In Training
The Immortal is ageless. Seconds, minutes, hours, years–they mean 
nothing to him. Time tumbles by like husks of sunflower seeds scattering across the ground–dispersed casually in all directions by a gust of wind. It simply goes where it will, sometimes brushing against the young Immortal’s leg to remind him that it is still running on and on. Mostly, Time keeps itself distant from the Immortal. In addition to Time, the year of his birth is also something that he never gives much thought to–far, far away…farther, it seems even, than the bright Father Sun blazing in the sky.
The Father Sun. Once long ago the Father Sun was not a Sun at all but the Jade Emperor, ruling belevolently over all that he surveyed. That was long before the birth, even of the Immortal. Now the Jade Emperor is in the sky. He warms the planet with his rays of light, fending off the beasts while maintaining the balance of the seasons.
Although the Immortal is ageless, he is young for an Immortal. Despite being older than any human on Earth he looks like a boy, no older than 15 years old. Like a boy, the Immortal enjoys mischief. He looks to make some now.
The boy Immortal stands quietly with his back against a tree, resting in its shade. In his right hand he holds a wooden bow. He grips it and looks up quietly at the leaves of the tree rustling in the breeze. Is it a ginko tree? He’s not sure, he cannot remember. It smells like one anyway. Specks of light from the Father Sun filter through the trees umbrella of leaves. Even under this tree, no one is free from His gaze. The boy Immortal doesn’t care. He wants to have fun. A timeless existence needs some excitement.
He reaches behind his back and feels for the quiver of arrows resting weightlessly on his centuries old shoulders. There are 7 arrows in the quiver. He fingers them with his uncalloused hands. He is an immortal, so farmwork is beneath him. One day he will have to save his strength and concentration to save the People. Fumbling with the 7 arrows in his quiver, his fingers eventually settle on one. He grabs the goose feathers at the arrows base and turns around silently to survey the scene behind him.
The day is dusty and dry. There is not much to see–a couple of small huts
covered with reed leaves to keep out the rain and Father Sun. A couple of whisps of clouds blow in the distance. On the horizen Mout K’un L’un looms, its peak glistening white with crystal snow. Its said that there is a spirit who lives within the mountain. The boy Immortal has never seen the spirit for himself, and he has impeccable eyes. Save for the couple farmers tending to their rice paddies, the presence of human activity is nonexistent–a calm and perfect day. The boy Immortal’s incredibly keen eyes notices a rustling motion coming from behind the farther hut in the blink of an eye. He grins when the rustling is followed by a small head protruding tentatively from behind the structure. Without a sound, he raises his bow vertically, pulls the arrow out of it’s quiver, closes his left eye for concentration, and keeps the string of his bow taut so as to target the body for the kill. Time comes back to him for an instant and he counts out loud.
“One.”
Only one second.
Thwip!
The arrow flies from its quiver and pierces the throat of its victim, an aged chicken. Its final crow is cut off by the blood spurting out its mouth. The farmer in in the field looks over to see the source of the sound, the death-throes of the chicken already kicking in as its 3-toed claws scratch the ground. The boy Immortal giggles nervously and runs in the opposite direction to hide once more. The year is 2057 BC. Father Sun shines down upon all.
The Mistake
The sunlight reflects off the waters of the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal. Small waves from the passing boats lap the sides of the walls. A mother sits and sells cabbages next to the canal’s banks. She breastfeeds her child, the lactating nipple dripping milk down the side of the baby’s mouth. Another man pulls his donkey cart on the road alongside the canal. The back of the cart is filled with corn and a man sleeping atop the pile. He is so serene and calm on top of that heap of corn, as if he, too, was once wrenched off of a gigantic stalk. Children with shaved heads run along the banks of the canal, making faces at the strangers who have taken boats for hundreds of kilometers, from cities that the children have never even heard of.
