The Daily Lie of The Young God

Of the grand city, Yanghe, where the river glows gold,

the young god slithers among the peonies and irises:

red, pink and yellow, blue.

The summer sun glints off her serpentine tail of black and olive scales.

Doing her duty, hands clasped and gait straight,

appreciating the garden that was built by those who donated

scarlet hair pins, gold, feathers, and jades.

Yet her gaze stays on the pond, cares not for the blooms.

Did you really let him kill you? I interrupt Older One’s poem lesson, though I am the one who asked for it earlier. It is sweltering out here, and I didn’t know she would make the poem about me.

Yes, Young One, she replies.

Weren’t you scared?

At the time, yes. 

Were you mad?

No.

Not even a little?

She smiles. Maybe a little, now that you are.

How could I ever live up to her? Not even being mad getting executed like that by the barbarian? Probably had her head chopped off. I never asked how it was done, and still don’t want to know.

I slither tediously through this newly built palace garden under the summer sun, pretending to care about these flowers — peonies, or whatever they are called — that she lauded in the poem. The Huiyi ceremonial garment I’m wearing is long and layered, and makes me sweat. The gem-filled Diguan crown sits heavy atop my head. I wish this slither would end soon. I wonder how many times she had to do this when she was still alive. Looking at her now, she looks majestic and at ease.

Would you like me to continue the poem? Older One asks.

No, thank you. I don’t think I’d be able to make a poem like you or ever be like you.

Silly Young One. You and I are one.

Yes, technically. We are both gods and connected by the power of the land, and she does look like me, with the scales, the tail and all. But . . .

Not really. You are much, much older, thousands times wiser, much more proper, and majestic.

She is also much, much bigger, like really big. Her humanoid torso fills up half the height of the Long Hall, which is about as tall as four floors of normal buildings in Yanghe, and her snake hip and tail might as well be called endless. I guess the palace was built to fit her when she took the throne long, long ago.

You’re the real god of Yanghe. I tell her.

So are you.

I’m just a girl who lived by the river and somehow sidewinded into this palace and was made a god. Somehow folks just keep believing it.

Folks believe in all kinds of absurd stuff like fortune telling, the heavens, elemental colors, eating a mermaid’s flesh for immortality. I had to escape the flesh hunters once or twice when I lived by the river, and I don’t even have a fish’s tail.

Curve the river, carve the hill, and cure the sick. Older One lists the powers that I now wield. Would you not call that the power of a god?

Shamans and sorcerers can do those things too. Maybe not the whole river, and not the whole hill, but we all borrow power from the land. I would feel more like a god if I could raise the dead. But I’m not doing any of that right now, am I? I’m only parading myself around these bushes and rocks in front of the rich folk.

Showing appreciation to them is an important duty, Young One. The merchants and nobles are the ones who bring in the gold and employ the folks in the city.

I imagine myself conjuring gold and giving it out. Before I was a god, I had seen little enough of it.

We cannot solve everything with magic. We should not disrupt the balance of nature.

How does she know what I am thinking? I pout and resign myself to my apparently very important duty of appreciating rich folk. I continue my slither. At least the pond looks refreshing. I have not seen many of the fish in it before, despite making my living out of the Golden River — the red-scale Arowana, the high-fin Banded Shark, the jelly-head Oranda.

Look tasty, do they not?

I scowl at Older One. She just smiles.

“My lady, are you well?” Minister Yang asks.

“Yes, we are all right, minister.” I am sometimes so focused on mind-whispering to Older One that I forget there are other people around.

Minister Yang is the chief minister of the palace and close counsel to the god. However, he does not look much like a court official. He looks more like a warrior, big and furry, with the face that’s a mix of goat and ox, the body of a tiger and a boar, and with talons for hands. But he is as gentle as he looks scary. He has been the attendant since my predecessor, the previous god of this grand city.

“We were distracted by the lovely sky and the birds,” I say. There were no birds, of course, only the supposed spirit of the long-dead goddess that only I can see. I am unsure if I should tell anyone about her. She could be lying about who she is. She could be a malevolent spirit or an ancient demon playing tricks. Or perhaps it’s just me losing my mind from the stress of my duty. Not that anybody would believe me. To most of the court, I’m just a muddy girl who sold fish. I rather have Older One by my side, even if she is lying. At least she takes me seriously.

