***
“Yao Ji, Yao Ji…”
When she was little, she was playful and mischievous. The female deities who cared for her would lift their skirts and call after her to stop, but she would just laugh and run further ahead. The Heavenly Palace was so vast, with so many places she hadn't yet explored.
She'd heard that beyond the mountains was the sea, and beyond the sea lay the Star Ruins. Seventy-two palaces were nestled amongst the scattered mountain islands, suspended in mid-air, linked by jade-white celestial stairs, forming a floating chain like a colossal dragon. Everywhere were jade pavilions, golden halls, and rare, wondrous flowers and herbs.
A light, gauze-like mist perpetually shrouded the sea. If one could pierce through this mist, they would glimpse countless fishing lights flickering on the surface below. Each light represented a star in the heavens, and within each star resided a hidden paradise.
But what was in the Star Ruins?
Yao Ji had been to the mountains and the sea, but never to the Star Ruins.
She mounted her beloved Henggong Fish. “Fishy, take me to the other side of the sea!”
The female deities had warned her it was a dangerous place, but Yao Ji didn't believe them. The Heavenly Palace knew no sunrise or sunset, no changing seasons. The most beautiful scenery in the world resided here, so where could danger possibly lurk? She knew her sisters often fabricated stories to prevent her from wandering off.
But I'm grown up now, she thought. I want to go to the Star Ruins, to see the edge of all creation.
The Henggong Fish swam and swam. Yao Ji didn't know where the edge of the sea was, nor how long the fish had been swimming. Slowly, gradually, billions of points of light emerged from the deep sea, drifting like luminous pearls. She reached out and caught one, and within it, she saw countless worlds. Some were still in primordial chaos, some newly formed, some teeming with life, and some already collapsing into oblivion.
She drifted involuntarily towards a single point of light in the luminous ocean, her small body floating towards a tiny tree.
No, it wasn't tiny at all. It was an unimaginably colossal tree. The closer she got, the clearer it became. When her feet finally touched the ground, she looked up. The tree, which had appeared no bigger than a grain of rice from afar, now towered into the clouds, blotting out the sky, its limits beyond her sight.
Beneath the tree lay a gigantic beast. Yao Ji had seen countless divine beasts in the Heavenly Palace, but none like this. She couldn't even describe its appearance, not because words failed her, but because the very act of trying to recall it blurred its form in her mind.
“Who are you?” Yao Ji asked curiously. “I've never seen you before.”
She didn't expect the beast to answer, as it seemed to be sleeping with its eyes closed. But each time its massive body rose and fell, Yao Ji felt as if the giant tree was breathing, its branches trembling and shedding countless motes of light.
“Who are you, little one, who comes uninvited?” But the beast did speak. Its voice echoed far and wide, yet it also felt as though it spoke directly into Yao Ji's heart, startling her.
Yao Ji quickly regained her composure. Her eyes curved into crescents, and a smile bloomed on her small face. “I am Yao Ji.”
“Yao Ji.”
The beast laughed, and for some reason, Yao Ji laughed with him. Their laughter, clear as the call of doves, drifted through the branches on the wind.
***
“Yao Ji.” The man released the young woman’s lips, his high-bridged nose gently rubbing against her face. “I’ve heard that in the Han language, ‘Ji’ means princess, so I can call you Princess Yao, correct?”
Relief and a touch of disappointment mingled in Yao Ji’s heart. So he didn't know. Princess Xincheng’s name was Zhuang Yao, so she could indeed be called Yao Ji. “Everyone in the palace calls me Third Miss. Father calls me A-Yao,” she murmured, recalling Princess Xincheng’s life. “Mother… when I was little, she always called me Yaoyao.”
“Then I’ll call you Yaoyao.” The man lifted the young woman into his arms, cradling her like a kitten against his chest.
“And you?” Yao Ji tilted her head back, her dark, almond-shaped eyes gazing at the man’s strong jawline. “I still don’t know your name.”
“Kundu,” the man murmured. This delicate young woman’s voice was so soft. He had met Han women before, but this girl’s particular fragility made him unconsciously soften his tone. “I also have a Han name, Zong Jun.”
Yao Ji knew this name.
The Great Lord of the Youjin Tribe, who had risen to prominence seemingly out of nowhere, was not only a valiant warrior but also a keen student of Han culture. He had bestowed Han surnames upon all nine tribes of the Man people. The Youjin royal family’s surname was Chunyu, so Great Lord Kundu was named Chunyu Zong Jun.