The year is 1692. It is the 32nd year of emperor Kangxi’s reign. The Chinese empire is thriving in many respects, and the emperor himself has shown a spirit of openmindedness towards new ideas and things foreign. They call him a “Great Uniter” in some parts, doing his best to bridge the seemingly unbridgeable gaps amongst China’s 4 great races. Only this year, Kangxi took another unprecedented step towards modern thinking issuing the Edict of Toleration on March 22, spurring on more feelings of goodwill from the empire towards the Roman Catholic Church . There is a spirit of hope and a general feeling of prosperity beginning to grow. Commerce thrives along the Grand Canal’s edge. As they make their way from Hangzhou to Beijing, the city of DezhouW provides an excellent one to two day respite for traders, merchants, and missionairies.
A boat filled mostly with Dragon Well Tea from the prosperous city of Hangzhou pulls up to the embankment. Merchants and sailors get off the small vessel with hungry stomachs.
Hopefully this boat will be a good sell, Jia Jiancai thinks to himself as he 
sees the tea-sellers get off the boat. The old man has been waiting for this boat patiently. It moves slowly towards the canal’s gradual embankment and departure point. He thinks of the sell and his pregnant wife at home, due to give birth any day. Grabbing his baskets of grilled chicken he walks towards the boat. Normally, he would be the one to be overseeing the baking of the chicken, and others would do the selling for him. However, two of his sellers have recently come down with smallpox as a result of the epidemic and have not been able to work for him in the past 2 weeks. For the time being, he is stretched thin for workers. Only he and the newly arrived apprentice and accountant, Wang Xiaoer, remain for the time being. His business is in a slight lull, and he needs this sale.
When he is within spitting distance of the exiting passengers, someone bumps into him from behind. Losing his balance, Jia Jiancai trips and falls on his face, losing half of his baked chicken in the canal’s murky waters! As he rises onto his feet to dust the dirt from his face and recover his other chickens he looks up to see that the man who has bumped into him is none other than Mr. Zhao, one of his fiercest chicken-selling competitors, and a dirty one at that. Mr. Zhao turns around to look at Jia Jiancai and cackles a sinister grin.
“Sorry, old man, didn’t see you there.”
Jia Jiancai raises his fist at Mr. Zhao. “Zhao, you bastard!” he yells. At the same time he curses Mr. Zhao, a hungry street urchin stealthily snatches 2 baked chickens from Jia Jiancai’s basket. Jia Jiancai turns his head to see the street urchin escaping from sight. Already overwhelmed at the day’s turn of bad luck, he simply watches the thief escape, content to stroke his beard as the hot Sun’s rays cause his forehead to perspire with sweat.
As Jia Jiancai lethargically makes his way back to his base of operations, or the “chicken’s nest” as he calls it, he thinks about how to turn his fortune around in his favor. Perhaps I should get out of the chicken business? Perhaps not….maybe only a rough patch….only a rough patch….
When he makes his way toward the “nest,” he crosses the small stream he 
knows so well, past the hundreds of live chickens, only to see Wang Xiaoer sleeping next to the batch of chickens that he started to bake in the morning! “Young Wang” (as he is referred to) still has his hand grasping the prong used to remove the chickens from the pot, as if he dozed off in mid action.
“Wang! Wang! Get up you lazy fool!” With the last word, Jia Jiancai kicks the stool out from under Young Wang. He lands on the ground with a slight “thump,” opens his eyes in a daze and turns around. His hand still grasps the chicken prong. He reaches for the pot and burns his hand on it’s surface. Only then does he realize that it is Jia Jiancai who has kicked the stool out from under him.
“I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry. I must have konked out. The weather…it’s just too hot. I’m not used to this sun.” Young Wang braces himself for punishment. I’m an acountant. I should be handling money, not chickens, he thinks to himself, once again regretting having to work with the filthy fowl. Despite his aversion to the birds, he has always admired Mr. Jia’s dedication to his craft.
Jia Jiancai says nothing. He carefully removes the top of the pot and looks 
at its contents. The fire below the pot is very low. The meat inside must be overcooked, surely no one will by this at the price of five tokens we usually charge, Jia thinks, regretfully. They decide to sell the overly-simmered chickens at a reduced rate. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse.
