Like all happy endings doused in tragedy, this story begins exactly as those; with an idiom often overused, yet a staple among fairytales aplenty.
Once upon a time; a time of then and a time of now.
Let's begin.
At the heart of the Great Zhonglai was an enchanted forest.
This forest was the kind where plants glimmered bizarre colours, and whispered wishes danced along the dusty paths. Like wisps, except each had a tale to tell and a soul to share.
The further one travelled through the forest, the fewer trees became, and the more vibrant the world illuminated.
As once written, the forest would finally awaken the very moment one found themselves face-to-face with a large red gate. This gate was grander than all others, appearing when the wanderer least noticed.
A silent guide, rather; one that led to the Great Zhonglai's grand imperial capital, home of the most beloved family in all the country.
Great. Backstory! That's a preamble for you, Dear Traveller. Ugh!
Complaining aside, this city was still immaculate. No blubbering preamble, or warning of a prologue, could ever describe or even justify just how magnificent the bustling, golden streets were.
It was paradise at first sight. The moment those grandeur gates swung open would be the first glimpse of this summer-kissed city once known as Jianlai.
The streets hummed daily with the vibration of a lute, sending its song through the chattering crowds of curious folk. Many said paired nicely with the hymn of a poem, often recited by some of the country's most striking beauties.
And at night, these very songs would soften, harmonizing in tune with the unhurried vibration of a zither, sung along the paths glossed with a dim glow.
To each strum, the low murmur would pass all the whispering voices, and through the warm light of each passing lantern.
Each swing shimmered against the golden streets, directing the traveller further and further into this magical city.
It was a city filled with promises of happy people, graciously protected behind walls that assured their safety.
In Jianlai, nothing bad ever happened, and that was the promise gifted to each citizen.
Behind each smiling face stood the proud and noble emperor of Jianlai.
Emperor Xingcai.
He was admired far and wide—from the throne of Chuhen Palace to those very walls built to protect his people.
No one ever dared to question a man who granted them everything they could ever need, nor did they want to. This man was the utter pride of the city and said to be a gracious person.
Someone worthy enough to stand by and offer their complete devotion without a temple to his name.
But he was plagued with an issue, one that called for the heavens.
Daughter after daughter, for years upon years. The emperor had to question if he was cursed, but to curse such a beloved figure? Unheard of.
All he could do was pray, and one day those prayers would be answered at the call of a man and his sister.
To many people within Jianlai, it was said Emperor Xingcai, and that sister had fallen in love, and their love graced the heavens enough to grant them the crowned prince of Jianlai.
The city rejoiced for seven days and seven nights.
This prince, described by the people as handsome, capable, and proud, was said to illuminate brighter than any gold statue in the kingdom, or any trek through the forest.
A social force amongst men and women, rivalling even his father. Someone who had the build of a hero, tall and slender, but eyes as dark as the night sky, with a passion that twinkled like stars.
Yup, no fairytale nor preamble could survive without a dashingly determined prince at the forefront. Ode to joy.
Outside of his blessed charm, the prince was also gifted in many talents.
Cultivation, poetry, and most importantly: swordsmanship. The people of Jianlai often said he had a way of handling a sword that was almost too natural. It was better than most dancers could dance on the streets of Jianlai!
They graced the walkways with silver, promised endless days of sunshine, and assured that never once should the people of this kingdom go hungry.
It was absolutely the best place to be at the time!
In fact, many of Jianlai's citizens vouched that its good fortune was by the grace of the gods, rewarding Emperor Xingcai for all his good deeds, foretelling a prosperous lineage.
As was this prince's sole purpose: to continue the legacy his father had built for him.
And yet, no story, nor poem, or history book could tell you why that legacy slipped through his fingers and dyed red. Not all stories are told within a single line, and not all stories find their way to the eyes of a curious young man.
As time passed, so would Emperor Xingcai and Jianlai, both murdered at the very hands of this rejoiced prince. All of their carefully constructed would collapse all in a single day, in a massacre committed by one person, without a soul left to tell the tale.
Sitting at the forefront of this catastrophe, dressed in blood and with a black and gold sword in his hands, was the dishevelled young prince.
A single line survived this buried catastrophe, said a woman as graceful as her voice.
She said: "Happiness was only ever an illusion first illustrated by the late emperor, formed on the backs of gold-dusted slaves. This is not your fault."
And at the wave of a whisk, Jianlai was forever forgotten and whispered only as mythology.
Thus, what was once known all over Zhonglai for its abundance, prosperity, and pride all faded in a single night, blanketed under snow.
A whisper, no louder than the wind that howled through the desolate forest, once known for its enchanting charm.
Since then, two hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye. Any trace of this once lavish kingdom had entirely faded from anyone's memory.
All that remains are the remnants of a ghastly forest and the murmurs of a land forgotten in time.
End of prologue.
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Epigraph
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"There is many a monster who wears the form of a man; it is better of the two to have the heart of a man and the form of a monster."
― Jeanne-Marie Le Prince de Beaumont, Beauty and the Beast. (1756)
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