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“Lingyuan?”
The beast in question flutters one eye open. She’d fallen asleep at her post—how unlike me—but the air was so cool on her fur, the sound of water droplets falling from the stalagmites so calming. So she’d pillowed her head on her front paws and closed her eyes, her defenses down in an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability.
“Fujin,” Lingyuan replies, her voice rumbling out from a deep point in her chest. She looks around, attempting to catch sight of a small golden carp with shimmering fins, swimming in the wind. But Fujin must still be too weak. She turns her body back towards the pool of crisp water she’d been guarding.
“Fujin,” the beast repeats, her body moving slowly and close to the ground, until her reflection greets her on the surface of the pool. She focuses her vision, looking past her reflection into the depths; from deep in the pool, she spots a flash of gold. It swims in a circle, as if to greet her. If the beast were capable of such a thing, she would be smiling gently. Nevertheless, her eyes lose their tension and gain a warmth reserved for one creature alone.
“Old friend, I wanted to thank you for staying with me for so long. I know you must have many more responsibilities to tend to, and I would hate to keep you from them for the sake of my own helplessness,” Fujin’s voice radiates from the pool, flecks of gold fluttering up from the depths in accordance with the rise and fall of her tone. Lingyuan’s jaw tenses with displeasure as the meaning of Fujin’s words settle in, like a cold downpour flattening her fur to her skin.
“You would have me leave, then,” Lingyuan responds, curt.
“No! Lingyuan, that’s not how I meant it,” Fujin’s voice carries an edge of distress. “Old friend, know that I cherish your company. It’s just…”
“What is it? Answer my question.” Lingyuan’s whiskers start to twitch unconsciously. She forces them to stop; she must stay in control. How I despise these burdensome emotions, the beast thinks as she waits for a response.
And she waits. She waits countless rotations of the Votive Rainjade behind the pool. She waits, perfectly still. After all, she was able to wait all those sundowns and raining seasons and generations of noisy humans simply to hear Fujin’s voice once again.
Finally, halfway through another endless rotation of the Rainjade, the stillness at the surface is disrupted by a flash of gold. The head of a carp, shimmering and slippery, pops up from the depths of the pool. Fujin’s jade-disc eyes meet Lingyuan’s.
“Forgive me. I wished for you to see me as I spoke, but it took me longer than I expected to gather my strength.” The golden carp’s voice is melodic as it always is, but it carries an edge of self-deprecation. Lingyuan huffs.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I asked you a question,” the beast responds, voice as steady as the stone of her mountains. The golden carp simply sighs, and flutters out of the pool to float in front of the beast’s face.
“You would disregard all else to stay here, guarding me, would you not?”
A question for a question. Lingyuan will not berate her for it, this time.
“I would do anything to secure your safety and wellbeing. I would do anything you desired of me.”
The golden carp’s jade-disc eyes stray, looking instead at the small cliff behind Lingyuan. She looks uneasy, and so she takes her time before opening her small mouth once more.
“I do not desire for you to neglect your duties to stay here, guarding me, Lingyuan. The land needs you, humans need you to fulfill your duties.”
“I care not what the humans need. And my land is not so delicate as to fall into ruin without my constant watch; the creatures all perform their duties, and the heavens provide what they need. You know how much I care for nature. I would not do anything so careless as to endanger it,” Lingyuan responds. She is sure that if Fujin could roll her eyes in her current form, she would. As she is now, though, Fujin just snaps her eyes back to Lingyuan’s own.
“Do you not think the miasma you caused to propagate was harmful to your land? To the creatures of your domain?” Fujin’s voice hardens, her eyes flashing. Lingyuan rises to rest on her hind legs, towering over the golden carp before her.
“All I did was for you, to prepare the land for your return. I was merely attempting to bring everything back to its original state–”
“Saying you did everything for me does not change the fact that you hurt the land and its people! And you failed, Lingyuan. In your desire to relive the past, you forsook the future. Those days will never come again, for better or for worse. We must change with time, lest we ourselves become obsolete. You must move on, Lingyuan–“
“Then banish me.”