“Very well, we’ll wrap this batch as usual and sell it at a discounted rate. In order to make up for the destruction of these chickens, I’ll ask you to come with me in the afternoon at the height of the Sun’s power. I know you have trouble with the heat, but it is a price you must pay. We all make mistakes ‘Young Wang,’ but I don’t want to make another one by wasting all that Mother Nature has provided us. Another tea shipment should be coming in this afternoon. We have no time to waste.”
“Yes sir,” Young Wang replies. Jia Jiancai and his apprentice Young Wang wordlessly begin wrapping the overcooked braised chickens in reed leaves. Sweating under the mid-afternoon Sun, they work without rest, put the chickens into four baskets and make their way over the creek towards the Grand Canal. When they arrive, they set up next to Enemy Zhao, who leisurely rests underneath the shade of a makeshift umbrella he has propped up for himself out of reed leaves on branches.
“Ah. I see you brought your tail along with you this time, Jia,” Enemy Zhao sneers, pointing at Young Wang. He sits back on his haunches, counting the morning’s earnings.
“At least my tail remains loyal to me. Where has yours gone, oh Great One? Young Zhu, was his name, wasn’t it?” Jia Jiancai smiles at his quip.
“Shut your mouth! Zhu was a thief. I beat him heartily so he will not forget my wraith. At least he wasn’t lazy!” Enemy Zhao points to Wang Xiaoer with a snicker. Jia Jiancai holds Young Wang back, sensing the apprentice’s anger.
The afternoon is hot and tense with the Sun seemingly mocking the men of chicken. It’s orb slides ever so slowly across the sky. Minutes flow by like honey. There is no breeze. The sellers keep their eyes peeled towards the South, the direction of their business. Young Wang begins to fall into slumber once more, only to be whacked on the thy by Mr. Jia. When he is not using his hand to wake up Young Wang, he swats flies away from the chicken, more than usual on this day.
“I see the flies like your pile more than mi….” Enemy Zhao’s voice trails off. In the distance, the second tea boat approaches, much larger than the one in the morning. Within minutes, the boat moors itself on the embankment and the hungry traders are on their way towards the chickens.
“5 coins, 5 coins!” Enemy Zhao yells out.
“3 coins, 3 coins!” yell Young Wang and Jia Jiancai in unison.
“Are you mad? I knew something was wrong with your chicken…selling turned meat are you!” Enemy Zhao’s temper flares up, only to be silenced by the first approaching customer, a young man with a budding moustache. Jia Jiancai notices a slight black eye as well, perhaps evidence of a recent scuffle.
“Fine…I’ll match my price with yours! 3 coins, 3 coins!” Enemy Zhao says to the young man with the black eye. The young man turns to Zhao’s chicken, then to Jia’s, rubbing his chin as if contemplating something deep. Then he leans down and smells Mr. Jia’s chicken. He stands up and gives Mr. Jia 3 coins.
“I’ll take one,” he says. He unwraps the chicken and bites into it. Jia Jiancai 
and Young Wang await anxiously his reaction. Surely, he will spit it out, overcooked as it is. But the young man with the black eye continues to eat the chicken voraciously. He looks up at Jia Jiancai.
“This…” he starts between bites, hardly taking the time to chew, “this is the best chicken I’ve ever had in my life.” And with Young Wang’s “mistake,” the legacy of Jia Jiancai’s Dezhou Braised Chicken begins.
The Dreamer
Huang Ming wipes his face with a napkin, finishing off the last succulent bite of another lunch of Dezhou Braised Chicken. The year is 2010. He walks to the lobby of the Sun-Moon Mansion, his creation, his mind-child come to realization. Observing the shiny reflective floors he admires the small fountain in the middle of the lobby. The design in the center is a tribute to Father Sun, His rays spreading out in all directions. He listens to the quiet trickle of the water intermingle with the voices of the friendly staff conversing at the reception desk behind him. The hotel staff manager, Ms. Song walks by. A nice young girl from JilinW Province, Ms. Song has worked as staff manager in the Sun-Moon Mansion’s hotel for the past year. Her English is excellent, and he’s received only compliments about her service. Huang Ming, middle-aged but still handsome enough to catch the eye of young ladies, is the man that China has dubbed “The Solar King.” He steps outside of the building to survey his work and wait. Today he will be showing a group of investors from Hebei Province products around the Sun-Moon Mansion, which lies in the heart of Dezhou’s Solar Valley.
