Zhilan


    “Because of a great love, one is courageous.”-Lao Tzu


    Time is a fickle thing, coaxing us through our youth and rushing us to our ends. We live brief lives believing time is linear and--to the extent of those on earth--it is. We are born, we age, and we die. But in places not anchored by gravity to a spinning, time-counting mass, time is not so simple. Rather than being a straight line, it seems akin to a mandala. Circles spinning within circles, intricate patterns that touch at points, and enable us to slip in and out of those circles with some effort.


    Everything happens at once but because our rational minds cannot perceive it to be so, we create moments to hold onto. Someone may have been born in 2635 BCE, but who is to say that they did not exist for a millennium beyond that in another realm? They might continue to exist even now, though because humans are unaware of the time variances between the five realms, they might never be privy to that person’s existence. Humans’ knowledge is subverted to avoid their seeking out the realms beyond earth. Heaven is something to strive for. Diyu is something to endure. The Ghost and Beast Realm would devour any human that enters there, and the Dragon Realm of the Eastern Sea is aloof and unyielding. But nothing is as it seems, I can attest to that.


    I must believe that when the points of those mandalas are near enough, our previous lives can be felt brushing past us. Our souls whisper longings for places we have never been, and hunger for things we have never known. We accept the familiarity or repulsion of a stranger based within the first few seconds of meeting. We step on foreign soil and know that we are home.


    I was pondering other realms and forgotten lives while standing in line on the bridge with a sea of naked souls behind me. An old woman sat on a cushioned stool at the apex of the bridge and waved me forward. She motioned to a seat across from her.


    “Do you like it?” she asked, following my eyes to the embroidered red cushion.


    “Is it new?” I asked, sitting down.


    She brightened. “A gift from a mutual friend.”


    I smiled, waiting awkwardly. I had no friends.


    “Do you remember your true name?” the old woman asked.


    I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it again. Too many names and places cluttered my thoughts and I couldn’t recall which ones was mine.


    “I am Meng Po,” she said.


    Steam rose from the spout of a teapot settled between us and I remembered looking forward to the tea and the quiet absence of thought that followed. Oolong with a hint of orange and some special blends. But she did not offer it this day. Instead, she ambled behind her small cart and poured a mug of a vibrant blue liquid.


    “There will be no more tea for you,” she said, placing the cup in my hands and gently lifting it to my lips. “Instead, you will drink this.”


    The liquid burned its way down my throat, coating it with peppers and oil, filling my stomach with fire until I coughed and my eyes teared. The pain in my gut brought back the suffering of a thousand lives. Each one ending in the anguish of violence or affliction. Each one cut short and stolen from me.


    Meng Po poured the liquid into my mouth again. Her voice was tender. “Drink so that you might remember. Drink so that you might break the fates of more than yourself.”


    A thousand deaths rushed back to me, each one spent looking into the same pair of soft, brown eyes. Eyes that suffered with me. Eyes that knew me.


    Niu Qiang. My Niu Qiang. How could I have forgotten him? What cruelty would make me forget?


    As the fire of the blue beverage reached my head, memories doubled me over in waves of misery.


    We were buried together with a hundred other slaves and horses to accompany a king. They slit out throats before placing our bodies in the cold cavern they had hollowed out. Our bodies lie there still, forgotten by time and man.


    We were slave laborer’s hauling massive stones on sleds along sandy land to erect great temples to greater egos. Niu Qiang was whipped to death for stumbling. I followed moments behind, trying, and failing, to save him.


    We fought beside each other, and fought each other alternately, in too many armies. The recognition always a moment behind the killing stroke. I saw my name on Niu Qiang’s lips and felt his name on mine too many times as we watched each other die. His death came moments before my own, though sometimes I died first. My father, the Jade Emperor, had placed his curse so well that we never knew each other before that moment. And never, in a thousand lifetimes, did I feel my beloved’s hand.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Niu Qiang and I were made twin moons hurtling around the emperor’s curse in a gravitational pull; close, but never meeting, as time pressed us on, tossing us from earth to Diyu and back repeatedly.


    My skin burned with the fiery liquid, as Meng Po forced another drink into my mouth. Centuries passed --lifetimes spent in poverty and pain--and I recalled other faces. The oval face of a bold girl with large eyes black as coal. A young boy, gentle as his father. This old woman who greeted me with compassion at the end of each life. I would remember them and then forget again.


