Jiang Li

  My childhood memories are muddled by traumatized perspective and the passage of time, so please forgive the errors I might make. I will tell this tale as quickly as I can before my memories are stolen from me. I hope that by writing it someone will learn something from it, I cannot guarantee that I did by living it.

  The start of my story—the relevant part anyway--begins after my parents were taken away. To tell a linear story is difficult for someone who has lived outside of earthly timelines, but I will try.

  Liko and I were forgotten in the great hall of the Imperial palace. I embraced my little brother while he cried in confusion, unable to comprehend that we were alone, save for each other.

  Someone motioned to us, drawing the Jade Emperor’s gaze. I covered Liko’s eyes and stared back defiantly, staring my fate in the eyes, just as Zhilan had done.

  “What of them?” His voice shook the walls and silenced those around us.

  The Empress Mother placed a calming hand on his arm. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “They called her mother.” She whispered.

  The emperor scowled; his cheeks still flushed with emotion. “They are no kin. Just carrion that fed upon our daughter. Cast them back to earth and let them fend for themselves.”

  The muttering of the other gods echoed in the marble hall, even they knew it was wrong to sentence children to their deaths.

  My defiant, and naive, ten-year-old self continued to stare at the emperor as he stared back. I did not care about my rudeness, nor did I know that people had died for much less. He slammed his fist on the table, knocking cups to the floor. I flinched but returned to glaring at him, and held Liko a bit tighter. The emperor looked like any other man, a little bigger, and a little meaner, and dressed in clothes finer than any I’d ever seen, but still like any other man.

  A woman stepped between us, blocking my view. Her long white robes billowed around us, as she faced the emperor and gave a formal salute.

  “I will tend to them.” Her voice was honey, thick and sweet.

  There was a long silence, as the Queen Mother leaned to the emperor, speaking in low tones in his ear.

  The emperor cleared his throat and waved his hand dismissively. “As you wish. Let it be known that these children are under the care of Guan Yin.” His chair scraped the floor as he stood.

  “Let my daughter’s name never reach my ears again,” he said before storming out. Queen Mother lingered behind, looking at Guan Yin with teary eyes before nodding and exiting quietly.

  The other immortals moved towards the palace doors, casting sad glances our way. The woman in white turned and knelt before us. Liko’s crying ceased as he stared at her. Guan Yin’s beauty is something only children can really appreciate. It is the beauty that every child sees in their mother before they realize she is not divine. But this woman was divine, and she radiated goodness.

  Wiping the tears from Liko’s cheeks, she lifted him into her arms. Taking me by the hand she led us from the hall, through elaborate, winding gardens. Brightly glowing sprites waved as they flew through the flowers and lingered on the skin of the ponds. It seemed a long walk until we reached an ivory palace and ascended the marble stairs. She settled us in a small room, speaking kind words and soothing our frightened hearts.

  “Sleep, Liko,” she said and brought a warm cup of almond tea to his lips. His eyes grew heavy, and he drifted off, hugging his pillow in his small arms.

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  “Drink, Jiang Li.” She handed me another cup.

  I swirled the draught inside and frowned. “Are you poisoning us?”

  She smiled. “Zhilan must have told you stories of heaven.”

  “Only a few.”

  “I would never harm either you or your brother. It is a simple drink to calm your aching hearts.”

  The warm scent was enticing. “Could this help my parents too?”

  Her smile wavered. “No. They are beyond my healing now.”

  “Will you be able to heal them someday?” I asked, watching her as I drank.

  “I don’t know. If they are lucky, perhaps someone will help them break their cursed cycle.” Her voice was soft, but I thought I understood the meaning of her words.

  “Could I help them?”

  She took the empty cup from my hands and brushed the hair from my face. I curled beside Liko, his lips puffing with each breath, as she pulled the blanket over my shoulders.

  “Perhaps,” she said cautiously. “But it would take a great deal of devotion from you.”

  I closed my eyes as her cool fingers drifted across my brow. Behind my eyelids my parent’s faces stared back at me.

  “You must be very brave, LiLi.” It was my father’s voice I heard.

  “I am brave,” I whispered as sleep embraced me.

  #

  When I woke the following morning, Liko was eating breakfast with the other residents, Lung Nue and Shan Tsai. Nue appeared to be a teenage girl, but she was older than I will ever be. Black dragon scales inked up her arms to her neck and hairline, leaving only her round, friendly face clear of color. She reminded me of some of the inked tribes from the south that would come through the village occasionally, but with much finer clothes.

  Nue was sent to heaven by her father, the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea, with a gift for Guan Yin but had chosen to become her disciple. The gift, a bright pearl that shone in any darkness, was kept in a place of honor in the palace entrance. Lung Nue’s gentle manner often caused people to underestimate the strength of her heritage.

  Shan Tsai was reserved and walked with a limp, he was friendly but not overly so, preferring to keep to his routine and dissociate from too many personal attachments. Tsai and Nue had been living quietly here for a millennium.

  They gave us a tour of the palace, where every room was varying shades of white with few furnishings. The bright curtains billowed from a low breeze and, when Liko needed to empty his bladder, they showed us a room where water came from long metal tubes straight into the bath and held a seat with a bowl under it.

  Guan Yin met us in the gardens, dismissing our new friends to their duties. She sat along the stone wall of the first of a series of ponds filled with colorful lotuses and water lilies. The blue and green sprites zipped from one pond to the next on dragonfly-like wings, pausing to examine us curiously. She motioned me to join her while Liko explored the surrounding areas and laughed at the sprites. Although she assured me that we were safe, I watched my brother nervously.

  Her hands were rough and calloused as she held mine tenderly. They reminded me of father’s hands, but so unusual on such a beautiful person. I took comfort in that small feature.

  “Jiang Li,” she said, “we must make some decisions this morning.”

  I nodded. “How to save father and Zhilan.”

  She smiled gently. “We can’t do anything about that yet. We must decide what is to happen with you and your brother.” She patted my hand at the confusion on my face. “Liko is too young to stay here, and he deserves a chance to have a normal life.”

  I watched the boy run by, chasing a blue sprite as it zipped through the air. My vision blurred as I nodded.

  “Where will we go?”

  “You have an uncle and aunt who will raise him as their own. They will give him a good life. A normal life. They have prayed a long time for a child.”

  I wiped my eyes, fighting to keep the tremor from my voice. “What about me? Does no one want me?’

  She cupped my face in her hands, “I want you.”

  I fought my tears as a weight pressed upon my chest.

  She tilted her head. “Do you still wish to save your parents?”

  “Yes.” I sniffed as Liko ran by again, giggling as three sprites tugged at his ears and hair.

  “It could take a very long time and a great deal of work.” She met my gaze and said stoically, “It could kill you, or worse. And you can never tell anyone outside of this house about what you are doing.”

  Liko ran up and wrapped his arms around me.

  “I can do that,” I said. In retrospect, I couldn't fathomed the depth this commitment would take. I hugged Liko, patting down his hair and whispering, “Will he remember?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  Liko was gone by the afternoon. Guan Yin explained that because time moved so rapidly on earth compared to the heavens, he had to go before his youth became suspicious. She said we had already been gone three quarters of a year. I hugged him one last time, told him to grow strong and healthy and do his best to make our parents proud. Liko cried and refused to leave until I promised him that I would see him again, knowing that was a lie.

  Thus began my service to Guan Yin.