“Sun-Moon Mansion, the world solar landmark and headquarters of Himin 
Group, is also the very construction where 2010 International Solar Cities Congress (ISCC) will be held. The total area of the building is 75,000 square meters, it adopts the technologies of water heating, BIPV, cooling, ceiling radiation, PV on-grid power generation, solar swimming pool, and cross-seasonal energy storage” (Himin Solar Energy Group Introduction brochure).
Dezhou City, Shandong Province, “with legends of ‘Hou Yi’ shooting the sun and Kua Fu racing with the sun, has the long-term relation with the sun, benefited from the sun, and builds the largest industrial base of solar energy utilization in the world,” (Dezhou Solar City Magazine, March 2010). The power of Father Sun is awesome and everywhere on this day in the ”Solar City.” Huang Ming walks across the wooden bridge which spans the length of the man-made pond in front of the Sun-Moon Mansion. Shaped like a sundial, the mansion looks magnificent covered with its solar panels. He loosens his tie one notch, the weathe being hot. A car pulls up to the hotel’s entrance. A mother and father step out of the vehicle, the young daughter sitting in the back of the car. Huang Ming looks at the girl sitting in the backseat and notices the blue ribbon in her hair, not unlike the kind that his daughter used to wear when she was about the same age as this girl. His daughter, now studying in Europe, looked up at him with her beautiful eyes, so young and innocent:
“13 years ago, the serious energy shortage problem aroused an ordinary father’s anxious concern to the living environment of his daughter’s in hte future. He decided to maintain the blue sky and white clouds for his daughter, and since then he began to pave a way in devoloping sustainable solar energy. The father is Board Chairman of Himin Solar Energy Group, Mr. Huang Ming” (Himin Company’s Brochure Magazine).
Was it really only 13 years ago? Huang Ming considers the number, so arbitrary in his mind. The time moves to fast. He stares down at the pond with its green waters and yellow fish, as yellow as the Sun and thinks about his daughter, his wife, his Solar Empire.
“Mr. Huang, they’re here,” awakening from his reverie he looks up to see Ms. Song waving at him, beckoning him inside. He re-enters the Sun-Moon Mansion to meet his guests.
The group is a small one from the city of BaodingW in Hebei Province. The company’s head, Mr. Wang grasps Mr. Huang’s hand in his, and they exchange business cards. The Solar King leads the group from the hotel section of the Sun-Moon Mansion to the product display and company’s products building. From here on out, Huang Ming is on autopilot, firing off numbers as he walks as fluid as the water flowing from the fountain in his lobby.
“During the past 10 years, our company has created 8122 numbers, namely, the traveling route of the ten-thousand-kilo scientific generalization movement reaches to over 80 million kilometers, equal to 2,000 circuits around the Earth.”
The group from Hebei nods in unison. The Solar King continues.
“The total amount in expanding solar energy adds up to more than 10 
million square meters, equal to 7-8 years’ expansion quantity of EU and 16 years’ quantity of North Ameri….excuse me for a moment.” Huang Ming’s thought process is thrown off for a minute. One of the guides of the company’s museum section stands near the gift shop waving at Mr. Huang. Two foreigners stand next to her with mouths open wide and grins as bright as daylight spread across their faces. One is tall and handsome, bearing a striking resemblance to Nicholas Cage. The other one is short witha goatee and reminds the Solar King of a younger Tom Cruise.
“Excuse me, Mr. Huang,” the girl starts, “these two foreigners want to take a picture with you. I’m sorry.”
The Solar King looks at his group, “I’m sorry, this will only be a moment.” He walks over to the two foreigners.