The golden carp stills, frozen in shock at Lingyuan’s words. “What?” Fujin’s voice is soft and uncharacteristically hesitant.
“You wish for me to move on. Then, banish me from you. There is no other way.” Lingyuan’s throat is tight with those cursed emotions, all the emotions which led her astray in the first place.
“What do you mean there is no other way?”
Lingyuan sighs, lowering to rest her body on her elbows, paws crossed in front of her body. She continues staring at the golden carp before her, unflinching and unashamed. What should she know of shame, anyway? Shame does not exist in nature. Shame is taught. As a wild beast, one belonging to nature, Lingyuan has rejected all attempts at having shame instilled in her. Therefore, she speaks bluntly.
“After all these millennia, have you still not understood, Fujin? I am a slow-witted creature. I could think of no other way of bringing you back to me, so I destroyed parts of my land in an attempt to resurrect the era where the three of us were together and content, when you could freely roam the rivers and streams, when you would tell stories of the lessons you’d taught the humans. When I could hear your voice and see your shining form in all its glory.
“My emotions made me unwise, and the ache of my loneliness made even more of a fool out of me. Do you understand now, Fujin? I would tear the stars down from their places in heaven’s court if it meant that you’d be safe and strong again, and I could be in your presence once more. And if you told me that you wished to never see me again, I would go against my nature and part from you. But you must tell me. Left to my own devices, I would simply continue in my clumsy attempts to find my way back to you.”
Fujin’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly, evidently processing the confession which Lingyuan truly did not think she would have to give. The beast sincerely thought her actions spoke for themselves.
Why else would she have waited so long? Why else would she have gone to such desperate measures? Why else would she have shared so many stories of her memories of Fujin with that small human who stumbled into her territory, who she saved for reasons which still escape her?
For whom would she do all of that, if not Fujin?
The part of Lingyuan who is wholly dedicated to Fujin, the part that has haunted her with its yearning all this time, overtakes her. She speaks again on impulse, instead of waiting for Fujin’s response.
“Tell me, Fujin. Do you wish for me to leave?”
Here is Lingyuan’s ancient heart, ripped out from her beastly form and placed delicately before the great golden carp. It’s the best offering Lingyuan can think to give. She does not think about the possibility of rejection. She cannot.
The Votive Rainjade rotates silently behind Fujin, its green light enveloping her form. Lingyuan does not count how many rotations of the Rainjade it takes before her small carp mouth opens to speak once more.
“I do not desire your banishment, old friend. Though I have spent the past millennia more as scattered energy than solid form, I did miss you too. That said,” Fujin flutters closer to Lingyuan, just shy of touching her mouth to the bridge of the beast’s snout.
“That said, I do not wish for you to stay here, watching over me indefinitely. I certainly appreciate your protection, but you need not disturb any of the stars in the sky to keep me safe. Anyway, I think I would like a friend much more than a guard right now. Not to mention, with the Traveler aiding me in collecting the spirit carp scattered throughout the land, it should not take me as much time to recover my energy. So you needn’t worry for me, Lingyuan. We can instead take our time reacquainting ourselves with one another– what do you think of that?”
Gold flecks fly off of Fujin’s form, landing like butterfly kisses on Lingyuan’s snout. The sensation makes her nose wrinkle, which makes Fujin laugh that twinkling laugh of hers.
“I missed that sound,” Lingyuan admits, her voice terribly gentle, even to her own ears. Fujin boops Lingyuan’s nose with her small mouth, delicately nudging the beast along to give her answer.
“I think I understand. You would rather I visit you, like in the olden days, to spend time with you, rather than watching over you day and night. Is this correct?”
“Yes, I’d love for you to come visit me! It can be as frequent or infrequent as you’d like.”
“Please give me a frequency you are comfortable with, Fujin. You know that if it were up to me I would come to see you at each sunrise and depart at each sundown.”
Fujin brushes a silky fin over one of Lingyuan’s whiskers, the action dripping with fondness. “My dear friend, I see you’ve become more open with your words with age. Millennia ago, you would’ve never said something so bold so freely.”
