Consort Si studied the map before her, tracing routes between Chang’an and the mountain range her son had circled. More than a week’s travel, she sighed, and across a forbidding mountain range at that. From the vivid descriptions of her son, the region seemed lovely; green forests and clear water, so much like her childhood home. Could she still run through the woods, gathering mushrooms within the folds of her skirt, or had her body already forgotten its wild ways in the comforts of the inner court?

She glanced up at her son, standing proud and tall before her. He was so happy when he informed her of his assignment. She did not have the heart to tell him being given governorship over this patch of mountains was not a courtly favor. If anything, it was exile.

Her eyes wandered to the woman standing beside him. Consort Si had recognized her in an instant, despite it being more than ten years since that fateful night, which could have been the worst night of her life. Of course she would remember the face of the woman who saved her son’s life, even if she had not aged a day.

Wenrong had introduced her as his wife; insisted on no other title, rejecting arguments of decorum and politics his mother had presented. After the first rebuke, Consort Si relented. After all, she had promised Liuying her son’s hand ten years ago.

“Are you sure you will be happy there, my son?”

Prince Wenrong took her hands in his. “I promise you mother, I will. You already know my whims. I would rather guide the needs of a small village than worry about matters of politics and war.”

“You will make a great leader.”

“I know,” he replied. “And I won’t be alone.”

Lady Liuying stepped forward and laid a cool hand upon the aging consort’s. “Do not worry, Mother,” she said, and though her voice always had a hint of sarcasm, her words sounded genuine this time. “We have allies in high places who share our dream.”

“Your dream?” Consort Si laughed. “I thought my son only cared about taxes and planting calendars.”

“Isn’t that a dream in itself?” Liuying countered. “Creating a place where its citizens may live in peace?”

“You must introduce me, then, to those friends of yours who have such humble aspirations. Their perspective is refreshing.”

“You are more than welcome to visit any time you like, Mother,” Wenrong insisted.

“And if the journey is too far,” Liuying added, “we will write.”

Their caravan was small. Aside from the two pairs of lovers, Prince Wenrong only elected to bring along a single steward. Chen Di was only five years Wenrong’s senior and had grown up with the prince in the lonely palace halls. It only seemed right to bring him into the fold.

For his credit, Chen Di reacted to the revelation that his friend’s wife was a snake demon the same way he responded to most courtly secrets: with mild concern and carefully cultivated ambivalence. This same attitude had allowed him to survive while the rest of his family were buried in unmarked graves, unceremoniously executed for treason.

When he learned the identities of the other two founders, he had expected celestial beings to exhibit the same haughtiness as human nobles. To his surprise, Ao Luming and Tangyou spoke in vernacular, though it was vernacular from a hundred years back. The dragon had a nervous demeanor and a perpetual sheen about him, whether sweat or a sign of his oceanic origins Chen Di wasn’t sure. The phoenix greeted him warmly, the jewels and silks unable to fully disguise her plain face.

The two of them would be eaten alive in the inner court. Lady Liuying, in contrast, might be able to survive.

Chen Di had helped Wenrong plan the path from Chang’an to Clear Water Mountain. It would take them two weeks across rolling hills and steep cliffs to reach their destination, though the prince only packed enough for a hunting trip. “We’ll get provisions along the way,” Prince Wenrong had explained. Chen Di didn’t have the heart to tell him that they will at most pass three villages along their journey, with the one closest to the destination still two days’ ride on horseback away.

This was not to mention the lack of resources they carried in their caravan. Even if they could travel like Buddhist monks and beg for sustenance, no village leader in their right mind would spare the brick and lumber necessary to build a single lean-to house, let alone enough for the vast estates Prince Wenrong had drawn out, with its granaries, archives, and lakeside pagoda. And even if they met a lord with the wealth of the Jade Emperor and the generosity of Guanyin, the weight of the materials would break their horses’ backs.

When Chen Di tentatively brought up his concerns to Tangyou, she simply gave a laugh like birdsong and gestured to the canopy of the forest they were currently traversing. “Here’s enough wood to build a village!” she said. “We’ll find what we need.”

Birds often nested with only branches, Chen Di supposed.