I did, though, ask Minister Yang whether any of my kinfolk ever became gods in the history of Yanghe. He said he had not seen any records of a serpent-like god, which made Older One seem more like a delusion. But he said there were many accounts of previous gods dreaming of a giant serpent giving guidance.

That does not really mean much. Who hasn’t dreamt of giant beasts? I dream of giant fish all the time.

“As long as you are all right, my lady. We can take a rest if you’d like. I’m sure you are not used to being in the sun.”

Because I used to live in the mud, of course. “We can keep going, minister. The weather is nice, and the garden is pleasing,”

I lied. Only the fish look tasty.

---

It was spring when I first entered the palace. I was hauling a cart with two mean-looking sturgeons, the kaluga, up the paved way to the main gate. I had heard the palace officials were looking to buy exotic fish for the garden pond, and I was happy to have their gold.

The palace was vast. The paved drive could probably fit ten of my carts side by side. I imagined this was what it felt like for a fish to live in the sea. Not that I had ever seen a sea, but I’d been told it was like a river that had no bank. I was sure the sea was much bigger, much more powerful, and much more fierce than any gods.

I slithered on and on, passing structure after structure, pillar after pillar. The carved stones and inlaid woodwork seemed unending. Everything was painted in the same color, vermilion, like the palace’s name.

This was from the long-held belief that the elements — wood, fire, earth, and water — were either amplified or subdued by one another. Wood generated fire but overcame earth, earth generated metal but overcame water, and so on. The fire color of the palace was said to overcome the flooding nature of the Golden River, as the fire melted metal (gold) and evaporated water. I couldn’t grasp how colors could possibly affect the course of nature. The wolf-folks could not even see color, so their lives must have been disastrous. And the Golden River was not really gold. It was just the sun reflected on the dark river, like a mirror.

But the palace folks do what the palace folks do. It was not my place to deal with the superstitions of the court.

I repeated the pitch for the fish in my head and tried to keep my hair kempt. I didn’t want them to think less of me than they already would, given how I looked. I had fallen asleep earlier after I mudded my body and hair — it had been a hot day. And the mud that I used to cool my body happened to be red clay, so I woke up with red hair.

I arrived at the main reception area, where servants and officials bustled right and left. I tried to get their attention, but all of them were too fast and too focused. So I slithered around, looking for someone standing still. I spotted an official in a large black robe, horns on his head, goat-like, reading a scroll.

I reached him and said, “May you be in good health, sir.”

He turned and looked at me with his slot eyes.

“Oh, my lady, we were waiting for you,” he said.

“What?”

---

I became the god of Yanghe that day, a few harvests ago now. The palace servants dragged me to the bath. They scrubbed, brushed, and dressed me. The next morning, a celebration was held, and I took up the title and the power of the god.

It seems that, on the new year after the year that my predecessor died, a meteor landed in the middle of the palace carrying a scroll of a prophetic poem:

Fire hair melts freezing snow.

Black tail softens hard earth.

Jade scales bring blooming spring.

Black River’s guardians (The Kaluga) submitting.

Yongdi enters the palace

commanding the earth, water, and sky.

Yanghe prospers for millennia.

Everyone was bewildered. No one knew what to make of the scroll for weeks. The heavens never gave its will, not so directly. The will of the heavens always came in the form of some authority reading it from a scroll or writing it on a paper, though always after the fact — “It was the mandate of heaven that brought the downfall of the fourth dynasty and gave rise to the fifth.” Or, “The heavens have willed the first dynasty to unite the six states into one.” But the scroll from the meteor was different.

It was the meteor scroll Minister Yang was reading when I slithered up with my red hair, black tail, jade scales, and a brace of kalugas.

Many kowtowed to the prophecy that arrived in the meteor, but many also thought it was some kind of conspiracy. In the end, all agreed that whether the meteor was really from the heavens or not, the land would only grant its power to the rightful god and would reject the unfit. All of my predecessors had done exceptional deeds or had extraordinary talents, all had trained to be accepted by the land. I just slithered into the position with a cart of fish.

Now I sit on the Throne with a headache. The sky is dark. The season’s rain pours, and thunder roars. The golden river has been steadily rising these autumn months, and so the court convenes in the Long Hall to mitigate the threat of flood.

