2
Progeny
The cave-dwellers were also made by the King and the Bride. However, they were not chosen to be trail-markers of their story. That burden had fallen on Zhì Rén, Yīn-er and their descendants. It was an act of mercy to the cave-dwellers because it spared them from the schemes of Jiàn Shēng for a while.
Jūn had taught the cave-dwellers many things and had become a leader among them, both feared and revered. He taught all that he knew to Zhì, his son after whom he had named the first settlement in the untamed lands. Zhì had many children, but it was his great-great-grandson who became most noteworthy. This is because the boy was just like his elder, Jūn whose favorite he was. The spoilt boy’s name was Guó Wēi and he was known to be very impulsive and violent.
Whatever Guó Wēi wanted, Guó Wēi got. He only had to complain to Jūn. Eventually, his sense of entitlement grew, and he began to grab what he sought. If someone resisted his attempts, he would lose his temper and beat them up. People learnt to stay out of his path if they wanted peace and quiet.
Guó Wēi had the distinction of being the first man to take two wives for himself for he was a man of unbridled passions. The first wife was the homely and gifted Xiù. The secondary wife was Dài yù known for her great beauty. Neither dared to cross him lest he beat them in fury. They tried to live in peace out of fear.
One day Guó Wēi was walking around in the market area when he spotted a woman whose face shone with innocence and a gentle beauty. He grabbed her hand and tried to drag her back to his home. She screamed for help, drawing the attention of a burly man who was looking at some farming tools in another stall.
The man rushed at Guó Wēi and struck him. In the ensuing fiasco, Guó Wēi was wounded when the man dashed him to the ground. At this point, Guó Wēi who was much smaller than the man but seething with a gigantic rage, lifted a large pot that was in a stall and crashed it on the man’s head killing him instantly. He stumbled backwards only to be struck by a mere boy barely into his youth. The boy jumped on him and beat him. Guó Wēi easily overpowered the boy and cast him down. He took another large stone pot that was nearby and crushed the boy’s head with it.
The woman could not stop yelling. Desperate tears ran down her cheeks as she begged those standing around for some form of help. No one dared to extend any help to her for they feared Guó Wēi and his family line of power. On the street lay the bodies of her husband and son, their blood flowing freely into the uneven path.
Guó Wēi stumbled backwards and quickly made his way home. When he got there, he called his wives. He spoke, ‘Look here Xiù and Dài yù. I have killed a man for wounding me and a boy for striking me. If the King warned all to not harm my elder Jūn lest he be avenged seven times, then should any dare harm me, I will be avenged seventy-seven times!’
He said this because he knew elder Jūn’s story and why he carried a mark on his forehead. However, he claimed such protection from the King without the King himself promising any such thing. Knowing this, he made an open threat so that others assumed the King had promised him such protection and did not dare to take revenge.
Xiù and Dài yù both gave birth to sons who carried the wisdom that elder Jūn had. Xiù’s first-born son Shuǐ was accustomed to living near the river. He pioneered the making of tents and kept livestock just like Jiāng. Huān was his younger brother. This was a cheerful boy who pioneered and mastered the use of the lyre and the flute.
Dài yù gave birth to a son named Shān Jūn. He was brilliant in forging metals and often went into the mountains to find materials for the things he wanted to make. He was a well-tempered man and found favor in the eyes of elder Jūn. In due time, he became the chieftain of the tribe and the next spear-bearer.
He had a beautiful sister called Eu-meh. She was one of the most graceful women alive in her times. Her walk, demeanor, musical voice, long hair and clothes together made her look like a celestial fairy. Men and women turned to stare at her whenever she went past them. It was her surpassing beauty and grace that first drew the attention of Jiàn Shēng and his rebellious followers.
Now, Jiàn Shēng was not aware that the primordial seed was not among the descendants of Jūn. He mistakenly thought that it was Jūn’s line that carried the purest form of the shattered remnants of the Bride.
‘They are extremely intelligent. It is her mark for she was Wisdom,’ he thought to himself. ‘There is a beauty born among them. Though she is but a shadow of my woman, she is still a lovely shadow. This must be another sign that they carry her remnants for me to gather!’
Jiàn Shēng did not know how to gather the remnants, restore and make them whole again or how to become one with the Bride through consummation as they were vastly different beings.
‘I will need time to figure this out. Also, the laws of heaven forbid Tiānshǐ from having relationships with these human Jiāngshī. I think I will wait and observe things first,’ he decided.
Over the next generation, more girls were born among Jūn’s descendants. Many of them grew into beautiful women like Eu-meh. Their fashion, mannerisms and speech changed drastically so that they were no longer anything like the cave-dwellers whose ancestry they shared. Other families dwelling in the city of Zhì also began to imitate the culture and trends of their royalty, the family of Jūn. Within seven generations, anyone who went past these people would not be able to guess that they were the same cave-dwellers who lived in shabby and diseased spaces previously.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Jiàn Shēng loved the northern, snow-capped mountains because they reminded him of her and their time in the northern realms. Whenever he moved around the mortal realm, he always chose the northern regions as his centers of power and built homes for himself in the heights. He liked these places also because not many humans ventured into such harsh terrains and heights.
One day while Jiàn Shēng was sitting in his abode brooding with dark memories of the Bride and her death, his trusted general, Bái Láng came before him with a report.
‘Master, my men have gathered information that some of our generals and other Tiānshǐ have ventured down the mountains and are making their way to Zhì and its surroundings. They have used their own living stones to cast illusion spells so that they can walk with the appearance of mortals,’ Bái Láng said.
‘What is their purpose?’ Jiàn Shēng asked nonchalantly as he drank wine and petted Wěi Hóng who was sleeping at his feet.
