Chapter One Hundred and Three: The Death of Ting Yao

“Aah!” The cry was hoarse and piercing, wails and pleas for help mingling and echoing above the tribe. The surging waves crashed against the shore, and Jingwei’s wings flashed through the sky like a bolt of lightning, soaring straight into the heavens.

To resolve and dissolve the resentment within her heart, Jingwei used her own deeds to prove the indomitable resolve with which she defended her faith.

Clamping a stone no larger than a ball in her beak, the tiny figure of Jingwei flitted back and forth above the raging sea.

And when the little golden dragon that had been stirring up trouble saw that every pebble Jingwei carried would transform into a mountain more than thirty feet high and crash into the seabed, the dragon, which had still been swaggering in triumph over its success, was instantly thrown into panic. It hastily lashed its body about and fled back to its lair.

At the very instant Nuwa died, Emperor Yan felt a stabbing pain in his heart. The emperor, skilled in divination, hurriedly calculated the omen. He stood rooted to the spot as torrents of tears spilled from his eyes, and in a voice thick with grief he murmured, “Nuwa, my child!”

In the next instant, darkness flooded Emperor Yan’s vision, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

This threw the tribe into utter panic. How could the Human Emperor, who had been perfectly well, suddenly fall into a faint and lie there unmoving?

Soon after, a voice rose outside the tribe: “The princess has perished, swallowed by the sea!”

The people quickly brought the girls who had been playing with Nuwa by the shore into the great tent. From their account, everyone in the tribe learned that Princess Nuwa was dead and had transformed into the bird Jingwei, whose very name proclaimed her determination to “fill the sea with stones.”

The atmosphere in the tribal leader’s tent was stiflingly heavy, and the people within were at a loss.

The Human Emperor had fallen ill, and the princess had died and become Jingwei. Neither calamity was something this tribe could bear.

At present, they were, of course, not likely to suffer an attack from another tribe, but the tribe’s own reputation had been dealt a severe blow.

Other tribes would no longer trust them as they once had, and the tribe’s development would be greatly constrained. One thing would lead to another, until all manner of troubles began to hinder its growth; in the worst case, they might even be forced to merge into another tribe. That was a prospect no one dared to imagine.

What mattered most now was to wake the sage emperor, Emperor Yan, and let him personally decide the tribe’s future.

A day passed. Whether it was the messenger who had gone back to deliver the news or the Emperor Yan who lay unconscious in bed, everyone was tormented with anxiety.

At last, on the morning of the second day, Emperor Yan opened his eyes. His eyelids felt as heavy as mountains. Drawing in a deep breath of the fresh air, he rose at once and rushed alone to the seaside, paying no heed to the guards who tried to stop him.

As a father, Emperor Yan could be said never to have fulfilled the duties of one. Affairs of every kind crowded around him, and every matter required his personal attention; how could he find time to care for his children?

As the Human Emperor, Emperor Yan had greatly improved the people’s lives, yet some of the most fundamental conditions of existence had not changed very much. First of all, in every tribe there was a leader, a chieftain, and the chieftain controlled most of the tribe’s resources, distributing grain to sustain its development. And if the resources were insufficient?

They would borrow, and migrate outward. In this way, vast numbers of trees were cut down, the soil and water were badly eroded, and great winds howled overhead, bringing catastrophic consequences to the entire primordial world.

Everything was reported upward to the Human Emperor Sacred Mountain. By the time Emperor Yan finished dealing with state affairs, who knew how badly matters below had already deteriorated?

Though benevolent, Emperor Yan was not sufficiently rigorous. He was always content to let things pass, and those beneath him could hardly avoid harboring crooked intentions. Morality was especially important in that age; it represented the value of a person’s life. Without morality, how could one continue living in this world?

Reflecting on the “mistakes” he had made in the past, Emperor Yan was overwhelmed with guilt.

