When Emperor Cen and his family fell, the gods and demons besieged the land. Heaven came in righteous fury; demons came with glee for the chaos. The common people paid the price of the war. The following years were plagued with drought and pestilence. No crops would grow, and those few that managed were eaten by demon spawned bugs. Animals grew lean, poultry laid no eggs, and cows milk frothed with sourness.

There was nought in all Cenwu that offered refuge. Demons crawled the canyons and rivers while gods infiltrated the palace. The gods, in their infinite wisdom, called forth the waters of heaven to the mortal plane.

Floating above the Imperial Palace, for all man and demon to see, Chenling, goddess of life, wife of Zanxi, god of all, danced the Miresoul Song. The skies parted as clouds rushed to her call, moved by her heartfelt summoning. Tears fell from the clouds, as they wept for the goddess’s sorrow. They cried and cried. Until even the moongod, Liumengg, rose from his slumber and saw the spectacle.

His cold fury blazed across the nightsky, showering the people with light so brilliant it riveled the day god’s sun rays. Liumeng was not unmoved by the people’s suffering, but he knew well that interference led to catastrophe. Watching the people leave their homes and dance and laugh, he shook his head with bitterness. Regret once more brought memories to his mind that tugged at his heart. Yet, those memories, of a beautiful maiden in red, with full cheeks and fuller lips, and eyes that sparkled with mischief, brought an eternity’s worth of resentment.

“The arrogance,” Liumeng hissed, shaking his sleeve as he watched his siblings’ handiwork unfold. “You detached fools. It won’t be you who reaps what you’ve sown.”

Chenling danced on, a fine sight of pinks and oranges, and the rain fell, and the waters rose. The parched ground eagerly slurped up the lifegiving water, quivering with relief at having such abundance after none at all. And, an influx it was. The ground was so dry that water quickly pooled atop the compact surfaces, amassing at a rapid pace. The mountains and hills lacked greenery to contain the rampaging flows, and soon water ran freely unchecked.

Liumeng’s eyes filled with tears as he saw the inevitable end. Bitterly he cursed his siblings, but, on his lonely prison moon, he could do naught but watch the calamity unfold.

The first landslide erupted in the morning. It was only a crack! and then a dull roar, as the landscape swept away in a flurry of motion. The Cenqi mountain landslide wiped out eight farming villages. Unprepared, unsuspecting, hundreds of commoners were crushed and buried in the cascading earth and water. Chenling, exhausted and fearful fled the skies, taking refuge in the Imperial Palace. It was too late, for her damage was already done. The rain continued, for it had been called forth from the heavens, and travelled far to reach the call.

Flooding befell all of Cenwu, killing the remaining crops, destroying the rice steppes and fields, and turned the grasslands to mud. Massive pools of water divided the lands, making lakes and ponds, rivers and streams. Even the southern waste lands, recently claimed by the Nanji tribe, normally a plane of fine sands and blazing heat, was overrun by streams of water, bringing an oasis to the perilous lands.

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 Liumeng watched as the same commoners who’d praised and cheered the gods, fell to their knees in despair, tongues black with heartsick fury, cursing those same gods.

His tears fell unchecked, but there were none to see his sorrow. Rising from his silver throne, he pulled back his power, pushing the moon further from the earth. Bitterness burned like ash in his throat, clogging his breathing until he could tell not whether he choked on sorrow or rage. But, still he pulled away, hating every second, yet knowing it was all he could do for the people he held dear.  With the moon further away, the nights grew longer and darker, the air chillier. Yet, the waters receded, pulling the tide away from the people. His tears fell unchecked, regretting that his kindness would be seen as cruelty.  His name was cursed, his temples were ransacked, and his tears turned the oceans into salt.

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In a small cave at the corner of the world a god cracked open his eye. On his knee perched a raven, its black eye glinting sternly at the god.

“What’s going on?” he grumbled, wriggling his body against the time-worn smooth stone.

“A calamity has occurred. You’ve slept too long.” It accused.

The god waved his hand lazily. “Bah. There’s always some calamity occurring. Not worthy of disturbing my nap, QiQi.”

QiQi’s beak descended, pecking hard at the god’s forehead.

“Ruan Wenxi!” QiQi scolded the god. He pecked at the god’s bedraggled hair, pulling forth more strands from his unkempt knot. It resembled a birds nest more than a style and QiQi bobbed his head in approval.

Batting his hands at the raven until it flapped away, Wenxi stood, protecting his head.

“Crazy, feathered monster!” he cursed. “I’m awake! Stop that.”

Content that Wenxi had gotten to his feet, QiQi flew to a tall bit of rock, perching there to get a better look at Wenxi.

“You’ve looked better,” QiQi said bluntly.

Indeed, Ruan Wenxi did look quite rough. His robes were tattered, his hair long and scraggly. A shaggy beard covered his face and his face was dirty with dust. The god looked more homeless than holy, a beggar rather than the benevolent.

“Give me a cord of rope. I’ve been meditating for a few centuries,” Wenxi said in protest.

QiQi’s feathers ruffled, and his head shook but he gave no more commentary on the god’s appearance. Wenxi dropped his robes and stepped out from the cave. Outside, a heavenly pool bubbled and spat, warmed by a natural hot spring below the ground. Wenxi stepped in, sighing with relief as the heaven blessed waters began to work. Dipping below the surface he grabbed a handful of the black sand and began to scrub his body. When he resurfaced, his hair was long and gleaming, his beard gone, and his skin was once more as opalescent white as the inside of a pearl giving abalone.

“So, what calamity has my siblings started this time?” he asked, throwing his arms along the edge of the pool. He tipped his head back and eyed QiQi with sharp eyes. “Also, shed that skin and join me. I feel half as mad as my siblings often accuse me of, talking to you like that.”

QiQi chuckled wryly but obeyed. His feathers receded as he shifted from raven to man. He eyed the water nervously, though.

“This water judges not the skin,” Wenxi told him calmly.

He beckoned to the bubbling azure blue waters, inviting QiQi wordlessly. His eyes flicked away, scanning the valleys below the purple-orange peaks of Baojinxi mountain. Evidence of his companions warning grew evident the longer he looked. His lips tightened in a frown.

QiQi hissed as the water scalded his skin.

“How can you handle this?” he moaned, skin quickly reddening.

In response, Wenxi reached out and shoved QiQi’s head under the surface.

“Scrub well, little bird,” he teased.

But, he felt no mirth, for his eyes scanned far and wide and all that he saw brought him feelings of unease. Much had gone awry.