YIN: THE JADE STAR - THE ETERNAL PURSUIT OF LOVE
Chapter 1: Shen Hu— The Cosmic Eruption
Shen Hu... haaaah... The celestial breath of annihilation. It arrived—and existence ceased. Blown asunder, reality dissolved into silence that stretched for an eternity. Then—chaos. Genesis convulsed; a tear of ten thousand thunders ripped the fabric of being. Why does it still hurt? The rupture resonated not merely with sound, but with profound regret.
Shen Hu. For him, an exhale meant both creation and destruction. Though celestial in form, a beastly will drove him. He breathed out. A single, seemingly effortless strike—a singularity, precisely cut. Yet scheming corrupted the sacred weave, severing threads that bound the known to the infinite. He didn’t deserve that. The tear, jagged and unclean, bled longing and injustice into the void.
From the ether, shapes arose. If I just had one more chance... Not conjured. Unleashed. Formations charged in a pulsing rhythm, granted mass by thought, given purpose by pain. I should’ve said something... They did not stumble from shadow—they were shadow, shaped by yearning, by words left unspoken, by forgiveness withheld. I want to forgive her—but I can’t. Laughter echoed from the deepest darkness as they solidified, mercy a forgotten ideal.
He neither welcomed nor feared them. He named them. “You,” he declared, his voice carved from stillness, “I name you Lost First Kiss. Haunt them with warmth that can never be touched again. Go, sow grief without pity.”
The shape twitched, then slipped into the mind’s fragile fractures. “And you,” he turned to an ever-shifting form, too fluid to trust, “kneel, or I cast you into the beast-cloud—Vengeance Scorned. Seize regret, yearning, forgiveness—twist them, bend them, break them. Let your voice become their inner monologue. Make compassion falter. Let forgiveness sting.”
Another hovered—thin, whispering, uncertain. “You are The Promise That Wasn’t Meant. Breathe into memories. Make them doubt if truth was ever real.” One more materialized—elegant and still, with cold fire for eyes. “You are Jealousy Masked as Caution. Whisper that safety is betrayal. Persuade them to push away those who would bleed for them.”
He stepped back, lowering his blade. They watched, formless and faithless. “You are all born of what once touched me, fragments of what I was denied. Obstruct them—meticulously, patiently. Break them open.”
Finally, he commanded: “Find the one who still loves too deeply. The mortal who would chase forever. When they are hollow enough to run without end—” He vanished. His final words carved a curse into the void: “—I will throw them in.”
But somewhere, far beyond the tempest of schemes and sorrow, She breathed—not with fury, but with a healing hush. Qi—the unseen thread—pulsed gently through the realms. Her breath mended what his tore; where his exhale shattered, hers restored. Where his illusions fostered confusion, hers sparked remembrance. The balance was not broken. Not yet.
As dusk settled over a tranquil mountain village, a strange breath filled the air—not quite wind, not quite memory. The elders called it a returning. It drifted like an old love letter rediscovered, fluttering through open doors, brushing cheeks with the scent of something almost remembered. It swirled between cooking fires and laughter, across ancient trees and stone walls carved with faded names.
The old couple, Grandpa and Grandma, sat in the courtyard where leaves pile easily and the door wasn’t that far. And there they gathered around ancient fire rocks where epic stories had long been told. Teenagers surrounded them, hunched over glowing screens, their worlds seemingly confined to emoji-filled pings, struggling to grasp anything beyond the digital.
Wei crossed his arms, feigning boredom, while Lifen attempted to smooth things over. Their eyes remained fixed on a little box at Grandpa’s feet, pulsing with soft green light. Grandpa cleared his throat, eyeing Wei.
“What's wrong, kid? Going on a date through your WeChat feed?” Wei mumbled, gazing down. “Maybe.” Lifen nudged him playfully. “Wei, hush. Let your Ye Ye talk.” The old man grinned, brushing off an ember that landed on his pant leg. “All right then, you want a story? Your Neinei has one that will set your WeChat abuzz.”
“Neinei Grandma,” Wei asked, “is the Jade Star real?” “Is your love for... your WeChat date real? We’ll keep that a secret,” Grandma responded, smiling and winking at Lifen as Wei blushed brighter than a golden moon. “You know, long ago, in the hush before time... the Qi... breathed and formed into stars. Three radiant forces emerged from the Essence of the Ether: Mínghé — The Celestial of the Serene Balance.” She was the luminous still point, the harmony between flame and tide. Her presence infused stillness into chaos, tempering fury not with force, but with grace. Where day clashed with night, she held the line—not to rule, but to unify.