“The venerated Yongdi.” Minister Wa grovels on his webbed feet and hands, in his black minister uniform, wrapping in a water bubble that I conjured to keep him from drying. “May you live a thousand years. This humble subject would like to implore you not to build the levee where the spirit of the ancestral gods’ rest.”

“Minister Wa, it is imperative that we prevent the flood,” I say. “Even if we could evacuate the folks out of the city, the damage and destruction would lead to starvation. Folks will turn to banditry and savagery. Surely our predecessors would not object to that.”

“But goddess, it is improper. We would not want to incur the wrath of the ancestral gods and the heavens.”

By then, I have realized that the gods are just another servant of a convoluted system and collective beliefs. It was frustrating all the same.

Do not eat him, Young One.

I make a face at Older One. She gestures toward my body, and I realize I have been coiling into a striking pose. I force myself to relax.

They are going to have me stop the flood instead of building the damn levee to prevent it, I say. And look how that worked out. We now argue about the tomb of the god who died stopping the flood, when a simple levee would have stopped him from dying. My predecessors are dead. They don’t care. There is no ghost and there is no heaven. This stuff is all made up to convince people to do things.

Older One smirks. Or not do them.

I scowl. I just realized that I might have offended Older One by saying that ghosts are not real. I mean If my predecessors are so angry, they should show themselves like you. I have not yet come to believe in the spirits of the dead despite always having one standing near me. I did once ask if there are any other spirits of the old gods. Older One said she does not know. She has never seen any other spirits.

You have to address their beliefs, Older One says. The world is complicated, Young One. Ritual and conduct —

Are irrational.

Are like laws keeping the peace, not only for society but also for the mind. The world is uncertain and terrorful. Everyone is trying to navigate through the world as best as they can. And that sometimes results in —

Delusional thinking.

Certain beliefs and behaviors. You have to speak to their fear.

I sigh. How can she be so kind and patient? These people are driving me crazy.

I turn my attention back to the court. “Minister Wa, we understand, and we do not want to incur the wrath of my predecessors. But let us assure you that our predecessor and all the ancestral gods love the citizens of Yanghe and would rather have us secure all the city’s safety than fret overmuch about honoring them.”

Minister Wa remains kowtowing, and the rest of the court gives me blank expressions. I may have overcome my image of muddy fishmonger over the years but having the title and the throne is not enough to go against centuries of ingrained delusion.

I rub my temples and reach out my power to all the lamps in the palace. Speak to their fear and play to their belief, I shall.

Then I squeeze. The lamps’ light flutters and blinks. Chatter echoes from all the ministers and the counsels. Even the attendants gasp.

I allow the lamps to burn bright again, now that I set my illusion. “We have counseled with the spirit of the old gods. They would be glad to have the levee built. The power connects us.” I say, which is not a lie. Older One may not have been the god who lies in the tombs, but she is still one of the old gods.

The court looks at each other.

“Let’s proceed with the levee,” I say.

A lady-fox counsel cuts through the chatter. “What about the heavens, goddess? They may see construction on the ancestral tombs as an improper action.”

I am going to eat them all. I mind-rant to Older One. If the heavens had any will, they would not have willed me to be a god.

Then thunder roars. Everyone is startled. So am I, but I do not show it.

But then the thunder gives me an idea. I turn to the court. “You are correct, counsel. We will speak to the heavens.”

“You can do that, goddess?” One of the ministers says.

“Of course.” Of course, anyone can talk to the heavens. It is not a lie — just look at the sky and yell.

“We have never heard of any of the gods being capable of such.”

“We have the mandate from the heavens. They sent a shooting star from the sky to appoint us. The land has chosen us. We are the god of Yanghe, so they will hear us.” I start to pull lighting from the black clouds, to make it looks like the heavens are behind me. “We will commence the ritual to communicate with the heavens in three days.”

Lightning rolls and the sky booms. The ministers and their attendants squeal. I dart a quick look at Older One, hoping for an assurance that my power did not damage anything.

Older One simply looks amused.

Everyone is quiet and dazed, so I break the silence. “We are grateful that the great court of Yanghe will assist with the ritual.”

“Of …of course, goddess,” Minster Wa replies. “What shall we do?”

“Prepare a feast. We would want to give the heavens a proper welcome, wouldn’t we?”

