Xianlu remembered the tale of the Rise of Tea Dragons, a story told to him by his uncle Yuhen. It was a legend of transformation, where the humble Tea Koi, through unwavering determination and purity, would ascend to become something greater—dragons imbued with the essence of their tea-infused bloodlines.
As the koi leapt towards the Dragon's Gate, their scales shimmered with a soft, ethereal glow, reflecting the virtues they carried. Over time, their transformation was not merely physical; their forms became majestic—resplendent beings with gleaming wings, fins like flowing silk, and eyes that shimmered with ancient wisdom. The air seemed to hum with the energy of their presence, each breath exuding a gentle, soothing warmth that resonated with the land itself.
The Tea Dragons were not simply creatures of strength; they were embodiments of balance and harmony. Their scales carried symbols of purity—wisps of petals, vines, and leaves that appeared to breathe with life. Their wings, wide and powerful, allowed them to soar through the skies with an elegance that spoke of centuries of cultivation. Their presence was both commanding and serene, radiating a quiet authority.
Xianlu could almost feel the presence of these dragons in his mind's eye—majestic guardians who had given their forms to preserve the peace, their spirits woven into the very fabric of the world. In fact, he was looking at one right now!
Xianlu's breath faltered as his eyes fell upon the figure within the pristine pond. Suspended in the crystalline waters, the dragon lay still, a vision so otherworldly it felt as though it had been painted by the hands of a celestial artist. Its body stretched endlessly, a sinuous, elegant form that seemed to ripple with grace even in its stillness. From nose to tail, it spanned nearly twenty meters, a testament to its ancient majesty, its sheer size only magnified by the depthless serenity of the pond.
Its scales, a delicate jade kissed by moonlit hues of jasmine, shimmered softly under the glow of the cavern's light, each one a masterpiece of nature's perfection. Unlike the harsh armor of lesser beasts, these scales were smooth and velvety, reflecting a subdued brilliance that seemed almost alive. They bore the gentleness of petals yet hinted at unyielding resilience, a paradox of beauty and strength.
The dragon's cerulean eyes, closed as though in an eternal slumber, peeked faintly beneath heavy lids, glimmers of infinite wisdom hidden within their depths. Its white antlers rose like branches of frost-kissed ivory, twisting upward in intricate arcs that gave it an air of divinity. They seemed almost too delicate for a creature of such magnitude, a reminder of its harmony with the world rather than dominance over it.
Webbed claws, five on each limb, rested lightly against the water's surface, their pale membranes like veils of mist. Though their shape hinted at immense power, their repose mirrored the dragon's tranquil nature, as if it had no need to assert itself in a world that already knew its greatness.
The entire form, from the graceful arch of its neck to the long, tapering tail that seemed to vanish into the pond's depths, spoke of a streamlined perfection—a being not built for violence but for flowing through the heavens like a river of jade silk.
Xianlu stood frozen, gazing at the unmoving figure as though it were a sacred relic, untouched by time or turmoil. In this moment, the dragon was not merely a creature—it was a masterpiece of life itself, resting beneath the still waters, as if dreaming of a world only it could remember.
Xianlu, in his awe-struck reverie, took one step too close to the edge of the pond, and his foot slipped on the slick moss. His arms flailed wildly as he let out an undignified yelp, tumbling headfirst into the pristine water with a loud splash.
The serene pond, which moments ago had seemed an untouchable masterpiece of tranquility, erupted into chaos as Xianlu sank beneath the surface. Instinctively, he thrashed his arms, but to his horror, he wasn't floating back up. Instead, he was sinking, as if the pond stretched far deeper than it appeared.
"I'm going to drown in this stupid magical puddle!" he thought, his panic rising. But just as he prepared for the worst, he noticed something peculiar—he wasn't choking. His lungs filled with air as though he were breathing normally, the water feeling oddly light and cool, almost like a silken mist.
Before he could fully process this miracle, a sudden shift in the water's current made him tumble in slow motion. Then, there it was.
The dragon.
Xianlu's eyes widened as he came face to face with the enormous creature, its cerulean eyes gazing at him with what could only be described as soft curiosity. The dragon's delicate antlers shimmered faintly, and its webbed claws moved slightly, as though stretching from a long nap.