Grandma’s voice lingered, composed and steady, imbued with the weight of ancient wisdom. “Mínghé,” she articulated, each syllable settling like a breath of stillness, “The Celestial of the Serene Balance.” She paused; the words hung, the room hushed, as if the earth itself had drawn a deep breath. Her hands rested lightly above the table, fingers tracing unhurried, deliberate circles, as if sensing the pulse of the earth beneath. “Her Feng Shui Element: Earth,” she murmured, a reverent quietness in her tone. The words fell with a gentle weight, deep and unwavering. “The center that holds.”
Grandpa watched his wife. Then, with a wink choreographed over generations of shared tales, he launched into a burst of theatrics. His arms flew wide, sweeping the air with exuberance, his hands cutting through space like lightning. His energy, an unpredictable and passionate storm, unleashed itself. He spun, arms stretching outward as if embracing the very world.
“The center that holds!” he shouted, his voice erupting with power, his laughter infectious. “It is not just the earth we feel; it is the force, the strength, the pulse!” His voice boomed, as if the ground itself stirred beneath them.
Grandma observed him with a faint smile, her eyes steady, unshaken. When his whirlwind of energy subsided, she leaned in again. Her voice, low and soothing, guided them back into the peace only she could command.
“The center that holds,” she repeated, her voice rising fractionally, a subdued echo of the force Grandpa had unleashed. “It is not force that keeps us, but balance. Stillness allows the energy to flow, not the chaos that consumes.” Her voice wrapped around them like the earth itself—solid, dependable, grounding. It became clear: Mínghé was not just about what moved or burst forth. She was the silent foundation upon which everything else rested. “The center that holds,” Grandma stated again, her words punctuating the room like a steady heartbeat.
Grandpa, now calm, nodded in agreement, his energy receding into the stillness she had brought. His face softened, the wild spark dimmed, replaced by a serene understanding. He whispered, “Yes... the balance.”
Her eyes glowing, Grandma’s voice, a delicate breeze, lifted the room's energy. “Mínghé... is the Celestial of the Serene Balance,” she affirmed, the weight of it not in her words but in the way the room bent to her presence. “The Earth. The center that holds. Where all energy finds its place, and everything spins in harmony.” Her voice, steadfast and true like the earth itself—no burst, no rush—conveyed the calm certainty that everything, no matter how wild, would eventually find rest.
“Then there was Xuánshuǐ — Celestial of Mysterious Waters Grandma continued, her words slipping into the air like an igniting spark. “Fire—passion, heat. Unchecked, its will becomes an obstacle.” Her hands hovered just above the table, fingers moving with an unhurried, deliberate rhythm, as though tracing the very beginnings of fire.
Grandpa's voice was steady at first. “Passion,” he said, the word deliberate. “Heat,” he continued, his tone warming. “Unchecked will,” he added, the promise of something greater building. But then—Grandma let out a minute, almost imperceptible cough. At her cue, his composure burst into life. His arms shot out, slicing the air like unleashed flame. He moved briskly, dramatically. His feet stamped the ground; his hands reached high, as if summoning the sky's fire. “Yàotíng!” he bellowed, his voice booming with uncontrollable blaze. The room seemed to crackle, but just as swiftly, Grandpa dropped back into stillness. His arms fell softly, his breath heavy but subdued, embers left from the fire. “And yet,” he whispered, a hushed echo, “even the fiercest fire must eventually burn out.”
Grandma’s gaze softened, her voice a tranquil counterpoint to the lingering tension. “Fire,” she began, like a breeze tempering embers, “cannot be contained. It consumes, ascends, and leaves only ash.” Her words settled like stillness after a storm. Grandpa, now calm, nodded—his energy a residual warmth.
“Then, there is Xuánshuǐ — Celestial of Mysterious Waters,” she continued, her tone deepening. To love, for him, was to command the unseen currents, to veil desire beneath stillness. Grandma paused, her words rippling like secrets in a moonlit lake. “He embodies depth, secrecy, and the weight of memory.” She leaned forward, ensuring every ear bent to her whisper: “He moved as a half-forgotten dream—subtle, vast. What he could not possess, he mirrored in illusion. Yet where Liánhuǒ — Celestial of Raging Flame — erupted outward, Xuánshuǐ coiled inward.”
“Together, Liánhuǒ and Xuánshuǐ forged a triad with Mínghé — Serene Balance, the living breath of the cosmos. But harmony between Flame and Waters proved fragile; their opposing natures fractured the Jade Star. When their rivalry sundered heaven, Mínghé sacrificed herself to preserve the Jade Aura — the essence binding existence. Both celestials revered her, not for conquest, but for awe. Yet awe curdled to hunger, hunger to obsession. They clashed. Neither sought her counsel; their love warped to strife, and strife tore the skies.”
“As the Jade Aura splintered, Mínghé enveloped the fragments, shielding creation from collapse. Her form dissolved into starlight, scattering to the winds. The celestials pursued—not to salvage, but to claim. They failed. Thus began the Eternal Chase: Liánhuǒ, ever-seeking, flames lashing the void; Xuánshuǐ, ever-obstructing, tides quashing his rival’s light. Mínghé’s heartbeat faded to myth—a whisper in hearthside tales, a sigh in spring rains. She lingers now where humility meets yearning, awaiting those who ask rather than take.”