The heavens do not actually eat, so all the food will be given out to the poor afterward. I might as well feed the city while we’re at it. And myself.

Everyone bows.

“Very well, let us get ready.”

 “The great and illustrious Yongdi! May you live a thousand years!” the hall says in unison.

The court makes their way out of the Long Hall. When they are gone and I am alone, Older One says, You are getting clever, Young One.

To think that I tried so hard to impress these folks. Fools and crybabies. We have to lie to soothe their little souls.

They’re scared. We all get scared, Young One. You do too and so was I. And not everyone has the privilege and the power of the gods.

 I huff. She pats me on the head. It is strangely soothing.

You summoned the first lightning, didn’t you? I asked.

What do you mean?

You summoned the lightning to give me an idea.

You give me too much credit, Young One. The weather is the weather.

I don’t believe it. What would the god who can clap a great of thunder be scared of?

---

When I started living in the palace, I cried a lot. Nobody liked a girl who fished out of the river and lay in mud to sit on the throne. But the land had chosen and so they had to live with me, as I had to live with them.

So I spoke with politeness. I sat and slithered with poise. Even when being brushed and cleaned by servants, I cared not to lose the powder on my face and the pins in my hair. I learned to use chopsticks. I learned to read inked lines and letters, and then to write them. Many times, the ink from the brushes would smudge my dress.

The servants always kept silent and remained polite, but when I wanted tea, it was cold by the time I took the first sip. Many times, the meal was cleared before I could take my first bite. It was this that made me realize I preferred the Arowana the most out of the fish in the garden pond.

My eyes blurred with tears. I sat in my room, trying to read again the prophesied poem that started it all. How had I gotten here? Why had the heavens let me be here?

Earlier that day, I sat in the Long Hall being ignored by the court, like an idol. The ministers talked past me, thinking I knew nothing of taxes, trade, and harvests, even though Minister Yang and the tutors taught me about all sorts of subjects. Before daybreak and after nightfall, I studied everything from mathematics to poetic epics, agriculture to civic duty. I could recite the history of the empire from the time before the first dynasty until now, the fifth. But that did not matter. Even if I could discuss the entire Qon classic or multiply up to seven digits, they would still treat me as a stain on the tapestries.

The only people who came to see me were the desperate folk. They brought me their grievances — bandits in the outlying districts, sick children, bad weather, dry soil, flooding crops, or just plain poverty. And they left, still grieving. I could arrest the bandits, but as long as there were no jobs, they would be back or new ones would fill the empty spots. I could speed the recovery of the sick child, but they would get no better if they had no food. I could stop or summon the rain, but the streams would parch or flood somewhere else. Even the grandest city of the empire couldn’t escape poverty and disaster. Even the greatest magic in the world couldn’t go against the course of nature. And I barely understand either the magic or the world.

I clutched the leather scroll, looking at the squiggly characters.

The letter won’t change from just staring at it, you know? You have to pick up the brush.

I scrambled and looked around. There should have been no one in my inner chamber, but I saw a large pair of eyes staring at me. I froze. A giant body filled the room. She had grey hair bunned under a crown. The endless black and olive tail stretched endlessly out of the maroon robe into the space beyond.

She smiled.

My tears had dried by then. I was no longer alone.

---

That was my first meeting with Older One. She has taught me many things. She taught me about the court and its politics, history and what has been carried on from the past. She also taught me magic and how it is perceived. I have learned that the real power is not to pull lightning, cure the sick, or swim in the sky. It is the magic to move the mind and the heart. This real magic is long and tedious.

 I have molted and shed many times since then. I have grown longer.

So has the levee project.

 “The great and venerated Yongdi, may you live a thousand years,” says Duke Huan, a high-born noble with a long beard, long pointy ears, a long pair of feet, and an even longer lineage. “We all know how important the levee project is to you and the folks of Yanghe, but, Your Venerate, we do not have enough resources to keep this endeavor going. The farms are left untitled because all the workers are tending the levee, and the taxes for the project has been a burden to the belly.”

The court nods in agreement.

Another sob story to keep workers working on their farms, I mind-whisper to Older One. These nobles and riches.

He does have a point, Young One.