    I did not wonder why the emperor gave us miserable lives each time. To grace us with a normal life would not fulfill the intent of his punishment. He wanted me to beg for forgiveness, beg to return to heaven and admit that the gods were more important than the human I loved. But, in those moments of clarity, before the tea consumed my mind, I focused on memories of Niu Qiang’s kindness to keep me sane. It was a kindness never received in Heaven.


    I count the lifetimes experienced over four thousand years on earth, I tally each death. Can anyone other than an immortal fathom that? Since one year on earth equates to a single day in heaven it had only been eleven years for my family. I wondered if my mother or Xifeng missed me. I wondered how this punishment had come to be, but my muddled memory returned only in pieces. It was like trying to piece a mosaic back together after it shattered. It should make sense, but pieces were missing.


    Meng Po raised the cup again. “Drink and all will be made clear.”


    So, I swallowed, each drink returning some new piece of history. I remembered my five older sisters bartered off like chattel for marriage. My younger sister, Zhinu, banished to the stars with her human husband, the milky way spread between them. I remembered my father’s disregard, my mother’s sadness. I remembered that I was a spare daughter.


    But when I met my Niu Qiang I knew the joy of belonging. I had my children that I did not birth. My brave, sickly girl, Jiang Li, and my sweet boy, Liko. I nursed them to health by manipulating and sharing my qi and watched them bloom like the flowers on the plum trees in winter.


    As I remembered each death again, I noticed a strange pattern. A young woman with large black eyes and an oval face called our names while trying to reach us. She was not there for every death, but I saw her often enough to recognize her. The emperor had promised that our children would be kept safe, but my memories did not lie. Jiang Li had fought our battles with us, had sought to reach us.


    The cup slipped from my hands, crashing to the bridge. I grasped Meng Po’s arm. “What has happened to Jiang Li?”


    Her arthritic hand covered mine. “She is well.” She lifted the bottle, studying my face. “This was her doing. That is a brave girl you raised. Clever too, to be carrying on with Sun Wukong like she does.”


    “The monkey king?” He had just come to heaven before I met Niu Qiang. I only remembered the budding tales of his mischief and the ire he raised amongst the court officials. He was extremely unpopular.


    “She could not be better protected.” Meng Po topped off another cup and handed it to me. “Which is good, because if Muzha and Erlang Shen discover what she is trying to accomplish, they will hand her over to the emperor, and monkey might end up back under a mountain.”


    My stomach twisted as a memory struggled to surface. “What does Muzha have to do with this?”


    “Drink,” she ordered, tipping the cup to my lips until I swallowed it down.


    “He still tries to improve his rank, by gaining favor with the emperor.” She shrugged, “And Erlang Shen has an over developed sense of justice that is easy to manipulate.”


    “Muzha,” I said his name again, a handsome face coming to mind. I thought we had been friends.


    She gently took the cup from my hands. “You did not know him as well as you should have. Do you remember that night?”


    The fire in my stomach turned to nausea as I recalled Erlang Shen grabbing me when I had gone to draw water. I clawed and fought. I called out for aide, but it was Muzha who quieted me. “Would you draw the mortals into your punishment?”


    “You did this?” I asked turning to face him. “How did you find me?”


    But Muzha did not reply, holding his jaw firm. Erlang Shen glanced back at the sound of my name and dragged me skyward as Niu Qiang came into view, the children close behind. Muzha turned to them, and I was flown away unable to hear his words.


    “We could have killed them in the emperor’s name,” Shen said. “Consider it a mercy.”


    “A mercy,” I whispered, my last drink still stung my throat.


    “Hmm, there has not been enough of that,” Meng Po said.


    “Liko?” My mouth was dry, though I had finished three cups of the tincture.


    “Has passed over my bridge many times, he’ll be due again soon. If we are lucky, perhaps you will see him again.”


    I was fraught with memories submerged for thousands of years. I rubbed my hands together nervously before speaking his name. “Niu Qiang?”


    She gave a gentle smile. “He was here not long ago. We had a similar conversation, but it will take quite a bit more tincture before either of you might remember during your next lives. Maybe sooner for you since you were once immortal.”


    “How much longer do we have …?” Words overwhelmed me. .


    The old woman lifted my chin and winked. “Not long, if Jiang Li succeeds.”