“Hey, Solar King!” the tall one waves at Mr. Huang and shakes his hand. He says his name is Simon.
“Nice to meet you, where are you from?” asks Mr. Huang.
“Switzerland,” Simon says.
The Swissman’s words send a shot to Huang Ming’s heart, striking at his weak spot. “Ah. My daughter was studying there. Great place. What about you?” Huang Ming looks at the shorter foreigner. He says his name is Jeffrey.
“I’m from the US. Have you been?”
“A few times, yes.”
“Well, you seem to be busy, don’t want to take up too much of your time,”
Jeffrey says. The three of them stand together, the Solar King in the middle. The guide takes Jeffrey’s camera as they pose for a photo. The American stands on his right side, the Swissman on his left. Huang Ming puts his arms around both of their waists. The two friends from afar put their arms over his shoulder in an expression of affinity and admiration. In the background, there is a picture of a young female angel with the words of the company’s motto: For Generations’ blue sky and white clouds.
The Hero
“One.”
Only one second.
Thwip.
The seventh Sun falls to the Earth. As it falls, it transforms from a Sun into a crow. Hou Yi, the Immortal, no longer a “boy” stands atop K’un L’un Mountain. The land is scorched. Fires rage in the distance. Wild beasts run amok and consume men’s flesh. Vultures soar in the air in their search for carrion. Their search is easy.
The change in the sky happened months, maybe years ago. Hou Yi has trouble keeping track of Time. One day everything seemed normal, Father Sun shining in the sky, overlooking the Earth with His kindness. The next day there were ten Suns in the sky. Said to be the 9 sons of the Jade King transformed into Suns to circle the heavens in a ritual to be repeated day after day, eon after eon. They were never to be together, forever separated. The 9 Suns tired of their rituals. They grew bored of being alone. They no longer listened to Father Sun. In retaliation of His rules, they gathered together to scorch the Earth at once, to create their own mischief.
“One,”
Only one second.
Thwip.
Hou Yi’s arrow strikes the 8th Sun. It falls from the sky. Crows’ feathers rain down from the heavens as it plummets to Earth. Two more to go.
“One,”
Only one second.
Thwip.
A fiery explosion bursts overhead. The 9th Sun is shot. Enough is enough. Hou Yi thinks to himself. Time for an ending. With steady hand and heavy concentration, Hou Yi takes aim at the 10th Sun, the Father Sun, the Jade King. Steady. Steady.
“One,”
“Cease!” Bursting forth from K’un L’un Mountain, the fiery Chicken Spirit flies out to block Hou Yi’s view.
“Oh Hou Yi, great Immortal, stay thine arrow! For if you strike at the Jade King, disaster worse than that of the 10 Suns will bear itself on the Earth.” The fiery Chicken Spirit’s eyes blaze.
“He did not control his sons! It is in my power to take Him from the sky.” Hou Yi keeps his bow raised.
“Hou Yi, while it may be in your power, remember you are a hero, endowed with the five moralities of culture, military 
strength, courage, benevolence, and trust. Hou Yi, the people trust you to spare this final Sun. Lower thine bow, Hou Yi. Lower thine bow! The People need the father Sun. Strike Him not!”
The moment is tense. Hou Yi considers Time for once in his head, playing with it. He feels the seconds stand still. The temperature begins to drop as the last crow dies after its fall. Hou Yi looks down at the Earth below him as the wild beasts run and hide from Father Sun, His strength returned to Him. The Man Immortal slides his arrow back into his quiver.
“Very well,” he says to the fiery Chicken Spirit. Hou Yi looks out across the horizen, opening his arms to the heavens, “For the Blue Sky and White Cloud of Later Generations.”
Note: As their are many versions of the Hou Yi legend, the writer has taken liberties with the story as well. Additionally, the writer would like to apologize for neglecting to include the King of the Sulu Kingdom in this blog. The Sulu Kingdom refers to the Phillippines. In the year 1417 the Eastern King of the Sulu Kingdom passed through Dezhou and died of illness. Emperor Yongle constructed a temple dedicated to him.