His point is they want to keep their money and collect their crops and let everyone else deal with the expense of the levee which they will benefit from. They only send a minimal number of workers to work on the levee. They shift their wealth out of Yanghe so it does not look like they have extra gold to contribute to the project. They may be fools and crybabies, but they always find ways to keep their coin.

I turn my attention back to the court. They have planned this, planning to ambush me, most of them anyway. Minister Wa has been the one who sends the most folks and pays the most coin for the levee. He’s now at the river directing his people. I, after all, made it look like the heavens gave him the most blessing during the ritual. “Duke Huan, you are right. It is our oversight to not consider the toll it would take on the citizens.”

“I would not dare to say it was your oversight, your majesty. None of us has expected this.”

Oh, look, I say to Older One, I think I see a smirk on his face. He thinks he got me.

Maybe you are being too hard on them.

You are not helping, Older One.

But Older One is not wrong. The duke has a point. At this rate, it would take decades to finish the project even if we can keep it going. However, I came prepared. I am aware of this issue and the duke’s ambush.

Yanghe did not become grand from just sitting idle and showing off its gleams. Rice, jade, and timbers sail down the shining river. Spice, salt, and silk ride along the road that connects the far west to the far east. As the god and the troops guaranteed protection and security, the folk can trade, grow rich, and rest easy in this city. Far from conflict, cultures and knowledge gathered, exotic and rare merchandise flowed in. Craft-folks from many regions build shops and provide bespoke services. Scholars of many fields also come seeking knowledge or spreading it. The city entices folks to come, and so the gold flows. Yanghe may have its lacks but not in money.

And here is my counter, “So, we will sell the levee project,” I announce.

The court gapes at me.

Oh, that is clever. So you knew what Duke Huan was trying to do? Older One says

I have been keeping my ears to things.

I certainly have gotten soft. Perhaps the softness comes with age. She put her hand down on my head. You will feel it someday, Young One.

I will never be like you Older One. I always have to spy and scheme to get what I need.

And have you spied and schemed?

---

The winter after the old god died — the one whose tomb was moved to make room for the levee — I snuck into the Vermilion Palace. I have never told anyone this tale, not even to Older One. 

The marsh by the river was cold and harsh, so I usually slept on the street during those nights, but the city was being patrolled and cleaned as the entire Yanghe observed the mourning period for the god. The official announced that the god had passed because he had exhausted all his power to stop the raging flood. The citizens and many foreign visitors wore white, black, or blue. Incensed burned, candles were lit. The god was said to be both brave and kind.

However, it seemed that kindness toward folks like me had died along with him.

By chance, ten noons before the mourning, a secret of the red palace passed by me while I fished in the depths of the wintry river. A small boat caught my eyes, being paddled against the stiff wind. It looked too ordinary, as if it was artifice to mimic banality. But boats rarely fought the wind to get to where they were going.

Then a gentle voice spoke from the boat. “Blindfold the muted servants, take them to the passage under the Evening Water Hall. Have them make repairs to ensure the tunnel is well-maintained and safe. Then go alone to check the opening to the marsh. It has been a while since the passage has been cleaned. It’s important that we have access to the dock in case of an unforeseen event. It is a tumultuous time now that the throne has been emptied.”

Then after, I spent several suns and moons watching the marsh by the palace. Then, on the fourth day, in the fog of dawn, a lone servant came out from beneath the mud and grasses. I watched him disappear, then I went to the spot and found a well-hidden tunnel that led into the palace.

There were fewer guards in the inner palace now that the god no longer lived there. So I settled into the dark gap between buildings, where I would not be noticed, and tried to sleep. But the cold bit me, even there. The night wind picked up and wrapped itself around the structure like a viper. I woke up dazed. I staggered away, looking for warmth, when I noticed a window, slightly ajar. I clambered into the chamber, where I found a bed. Without enough energy to think, I slipped under the blanket and coiled to sleep.

Clop clop clop — a sound hit my ears. I awoke and froze. Dawn had barely broken. The sound of hooves on a wooden floor came from the hallway outside the room, followed by a conversation.

“Minister, the meteor will strike at the dawn of the new year,” a female voice outside said.

“Are we still going with the prophecy of a fire-hair serpent, my lady?” the owner of the hooves responded.

“Yes. The new god will enter during the springtime with the kalugas in tow.”

“Catching the kalugas will not be an easy task.”

“Becoming a god isn’t easy.”