Just then, a streak of black lightning, swift as the wind, landed on Emperor Yan’s shoulder. It looked affectionate and adorable, rubbing its little head gently against the kindly, aged face of its father. The black pupils in its tiny eyes reddened unconsciously as it settled on Emperor Yan’s robes.

Emperor Yan carefully lifted Jingwei into his palm and softly stroked the bird’s delicate little head. His nose stung, and hot tears poured down his face as he cried out, “My poor child!” He hurriedly held her to his chest, cherishing this last trace of warmth.

The guards beside him and the tribal elders were equally moved. A lovely young girl, still in the bloom of youth, had been so ruthlessly swallowed by the sea, her life snatched away like a bud just beginning to open. One after another, they raised their hands to their faces, wiping away the tears of sorrow and regret.

So what were the mighty protectors of the human race doing when Jingwei died?

Why had the Daoist Master Xuan not gone to save Nuwa’s life? Because he had been invited to the West to discuss the human affairs connected with those people of the human race who had once been taken away by the Two Sages of the West. And why had Tongtian not gone either?

Tongtian had accepted the invitation of Grand Supreme Elder Lord and Primordial Heavenly Lord to discuss matters concerning the Five Sovereigns. This issue was tied to the fortunes of the Spirit Sect among the human race. It was all a cruel coincidence; by the time Tongtian learned of what had happened, it was already too late, and the vegetables had gone cold.

Not only that, but the surveillance of the human cultivators on Golden Turtle Isle had fallen to its lowest point. Even the heavenly secrets had been thrown into disarray. The once-clear firmament, and the River of Time through which causality could be observed, had in that period become sealed off, forbidding spiritual sense from entering the River of Time.

Only after the Three Purities joined forces were they able to enter the River of Time and uncover a trace of what had happened. They were also enraged. What kind of being could possibly seal the River of Time and disturb the heavenly secrets? The Three Purities immediately reported the matter to Dao Ancestor Hongjun, yet even Dao Ancestor Hongjun did not know its origin. This left everyone astonished. Just who could have caused it?

The dreadful news that Nuwa had died and become Jingwei eventually reached them. At first, Tingyao, Nuwa’s mother, refused to believe that her daughter had truly died. She personally left the Human Race Sacred Mountain and hastened to the shore of the Eastern Sea. Emperor Yan, however, did not want the matter to spread further, and repeatedly issued decrees ordering Tingyao to return. But Tingyao would not listen; she insisted on coming. Since she had come, so be it.

“Nuwa, Nuwa, my child, how have you become like this?”

A journey of a month and a half had left the originally strong and healthy Tingyao greatly weakened. Her face no longer bore the grace of a noble lady; only the weather-cut wrinkles at the corners of her eyes remained, traces carved by time itself.

Like a bird sheltering beneath another’s wings, the sea wind lashed at Tingyao’s body. From her hollow eyes no more tears could flow. With trembling fingertips, she gently stroked Jingwei’s head, while from her lips came a faint, broken cry: “Nuwa, Nuwa, come back quickly.”

Tingyao ignored everyone’s attempts to dissuade her and kept vigil over Jingwei day and night. Emperor Yan tried several times to separate them, but Tingyao would simply run out of the great tent on her own and go to watch Jingwei fill the sea. Whenever the sun rose, Jingwei would gather her courage, beat her wings across the sky, and carry stones to fill the ocean.

Her heart and spirit were worn to the bone, and the bitter sea wind, together with the unpredictable changes of weather, brought down the once healthy body of the Human Emperor’s principal consort all at once.

“No sorrow is greater than the death of the heart.” In the end, Tingyao, who longed so desperately for her child, could no longer bear the ache of missing Nuwa. At last, this once beautiful and magnanimous lady of the human race faded away like crushed jade and fragrant blossom.

For a time, Emperor Yan himself could not accept the harsh reality of losing both wife and daughter. The whole of him sank into desolation.

Within the human race, too, there was endless dispute over the succession. A new struggle for the throne of the Human Emperor was about to begin.