After they departed the last village in their route, it was a hard climb over rocky cliffs. By the time they broke past the underbrush to the lakeside clearing they had scouted for a village, a place labeled Clear Water Mountain on local maps, Chen Di and Prince Wenrong were sweating and panting, their shirts tied to their waists despite the autumn chill. Even though they accompanied the mortals’ journey on foot, the magical beings were unperturbed, as if they were on a leisurely stroll. Perhaps to them it was simply that; the way Prince Wenrong ate rice and meat without having to mete out portions to last the week.

Out in the wilds, the two men were as close as equals, both resting their tired feet in the welcome shade of the tall pines. They knelt down alongside the horses to quench their thirst in the lake.

With a great leap, Ao Luming transformed into his dragon form and dove into the lake. For a moment Chen Di forgot about the houses that needed to be built and the provisions meant to last a month, as he watched the dragon with azure scales and cerulean mane crest the water, a being of such grace and power that although Chen Di grew up inland, he suddenly understood the fisherman’s reverence of the sea.

Chen Di could tell when someone was staring; it was an invaluable skill amidst the subterfuge of the capital. He turned and saw Tangyou looking not at him but at Luming, her face beaming with adoration. True to her bird’s instinct she noticed his gaze, and though her smile relaxed a bit he did not feel unwelcome.

“I see the lord dragon is in his domain,” Chen Di offered. “My grandparents used to say dragons were born of rivers.”

“They were almost right,” Tangyou said. “Rivers are born of dragons, though many go unclaimed after their creation.”

“Then may this stretch of water be blessed.”

“Oh it already is,” the phoenix said proudly. “Because this is where we will build our village.”

“Then may the gods bless our axes.”

Tangyou looked at him quizzically. “Why would we need axes? We have magic.” She held out her hand and the nearby pines began to quiver, then uproot themselves and slice themselves into neat planks. “Help me out, sister,” Tangyou called out to Liuying, who was sitting idly with a piece of embroidery she had worked on throughout the entire journey.

The snake demon looked up and tucked the needle with its gleaming golden thread into the side of her sash. With hands raised palm facing the sky, her eyes glowed amber and scales began to form at the corners of her eyes as she raised pillars of earth to meet the wooden beams.

With a flick of his tail, Ao Luming brought forth smooth river stones, some pitch black and others iridescent in the afternoon sun. They fell into rows to become shingles of a handsome lakeside house.

It stood tall for a moment before collapsing to the ground.

The travelers stared for a moment at the mess of wood and stone. Chen Di glanced at his prince, hoping for him to speak first.

“Well,” Prince Wenrong choked out after a few minutes. “I suppose all good things must be made with care. You give a child a wooden sword before entrusting them with steel.”

“I thought I had laid the tiles correctly,” Ao Luming said, emerging from the water and taking on his half-human form. “I tried to make it look like the roofs of the Eastern Dragon Palace.”

“I don’t know what we did wrong,” Lady Liuying huffed. “It looked almost exactly like the houses in Chang’an.”

“It may look the same,” Chen Di said slowly, “but there’s more to a house than simply putting the right materials on top of each other. A foundation must be dug so the walls can stand. The wooden beams need to be secured to each other. Mortar must be laid in between the bricks.”

Prince Wenrong bent down and scooped up a handful of dirt. “Just like how we are mostly earth, but you can’t take a handful of meat and give it life.”

“Mortals may lack that power,” Liuying said testily, biting her thumb and drawing a drop of blood into her mouth. “But we are not mere mortals.” She spat the blood onto the dirt in Wenrong’s hand, where after a few moments two pairs of limbs emerged from the clump. A body with arms and legs, but not head. With a confident leap it jumped from the startled prince’s hand and began to run towards the woods.

Tangyou grabbed Liuying’s bleeding hand. “Yes, we know you are powerful,” she said gently, healing the wound. “But perhaps we were too hasty in using our power. After all, aren’t we here to live harmoniously, spirits, demons, and humans alike?”

“I’ll get the shovel,” Chen Di said.

Tangyou caught his sleeve as he turned to walk towards the caravan. “I am not asking for your labor, Brother Di. More so your knowledge. You clearly know how houses are built.”

“I’ve watched masons and laborers at their work. I haven’t the faintest idea how it actually gets done.”

“Perhaps there’s something in my civic texts,” Prince Wenrong offered, moving to stand next to Chen Di. As the two of them walked towards the caravan to look for some sort of schematic, Wenrong clapped a hand firmly on Chen Di’s back.

“What Tangyou said applies to you, too. Here, you and I are equals.”

“As you wish, your majesty.”

Foundations