“Will the folks believe it? Won’t they claim it to be a trick of sorcery?”

“It is a trick of sorcery, but they will believe it. We will have them think that was sent from the heavens. Suggest to the courts that they find sorcerers and scholars to inspect the scroll. The power imbued in the scroll and ink will be traced back to the second dynasty. No one has the kind of power to pull that off, not even the late god nor those who came before. That should give weight to the legitimacy of the prophecy. And The leather of the scroll should be made from a feathered reptile that only exists in myth.”

“The Pixiu, my lady?”

“Older than that, minister.”

‘Older than that . . . Do you mean — “

“I will see you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting, my lady.”

The hooves’ sound faded down the hall, and the silence filled back the space.

I sneaked out through the window that I came in. That’s when the spying ended and the scheming began.

---

“What do you mean, venerated?” Duke Huan asks.

What I mean is I plan to solve multiple problems at once. I may not be able to leave this land since my power resides within it. But I have moved among the common folks, in disguise, many times in the dark after dusk or before dawn, sometimes quietly swimming alongside a boat or under a pier, gathering news, tales, and complaints. I have heard of the limited capacity of the current ports. Many merchants have to dock in the nearby villages or towns hauling their merchandise to the markets by cart. It is inefficient.

Of course I don’t explain this. Let them perceive me as the all-knowing and ever watching.

“We will parse out the sections of the land that the levee will be built on and sell them to the highest bidders. The winners will help us to build and maintain the levee on their land. In compensation, they will be allowed to own piers for a hundred years on that land. All the earnings from the pier will go directly to the owner of the lease. And they will not be subject to any fee or tax.”

It would allow the owners to grow rich for the next hundred years. But a hundred years is not forever. By the time the city got the land back, Yanghe would be even more busy and prosperous than it is now. The pier that was built would bring in much more coin after the lease was up.

“Help in the construction?”  Master Huan says.

“Yes, Master Huan. We will use our power to help with any construction — the piers, the levee, the worker houses, whatever is needed for good levees and piers.” This would also let me make sure everything was solidly built. “The workers will get to borrow my power to speed up the project. We have already spoken to a few of the merchants, and they seem interested, especially those from the Great Western Empire.”

That, as I expected, made him even more flustered. “Let’s . . . discuss this, Venerated. This humble subject with all deference and respect thinks you may
be . . .  too hasty. The implication of having foreigners control the piers, the dispute between buyers —”

“You’re right to be concerned, Master Huan. But we have thought these matters through. With the many ports and piers, the price will remain low for any sailors to dock. Yanghhe will have more trade, more visitors, more cultures, and more knowledge. The world will become more open, more invested in the future. So let us lead on the path forward. All the land sections will be marked distinctly by our powers, as will the contracts. We will oversee any disputes that may arise. Any of those who with malicious intent will face us.”

I stare at the duke in the dark of his eyes.

He bows. “As you will it, Venerated.”

The matter is settled, and the ministers then bow themselves out of my presence.

Now I will have to bow to the god of Yanghe, Older One says.

Don’t be silly, Older One. I am no god. I only use the information I spied on.

Just like I had heard the prophecy of the scroll. I had chosen red mud to rub into my hair, chosen the Kaluga in order to conform to the scroll’s description. I had schemed to conform to the will of the heavens, which didn’t come from the heavens at all.

As any gods should, says Older One

---

Older One? I call her with my mind. I have not seen her for a couple of weeks now. She has not been accompanying me to my duty as much.

I grew busy with the levee. Many merchants and foreign envoys lined up to bid when the auction was announced. But rather than giving the project to whoever paid the most, we selected the buyers who were most likely to comply with the regulations. We also selected a variety of different folks to lower the chance of cartelizing and monopolizing. And countrykin like to deal with each other. By having a diversity of pier owners, sailors had more options for where to dock and whom to deal with. Although two out of ten piers were still in the hands of those of the court to keep them satisfied. I also granted Minster Wa a pier without payment. The rest of the court pulled out the money faster than they had ever had before.

