressed himself to his humanoid form and gently opened the side door. A gust of wind blew from the outside, and one of the immortals assembled at court—fine-featured and slender, with a flywhisk at his side and a crane resting near his feet—glanced towards him, but made no acknowledgement. Luming took the opportunity to make his exit.
Tangyou was not that their usual bridge. Of course, she wasn’t expecting him yet. He glanced up and down the celestial gardens, trying to distinguish phoenix plumage from divine flowers. As the prismatic scene changed from patterns to shapes, from shapes to objects, he was able to spot a gaggle of phoenixes lounging up in the boughs of a loquat tree.
He waved his arms towards the assembled birds, but they merely stared at him with large black eyes. Though their faces held no expression, he could feel their judgment follow him as he awkwardly took his leave.
It dawned on him that he did not know much of what Tangyou did while he was in court. She made mentions of her duties, sure, occasionally taking time to tend to parts of the garden, but he did not know where she went to rest or spend her leisure time. She was always the first at the bridge, waiting for his arrival.
“My sisters say there’s a strange man going around disturbing their rest.”
Luming turned around and smiled broadly, breathing a sigh of relief. “I was looking for you.” She was in a deep purple today, with accents of light pink in her sash and her hair.
Tangyou glanced towards the Jade Emperor’s palace. “The gods are still holding court.”
“I know.”
A mischievous grin bloomed on her face. “I always knew the obedient, filial prince had a rebellious streak inside him. What do you need, delinquent?”
Luming held out his hands, which Tangyou took in her own. Though she had never rejected him, his heart always raced a bit faster when her skin made contact with his. “Will you come with me to visit a friend down on Earth? She is about to achieve a momentous milestone in her journey.”
“Who is it?” A brief expression flickered over Tangyou’s face; it almost looked like jealousy.
“A golden carp. She is about to leap over her hundredth bridge.”
Tangyou’s smile relaxed. “You want me to come with you to visit a fish?”
“A friend,” Luming insisted. Feeling her hesitation, he began to take his hands away, but she clutched his hands tighter.
“I would love to come with you,” she smiled.
Luming breathed a sigh of relief. “Great, let’s go!”
“Now?”
“Of course,” he said. “That’s why I snuck out of court.” Noting her hesitation, he asked her what was the matter.
“It’s nothing, really.”
“Clearly not,” he pushed. “Is something bothering you? You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, I won’t hold it against you. Promise.”
“It’s just,” she stammered, her usual confidence wavering, “I don’t want you to see my phoenix form. It’s terribly plain.”
“You don’t have to,” Luming said quickly. “I can carry you down on my back.”
“Really?”
Luming let go of her hand and stepped back. With an internal unraveling of his magic, his serpentine dragon body extended from his human form, coiling around clouds of Heaven with his talons resting on the stone bridge—their stone bridge.
Tangyou took a few steps back to accommodate Luming’s larger form. “Of course your form is beautiful,” she snarked as she approached him, reaching out to touch his seafoam mane. “How are we doing this?”
Ao Luming lowered his neck to let her mount. “Hold onto my hair,” he said, bracing himself against the bridge before taking off into the air. He immediately regretted his suggestion, as Tangyou took two fistfuls in her hands and pulled them tight like reigns. His head snapped backwards and his body bucked, tail whipping against the clouds and scattering them. He halted in midair, adjusting his position to make sure Tangyou was safe.
“Maybe I should hold onto something else,” she panted.
“Perhaps my antlers,” he offered, lowering his head to allow her to slide towards his head. The new position put her face flush against his head, such that he could feel her warm breath gently stir his hair. Slower now, he began to descend through the heavens towards the mortal realm.
It had been a long time since he flew. He preferred moving through the water, liked the drag of it tugging against his scales and parting in his wake. The sky was different; the whims of wind currents less predictable without the grounding sense of pressure and depth. He made his way down towards the mortal realm slowly, mindful of keeping Tangyou comfortable on his back.
They followed the course of a raging river, past towns and rice paddies, until they turned to follow a small tributary as it coursed through a mountain range. They landed in a clearing near a large, calm lake. Signs of settlement were scattered about the grass and wildflowers, but either war, famine, or simple migration had made the land abandoned for a long time.
Luming bent his neck down to let Tangyou dismount. She nearly fell off, giggling hysterically as she laid down in the soft grass. “You dragons fly different,” she laughed, making a wavelike motion with her hand. “Back and forth like that, how do you not get sick?”
“I keep my head steady.” Taking one last deep stretch, he returned to his human form and sat down beside her.
Tangyou turned her head to look at Luming. Her hair was messy from the flight, loose strands scattered all around her face. Her face, framed by loose hair and wild grass, was ruddy and beautiful.
“So, where will we meet this fish-friend of yours?”
Luming scanned the area. He had a vague idea of the path carps took to achieve dragonhood, but the exact bridge was unknown to him. Finally, he spotted a stone bridge near the river mouth, right before it opened to the lake.