She turned to the girls in the group, winking conspiratorially. “You see, the warriors in the old story never learned how to communicate with the one they fought for. Boys rarely seem to change, do they? They possess an exuberant drive and unwavering determination to go against the grain. Their youthful faces hide their reluctance to share their innermost feelings. But we know how to fix that, right, girls?”
“You see, girls, with boys like my old, foolish Ye Ye,” Grandma continued with a teasing smile, “we chat—he says what’s him, and I say what’s me. And when confusion clouds his face, we chat some more until it clears.”
A couple of the teenage girls giggled, exchanging mischievous grins. Wei let out a half-snort, half-chuckle. “Listen up, Wei. Did you hear what your Neinei said? Next time you’re with a girl, do one thing: look at her, not your phone, and chat before you text her.” Grandpa picked up the faintly glowing box, tapping its lid. He cracked it, and the green glow brightened. “See this? Pulsing even brighter… like a first date.” He reached in and pulled out a diminutive jade trinket—a simple pendant on a thin cord. “Give her this when you’re ready,” he urged softly, pressing it into Wei’s hand. “Not because it’s fancy. It shows you’re willing to share something real—your inner feelings—not just a text message.”
Wei’s face flushed, alight with embarrassment and secret excitement. Lifen elbowed him, mouthing, “Aww, that’s sweet.” Grandma’s eyes sparkled. A hush ensued, the only sound the fire’s gentle crackle. Grandpa snapped the box shut, cutting off the bright green glow. “All right, enough cosmic talk. Now get outta here, or I’ll start recounting the time I taught your grandma to dance under the moon.”
“Eww, Grandpa!” Wei teased, half-laughing, half-groaning. Everyone stood, stirring from the circle, a blend of amusement and fascination lingering from the story's warmth and the future the elders hinted at.
Far from the village tranquility, in a cramped city apartment where every countertop was within arm’s reach, Jin stood with his phone pressed to his ear. The aroma of steaming dumplings permeated the confined space, savory warmth hugging the corners. He chewed thoughtfully, listening to his father’s familiar voice crackle on the line.
“You found decent dumplings there?” his father inquired, affection masking mild disbelief. “Not as good as home,” Jin conceded, laughing. “They’re missing that secret dash of salt you always add.”
“Close isn’t home, son. Don’t forget us common folk,” his father reminded him tenderly. Jin exhaled, the taste of nostalgia lingering. “Never. Promise I’ll visit soon. Just busy… you know how it is.” He took another bite. A fleeting recollection of his Grandpa’s oval box and cosmic tales brushed his mind, offering peculiar comfort in the ordinary moment.
“We’re proud of you,” his father uttered softly. “Don’t let the city swallow that bright spark.” Jin swallowed hard, feeling that spark quiver. “Thanks, Dad. Means a great deal.”
They laughed, voices bridging distance. Then something shifted. A tremor rattled the dumpling container. Jin frowned. “Dad—?” he began. Static erupted, followed by a rumbling. His father yelled something inaudible. The apartment rocked violently, cabinets banging open, dumplings cascading off the counter. “Dad?! Dad!” Jin shouted, heart pounding. The line went dead.
Meanwhile, in a lantern-lit teahouse across the city, Mei cradled a cup of jasmine tea, phone balanced against her cheek. Her mother’s laughter resonated in her ear. “Tell me you found that apricot-tea blend,” her mother teased. “I tried,” Mei responded, suppressing a wistful sigh, “but it’s not yours. Your swirl of leaves was magical, Mom.”
A warm chuckle answered. “We’ll brew it together when you visit—no more delaying, okay?” Mei closed her eyes, letting memories drift. She pictured Grandma's voice weaving tales of the Jade Star, cosmic warriors, and heartbreak. Once dismissed as silly narratives, they resonated with a curious poignancy now. Her mother’s tone softened.
“Mei, you sound… off. Is everything all right?” “Just missing home,” Mei murmured. “I’ll come soon, I promise.” A sudden rattle disturbed the teacups, delicate porcelain chattering on polished tables. Mei's heart lurched. “Mom? Do you feel that?” “Feel wha—?” A violent jolt hurled her to the floor, cups shattering in an explosion of porcelain shards. Her mother’s voice turned frantic. “Mei—an earthquake? Are you—?!” A roar of splitting concrete howled through the teahouse as windows imploded in a tempest of glass. Mei scrambled beneath a table, phone clutched tightly. “Mom!” she gasped. “Get somewhere safe—Mom—!” But only silence remained. The line was severed. The building groaned under the quake's assault, screams tearing through the once-serene space.