Earlier today, I went to inspect the levees and the piers, making sure the structures followed common standards and guidelines. I summoned wind and wave to batter the levees to see how they stood. Most of it held up quite well, and the owners of the few spots that had overtopped were now making sturdier repairs. The project, too, has been progressing better than I had expected. The workers quickly took up the power I lent them. Many were natural at using the power hopping around the site, strengthening their muscles, or even using it to float logs and stones. The power also prevented injuries and healed wounds, allowing workers to work at full capacity. Now there is no limit to how much power I can lend, but I will have to find ways to limit the ill-intent used.

“Older One.”

I reach out with my voice this time, only for it to echo in the empty hall. I have been searching for her for many days now. The garden, the kitchen, the Long Hall, the Evening Hall, even the secret passage where I had first entered the palace. Yet there is no sign of the giant goddess.

I return to my quarters. I sit at the desk full of neatly stacked papers, and stare at a sky that is as red as my mood.

How could she just leave? The levee just started, and I am getting busier and busier. Does she not think this is important? Does she not care about her city, her citizens, or . . . me?

I leave my desk to get fresh air. I slither out into the outer hallway, passing chambers and decorative trees and bushes.

But I knew the answers, didn’t I? I just have been ignoring the truth. I had found my place, my counsel, my friend, and made myself instrumental in shaping the city’s future. So I pretended that everything was right and fine.

But it was not. There was no heaven to send down a rock from the sky, just one very big mean god. The whole farce was to trick the court and the folk, but the trick was on me, too . . . I am nothing more than an instrument to do Older One’s biddings.

My tail led me to the garden. As the sun settles into the horizon, I stare at the darkening pond, whose inhabitants now look much less appetizing, now that I am admitting the truth to myself.  

She was the lady outside the hallway when I snuck into the palace. She and Minister Yang. It was he who let slip the secret about the passage when he passed by me on the boat. They set everything up for me to be here, in the palace, to be the god. Not happenstance, not the heavens. Because they knew.

They knew the river girl who lived alone out by the river was not really a river girl who lived out by the river.

---

“Captain, this is all the money I have. For the kalugas. I will be sure to pay you the remainder one day,” I said.

The scents of salt, spice, and tea swirled in the air of the captain’s cabin. North, west, and south met here in the east. News, favor, and gold were exchanged here at the port of Yanghe, and I had been spying for them for years. Morally questionable, but any trader worth their salt would have ways to fetch any tales before they became widely known. A farm burn down meant buying all the grain before the price hike. A war about to start meant buying all the wood for the coffins. Who bought what or who traded with who drove the market. I may as well be part of that.

“No need, kid,” the crow-folk captain said. His black wings protruded out of his Great Western Empire-style silk shirt. He was seated behind a writing table, his left wooden leg stretched, relaxed. “You’ve been good sailing with us, and you helped us beat the Blue Guild with your listening.” His left fore-talon handed back the money purse. His other fore-talon took lit rolled paper out of his beak and exhaled smoke. “But are you sure you want to do this?”

“Captain, there’s very little risk. I’ve escaped many situations, and I know the secret way in and out of the palace. I’ll be fine.”

“I know, kid. I’m not worried about your plan failing. I’m worried about it succeeding. You won’t be able to leave Yanghe when you become its god, you know? You can keep sailing with us. Isn’t that why you asked me to take you from your home village? To see the wider world? You have the brain for trade and picking up information.”

I’d looked down at the deck’s floor. I knew I wanted to do this but couldn’t explain why, even to myself. “Yes, captain, I love sailing and trading with you, the crew, and this boat. I love having an upper hand over the Blue Guild or the Lotus, the teasing of information, the competition, the negotiation. But I didn’t get myself into and then kicked out of the imperial school because I simply wanted to learn things or make money. There’s . . . something there in the palace. Something beyond this world. I need to be there”

“All right, kid, if that’s what you really want. I guess one can’t stop one’s fate.”

“It’s not merchant-like to hang plans on fate, captain. We take the opportunities where we can and when we can.”

The captain smirked. “Here’s the other stuff you requested.”

“Thank you, Captain. You’ve taught me a lot in the past years, and I’m looking forward to working with you, though in a different manner.”

The crow captain nod.

But before I left, I turned.

“Captain, how did you know about the boat paddling out in the wind in the middle of the winter?”

The captain could only smile and said, “a whisper from an old friend, kid.”

Afterward, I dipped my hair in Ashwood, red clay, and henna — not just red mud — to conform to the prophecy. And as I’d pretended for the last few months, I would tell everyone, including myself, that I was just a girl who lived by the river and knew nothing more than the river and its fish.