“I believe it’s there,” he pointed.
“We seem to be connected by bridges,” Tangyou mused.
“That’s what they were built for. Connecting people.”
She laughed. “Forget Heaven, you should have been a poet.”
“I am a poet because I had the privilege of witnessing Heaven’s grandeur. No,” he paused, “it wasn’t Heaven that drove me to poetry. It was you.”
For once, Tangyou did not have something witty to say. She looked away abruptly, hiding her face with her sleeve as she sat up. From her ears, Luming could tell that she was blushing.
Suddenly she stood up, her eyes focused on something on the opposite shore. Luming was about to follow her gaze when splashing from the lake drew his eyes towards the lake instead.
The golden carp breached the water surface and carved a perfect parabola in the air, droplets of water following its trail. The spray hung suspended for an instant, and then descended back into the water, called back by gravity. By the same natural law, the carp completed its arc and dove back into the water, dancing a small circle before continuing to swim along the river.
Surprised, Ao Luming ran to the water surface and called out. “That was the hundredth! You can take human form now.”
“I know,” the carp replied, not slowing down at all. “I do not want to be human, Prince. Humans did nothing to inspire me.”
Luming brought his finger to his lips, where a small scar marked where he had cut himself nearly a century ago. “But two hundred more years?”
“I know the meaning of persistence now, prince. It will be no time at all.”
The riverbank slowly became more elevated, such that the dragon prince had to shout down to the fish. “I will meet you in another hundred years,” he shouted. “And then one hundred more afterward, I will introduce you to my father’s court.”
“Don’t make too many promises, prince,” the carp replied. “Someone’s already waiting for you.” And with a flick of its tail, it disappeared into the depths.
Luming turned around to see Tangyou still standing where she was when the carp leapt over the bridge. What did she make of it? Was her soul gripped by the subtle beauty of the carp’s persistence, or did she think it was a waste of time? Doubts brewing inside him, he walked back to her side with a forced casual air.
“How did you find it?” he asked.
“Interesting,” she replied without looking at him. At last, he was able to look in the same direction, to find out what had caught her attention: two figures on the opposite bank. A man and a woman…no, a man and a snake demon, sitting together atop a quilt on the opposite shore.
“Friends of yours?” Tangyou asked once it was clear he had noticed the two strangers.
“Never seen them before,” he whispered.
“They seem to be fans of your fish-friend as well.” As she spoke, the two individuals on the opposite shore were gathering up the quilt and brushing grass off of their clothes. As they did, they caught sight of Tangyou and Luming staring.
The man offered a wave, and Luming noticed a pendant hanging off his sash. This was not just an ordinary human; this was a mortal prince.
The snake demon offered no such greeting. She ran towards them, and as she did her clothes and limbs melted into her elongating body. It was almost a mimicry of Luming’s own transformation, the way she grew into a giant green snake and lunged towards Tangyou.
The phoenix flinched and transformed on instinct. She flew out of the range of the snake’s first strike, and Luming jumped in front of her in full dragon form, pinning the snake down by the neck. She thrashed beneath her, even as he held her down at four points with all of his limbs.
“I’ve done no wrong here!” the snake hissed angrily. “Heaven has no reason to intercede.”
“You attacked my friend,” Luming retorted.
A splash sounded nearby. Luming looked up to see that the prince had leapt into the river and was fording through waist-deep water.
“Don’t hurt her,” he called, voice wavering as he struggled to stay upright against the current.
“Wenrong, you fool,” the snake shouted. “There’s a bridge ten yards away!” She tried once more to wriggle out of Luming’s grasp, but he held firm.
The mortal prince pressed on, undeterred. Then something—a false step, perhaps, or a slippery stone—caused him to lose his balance, and his head disappeared beneath the water.
The snake thrashed and wailed, her fear and desperation so genuine that Luming was about to let her go. Before he could, however, Tangyou swooped down like a kingfisher and dragged the prince out of the water and onto the riverbank.
Luming released the snake, who rushed over to the prince, coiling around him protectively. Tangyou landed beside Luming. The three beings stared at each other, none of them willing to break eye contact, until the prince sputtered and sat upright. Immediately, he turned around and held the snake’s head in his arms.
“Did they hurt you?” the two of them asked at the same time.
The snake drew back, and after a brief glance at Tangyou and Luming, still in their true forms, laughed ruefully. “What is it with you and falling into rivers?”
“Liuying, I thought I’d lose you for good.”
“Maybe don’t make me have that same worry,” said the snake. Slowly, she transformed back into her human form, until she was holding the prince in her lap. He still held her head in his hands, and pulled her in for a kiss. After they pulled away, the snake looked down at his robes and laughed. “You’re soaking wet again.”
Luming and Tangyou watched awkwardly as the couple embraced. Eventually, the snake helped the prince to his feet. Turning to the onlookers, Prince Wenrong stepped forth and drew his sword.