‘They desire to have relationships with the female Jiāngshī. They are lusting after them and want to experience this forbidden love. They want a taste of what the King and Bride had,’ Bái Láng reported with a little trepidation as his master hated hearing any mention of the King.
Jiàn Shēng suddenly sat upright almost sending Wěi Hóng rolling down the steps and startling Bái Láng. ‘Here is my chance!’ he thought to himself.
‘Have them tailed and observe what happens. Give them any help they need to be accepted among the Jiāngshī. Do not hold back. Let them gain favor and adoration. However, forbid the others from joining them. Anyone who goes among the Jiāngshī for a similar purpose will face punishments in the dungeon,’ Jiàn Shēng commanded.
‘Master, would this not be against the laws of heaven? Pardon me, but I do not want you to face retribution,’ Bái Láng said.
‘I know what I am doing. This is just a little experiment to serve my purposes. Anyway, if we are questioned, we can inform the Council that we disciplined those who sought to do such things in our dungeons. The ones who indulged themselves left earlier and should be dealt with by the Council directly. We can wash our hands off!’ Jiàn Shēng said with disdain before talking about his own Tiānshǐ, ‘Let them not blame me. I have sent them help even though they never told me about their intentions to go down the mountains.’
Bái Láng bowed and left his presence. He thought nothing of how willing his master was to make scapegoats of his own followers. He mounted Yāo mó who was waiting for him at the entrance of the large, palatial hall. Yāo mó was Bái Láng’s soul beast. He whistled sharply and Yāo mó howled as they rushed through the mountains carrying the message to the other rebels.
Meanwhile, far away from the city of Zhì, Zhì Rén and Yīn-er had a third son, Jiàn Hóng. He brought them great comfort after their loss of Jiāng, who their older son, Jūn killed. It was this Jūn who met the cave-dwellers in the untamed lands and established a city among them.
Jiàn Hóng was a lot like Jiāng but there was something vastly different about him. He had an innate wisdom from infancy. This enabled him to learn things very quickly. He was also bold, strong and able to innovate and create new things far better than his uncle Jūn.
This was the gift of the Bride’s primordial seed that sheltered in him for its survival. It gave its bearers great wisdom, lengthened their lives, healed them quickly of their injuries, enabled them in many areas of proficiency and gifts, gave them strength and war-like qualities, and a strange affinity for water.
While Jiàn Hóng was still a child, he ventured into the abandoned room that belonged to Jiāng. As a curious child, he meddled around and played with the things he found. He crawled under a bed and found the olive staff that his younger uncle had carved. He pulled it out and took it with him. From then onwards, he became the owner of the olive staff, the true chieftain of the mortals.
When he was old enough, Zhì Rén and Yīn-er called him and spoke with him. ‘Son, there are things you must know so that you will stay alive,’ they told him. With heavy hearts, they recounted their time in the garden, all the things the King and the Bride taught them, how Jiàn Shēng betrayed them through deception, being cast out of the garden, the joy of bearing their two sons, and the horrific loss of the younger who was killed by the older in a fit of rage.
As this history spread down Jiàn Hóng’s line, it took on the form of story-telling. Jiàn Hóng and his descendants also made it a habit to avoid the untamed lands. In later times, they kept away from the cities that were similar to Zhì though they crossed paths and had trade dealings with them. They associated these places with Jūn and his descendants, taking them to be dangerous places of vice and immorality. They chose to make their homes in the wild places that reminded them of a free and beautiful garden in which their ancestors once dwelt with the immortal ones.
Perhaps this is why they did not draw the attention of Jiàn Shēng and stayed hidden for a while. He thought they were backward as they held on to the life and practices of Zhì Rén and Yīn-er, pastoral people roaming the wild and living apart from others who had gone on to build great cities.
Jiàn Hóng became the chieftain of his clan. In those days, the people lived for very long periods of time for the mortal realm was not yet polluted and their food and drinks were clean. So, it was natural for an elder to hand over the role of the chieftain to a younger man even though the elder remained strong and alive. The young chieftains could approach the elders for council and guidance due to this advantage.
Jiàn Hóng led his flock to the calmer streams of a distant river. It was here that he found and rescued a beautiful woman of Zhì. She had slipped while doing her chores by the riverside and thought she would surely die. She managed to hold on to a large log that had fallen in and was heading downstream. It was from her that Zhì Rén and Yīn-er heard all that Jūn had done and how he had established the city, and taught the cave-dwellers great things.
Since they knew where the city was located, they avoided it from that time onwards. The woman settled among them and did not seek to return to the city as she was not well treated among her family. For the first time she felt a sense of love and worth in this new family who accommodated her.
Jiāng named her Mĕi and married her. She gave birth to a son whom she named Yìchén for she dreamt and longed after the heavenly garden that her new family spoke so often about.
There was something strange that happened around the time Jiāng was born. The King only appeared to his parents when he was not around. Slowly, those appearances began to dwindle as if he was weaning them off his presence so that they could embrace their mortality more fully. By the time Yìchén was born, the King no longer appeared to Zhì Rén and Yīn-er. They heard him but his voice was like a little whisper within them that they had to concentrate to listen, above the din of the daily noise and clutter of their lives.
It was in those days of the King’s disappearance from the mortal world that Zhì Rén and Yīn-er began to actively seek and call out to him.
The King had to withdraw and allow mortal history to unfold upon its appointed path. He was still among them, it was just that he was hidden. He was not the only one who went into hiding. The primordial seed followed his example. It knew, that the greatest wisdom sometimes is in staying hidden till one’s time has come.