---

The red sky is turning deep blue and pink-purple. The moon shines its pearly light. The shadow deepens and lengthens.

That was why she picked me didn’t she? To do her spying and scheming? Now I am here all alone, trapped in the palace. I should have heeded the captain’s words. The heavens and the ghosts of my predecessors are punishing me for disrespecting them.

The sun is now almost gone from the sky and the lanterns’ light casts large shadows. The darkness makes the palace feel immensely vast. I feel small, like a pawn, like when I was treated as an idol in the court.

Is that all you really are? Is that all you’re going to admit?

I spin around looking for the speaker of the voice, but there is only empty air. I turn left and right, but there is on one. Then I see a shadow of an endless serpent’s tail stretches in front of me. I trace it, hoping to see its owner. My eyes stop back at the dark pond.

I stand staring at the older god. Except that she looks young now, youthful and small. Her hair is loose, and she wears an evening gown. She looks straight at
me . . . gazing.

Gazing out of the reflection in the dark water lit by the lantern’s light like a
mirror . . .

And it is only then that I finally realize. I realize all the lies, all the layers of pretending. I have convinced myself and everyone else that I was nothing more than a river girl turned accidental goddess, telling myself that I had never seen the sea, pretending that the red clay on my hair was a bumbling clumsiness. So I could really be the mud girl, the clueless. Because everyone looks down on the incompetent, the non-threat, they become unguarded. If the rich and the noble had sensed a hint of my scheme, my real competence, they would have used everything against me before I was ready, before I could figure out who was the ally, who was the enemy and their scheme.

But I also let myself think that I was just the merchant’s spy. A girl with a bit of ambition. I pretended to be the god of old to my younger self. If I had let myself take the throne knowing I was the rightful god and not a common folk, I would have simply solved everything with the sorcery and authority of the god. I would not have mastered the story and beliefs of the people.

The story and belief are not only for others but also for me.

I now understand who I am. I understand the true power I inherit, the power that extends beliefs and legends. I can see now the invisible chaotic, and twisted rivers, touch it, swim in it. I feel my own death and what comes afterwards. I feel my own birth and the time before. I feel all of me that branches into many different worlds. I feel all of me that I could learn from, all of me that would help fulfill my duty. I feel me across all of worlds and those in parallels.

I feel all of times.

I am here not by some outside destiny, using me as a pawn. I am here by right. Here is my place. I am here to shape the court, the city, and the world into its rightful path.

My path.

I remember what I must do. I head back to my room. I grind the ink stone and put my brush to the parchment. I ink what needed to be done for the time long past, for the time before the first dynasty. I write that wood generated fire but overcame earth, earth generated metal but overcame water, and so on. The prophesies, the principles on which the city will be built.

 It seems that to be a god is to be a liar, even lying to oneself.

I smile.

---

I have gotten used to swimming through the chaotic torrent of time. I arrive at the bank of the swelling Golden River. The rain pours from the wrathful night sky. Looking across the water, I see the grand city and its god. He is controlling the river with his given power. He is the same kinfolk as Minister Yang — goat, ox, and tiger features, with talons for hands, strong yet gentle. I feel sorrow for what I am about to do.

The sky flashes its anger. The river rushes its torrent. The god is wet and exhausted, preventing the relentless water from flooding the city. Rain and wind hurl hard. All the citizens are sheltering in place. Only gods can withstand this violence.

I remain dry.

I reach for the power of the land of this time. It responds. Then I feel through the power, my power. I feel all the land, my land. I feel all the livings and the things that reside on this ground and sky. I feel the warmth of the god of this time. He is warm and soft like a lantern lighting the path in the cold and the dark. I hold his power. The power that is struggling against the raging river.

Then I grasp that warm glow. I breathe sorrowfully and take back what I have given him and all those who came before him.

Between the water and the city, the lone body falls, carried away by the rain and the river. He was brave, kind, and good. That’s why I picked him and why I picked all the gods of Yanghe. I bow toward his remains for fulfilling his duty, the duty that is now mine.

I calm the Golden River. The torrent subsides. The rain slows. I look toward the night sky.

Soon spring will come, I need to get ready for Young One.

And it’s about time I write about the heavens.