“I will not be separated from this woman; I will fight Heaven’s will itself if necessary.” His hand was shaking, either from fear or cold, and his form was weak. Luming doubted the prince could do any serious damage to either him or Tangyou, though he certainly did not doubt the prince’s conviction.
Tangyou transformed back into her human form and raised her hands up in mock surrender. “No need to fear from us, it was simply a misunderstanding. We are not here to execute anything, not you, and not Heaven’s will.”
“Apologies for holding you down earlier, Madam,” Luming added, bowing his head to the snake demon. “I was worried you would hurt my friend.”
The snake demon, whom the prince called Liuying, looked back and forth between Tangyou and Luming, and then grinned.
“No hard feelings,” she said, returning Luming’s bow. “It is a relief to know there are others like us.”
Luming paused and looked over at Tangyou. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, the prince and I are not the only ones who love despite Heaven’s laws.”
Her words shocked Luming. More specifically, at the use of the word “love” to describe the relationship between Tangyou and him.
Tangyou stepped forward as if the snake’s words didn’t faze her at all. “Indeed, there are more of us,” she smiled, extending her hand. “And if we may meet again and again to share our stories and talk into the night, I would be happy to keep your company.”
Liuying took her hand. “Though it may be presumptuous for a snake demon to say this to a celestial fowl, I feel an odd kinship with you. With you both,” she gestured to Luming as well, who was still in shock and had nothing to say.
“Perhaps we may meet at a different time,” Prince Wenrong suggested, tapping Liuying gently on the shoulder. “We are running late,” he whispered to her.
Liuying squeezed Tangyou’s hands once more, before grabbing Wenrong’s hand that rested on their shoulder. Together they crossed the river—by bridge this time—and found their horse on the opposite bank. Tangyou waved until the sound of hoofbeats disappeared into the distance, before turning back to look at Luming.
“We must head back soon as well,” she said. “Though it’s hard to guess how much time passed up there compared to here. Hopefully not too long.” She brushed her skirt and pinned back loose strands of her hair. “I guess I can fly back. Since you’ve already seen me like this.” With a sigh, Tangyou transformed into her phoenix form and was about to take off, but Luming grabbed onto her feet and offered her his arm to perch on.
She was not as plain as she stated; true, her feathers were varying shades of brown, with a hint of bright yellow at her chest and flecks of iridescent black on her tail. But her colors reminded Luming of the softness of autumn, and he preferred her gentle hues to the more garish plumes of her sisters.
“What are you doing, you silly dragon? Are you looking to add tardiness to your list of infractions today?”
“Tangyou, are we in love?”
She craned her serpentine neck to stare at him at the most condescending angle possible, her head so close it was hard to focus on both her eyes at once. “Couldn’t you tell?”
“It’s been established that I sometimes spend too much time inside my own mind and not enough observing the world around me.”
“Well then let me make it clear to you.” Tangyou coiled her neck around Luming and rested her head on his shoulder. “I have been in love for a while now. Not as long as the decades and centuries I’ve lived, but it feels just as important if not more. You are very easy to love, Ao Luming, despite your awkwardness. Or maybe because of it.”
He stroked her head, idly pushing back her crest and feeling it rebound slightly against his fingers. “I think I loved you from the beginning,” he whispered.
“I had a feeling you did,” Tangyou laughed, bringing her head back to look into Luming’s eyes. For the first time, he was not disconcerted by her stare. All his life he lived in fear of surveillance, thinking one wrong action would lead to terrible, unimaginable consequences. He hated being looked at, because only ire would draw notice to someone as mediocre as him. Grandchild among so many grandchildren of the Eastern Dragon King, he learned early on that he was not worth anyone’s attention, save perhaps the delegated affection of his parents.
Now as he looked back at Tangyou, he realized that all the times he caught her staring, when he would startle and hastily adjust every aspect of his clothes and his demeanor, she was looking at him through eyes of love. Suddenly, he felt free. All her teasing and playful banter, he could enjoy without doubting their intention. Some days, when he was in a sour mood and the movements in court were especially boring, he worried that Tangyou merely saw him as a source of entertainment; a font of gossip for her sisters, perhaps. But now he could let go of those fears and accept her words with no hesitation. Doubt and fear, which had drilled holes in his heart, cleared away, and Tangyou entered to occupy the empty space.
He cupped her head in his hands and pressed a kiss to her beak. “You are a beautiful bird.”
“Idiot prince,” she muttered, continuing to rest her head in his grasp.
During the flight back to Heaven, their dual forms, phoenix and dragon, were not the only things soaring. Luming’s heart swelled, his head swam; it was not because of the climbing altitude, but the giddiness of confirmed love. Perhaps it was no longer new; they had known each other for decades, since that disastrous first meeting in the garden. But the certainty of knowing he was loved, of loving the person who loved him, cleared away fears that always lurked in the background.
From the way Tangyou flew, it seemed that their confessions had uplifted her as well.
Aw, look at these happy couples! Now that the romance is out of the way we can get into the nitty gritty of...CIVIC ENGINEERING.