Lingyuan’s eyebrow ridge tenses slightly, both at the deflection and the words. “Fujin, are you… teasing me?”
The golden carp merely giggles and swims in a playful circle in the air before Lingyuan. More gold flecks land on her face, covering her with warmth.
“So you’ve become more mischievous with age, hm?”
“Perhaps certain human behaviors have rubbed off on me. Maybe I’ve spent too much time around them, and I’ve started to become more human-like, myself,” Fujin suggests, her voice tinkling brightly like a human-made bell. Lingyuan huffs.
“I hope you haven’t become more human than beast, then. It wouldn’t do my reputation any favors if I began loving humanity, too.”
“Oh, I think you’ve already started to grow fond of them, my silly beast. Or have you already forgotten about Little Mao? You allow him to call you Bluey, after all.”
“Do not slander my name so. Perhaps I was only fond of that small human because his insatiable curiosity and incessant demand for stories reminded me of someone I once knew.”
“Oh? And now who is slandering whose name?” Fujin’s voice is double-edged with playfulness and a challenge. Lingyuan’s old heart beats doubly for her.
“Why do you ask me? As you said, I am but a silly beast. You should be the one to answer that question, seeing as you are so well-acquainted with human behaviors and customs.”
Fujin flicks her forehead with a fin. “You are a hard-headed creature, and too clever for your own good!”
“I am whatever you say I am, so long as I am yours.”
“You…!” Fujin dives back into her pool, flustered, as Lingyuan’s low laughter floats around the cavern. Once her laughter has quieted down, she rests her chin on her front paws and searches the depths of the pool for Fujin’s flashing form.
“When would you have me come again, Fujin?” Lingyuan’s breath sends ripples over the surface of the pool. Fujin’s voice, formless, replies.
“You’ll return in two sunrises. I’ll find a way to serve some tea for us. After that, I’ll have you come at least once every seven sunrises, and you will know that I am willing to have you because I will leave my realm open to your energy.”
“And if you will not have me?”
“Then you will wait patiently, without causing a ruckus like you did last time. You will behave yourself.”
Lingyuan lifts her upper body onto her elbows. “It shall be as you wish,” she promises.
“And! Before you leave, promise me you will not be unnecessarily callous or cruel with any humans. For my sake.”
Lingyuan rolls her eyes, huffing. Gold flashes in the pool before Fujin’s carp head breaches the water once again. Her eyes are firm.
“Promise.”
Lingyuan grumbles, the displeasure sounding from low in her chest. But she eventually sighs, organizing the words in her mind before responding.
“I have a duty to protect my territory and the creatures within, and therefore I will still not be welcoming to humans. However, I can promise that, so long as they do not intend to bring harm or chaos unto my territory or its creatures, I will not cause any harm to befall them. Is this satisfactory?”
Fujin hums, her jade-disc eyes clawing past Lingyuan’s physical form to stare into her soul. When she finds whatever she is looking for, she gives the closest movement to a nod that she can manage in her carp form.
“Yes, that is satisfactory. Thank you, my friend.”
Lingyuan leans down to bump her snout gently against the space between Fujin’s eyes. Then, without fanfare or another word, Lingyuan vanishes from Carp’s Rest back onto her territory.
She stretches her limbs, which had been somewhat constrained in the limited space around Fujin’s resting pool of choice. The sun feels warm and lovely on her fur, and the soil feels supple and well-nourished.
In two sunrises, Lingyuan will be able to see Fujin once again, in all her slippery, smooth, shining glory. The knowledge fills her chest with a warm and gentle joy, one which she had not allowed herself to feel in a very long time.
What gift should she bring Fujin? After so many seasons apart, Lingyuan scarcely knows what Fujin’s new tastes may be. Perhaps she will call upon the Traveler, and question them to find out.
But she needn’t rush. Fujin said she wishes for them to reacquaint themselves with one another. They will be able to learn what parts of themselves have changed over the many seasons they were apart. They will be able to exchange stories and jests once again. It will not be exactly the same as it was before, but it need not be.
For the first time in an exceedingly long time, perhaps for the first time in her entire existence, Lingyuan looks forward to the future. It will be good. It will be good.