For a moment, neither moved.
"I… uh… good evening?" Xianlu stammered, bubbles escaping his mouth as he awkwardly waved, unsure if he was about to be eaten or blessed.
The dragon blinked slowly, tilting its head as if considering this strange, bumbling intruder in its sacred pond. Then, as if it found his presence mildly amusing, its massive mouth curved upward in a faintly smug expression.
The dragon's massive cerulean eyes blinked slowly, narrowing with playful curiosity as they locked onto Xianlu. Its voice, deep and melodic, reverberated through the watery expanse, laced with teasing warmth.
"Young Fry," it said, a faint chuckle rumbling through its tone. "You have yet to show your scales, and yet, here you are, floundering in my pond. What brings you here, ill-prepared as you are?"
Xianlu flushed, his words tumbling out in a sputtered mess. "I—uh—what scales? I don't—"
The dragon tilted its massive head, the soft gleam in its eyes sharpening as if it were gazing straight through him. Its antlers glimmered faintly, and a subtle current rippled around them both, carrying a weight of ancient power. A frown of curiosity and puzzlement crossed the dragon's face.
"Ah," it murmured, its voice quieter now, tinged with wonder. "There is something within you—hidden. Veiled. It prevents you from becoming what you truly are."
Xianlu froze, his flustered thoughts spinning. "What I truly am? No, no, you've got the wrong person! I'm just a mortal—no scales here, just… regular skin and maybe a bruise or two!"
The dragon laughed again, a low, melodic hum that sent ripples through the water. "Mortals, always thinking so small." It leaned closer, its massive snout hovering just inches from Xianlu's chest. "You carry a secret, Young Fry, and I intend to uncover it."
Before Xianlu could protest, the dragon's demeanor shifted once more, its gaze softening with an almost amused fondness. "You remind me of myself, once," it said, circling him lazily. "Clumsy, unsure, all elbows and fins. But even the smallest koi can leap, given enough will."
Xianlu opened his mouth to retort, but the dragon's tail suddenly swirled around him, creating a whirlpool of luminous water. Light enveloped him as he was lifted into the air, and he let out a startled yelp, arms flailing helplessly.
The dragon began to transform, its shimmering scales dissolving into radiant threads of light. The ethereal glow coiled into itself, shrinking and reforming until the shape before him was no longer draconic. When the light dimmed, Xianlu's breath hitched as he beheld the being that stood in its place.
Hovering above the surface of the pond was a goddess. Her long white hair cascaded like a waterfall of moonlight, crowned with delicate antlers that gleamed like frost. Her porcelain skin shimmered faintly with iridescent Jasmine-Jade scales that seemed to ripple and shift like living jewels.
She wore a pristine white Jeogui adorned with jade ornaments and intricate jasmine motifs, the fabric alive with the movement of white jade koi swimming across its surface. Her forehead bore a single, perfect jasmine flower, softly aglow like a divine emblem. Her entire presence exuded elegance and serenity, her every movement radiating a quiet, otherworldly grace.
Her feet floated just above the ground, untouched by the earth, as though the world itself was unworthy of her tread. Xianlu felt her aura envelop him—a gentle, refreshing wave that erased every ounce of fatigue and filled him with an overwhelming sense of calm and wonder.
Behind her, a magnificent wheel of light and jade hovered in the air, its nine layers intricately carved with celestial designs. It spun slowly, casting an ethereal glow around her, like a divine halo that solidified her image as a true goddess.
For a moment, Xianlu could do nothing but stare, his breath stolen by the sheer beauty and majesty of the figure before him.
The goddess's cerulean eyes softened as they settled on Xianlu, her gaze both piercing and kind. Her voice, melodic and resonant, carried an ageless wisdom as she spoke.
"I am but an avatar," she said, her tone as soothing as the breeze across the pond. "A fragment of the true being that once guarded this realm. For centuries, I have waited here, destined to meet one whose path would intertwine with mine. And now, Young Fry, you stand before me. You are my destiny—brought to me by fateful encounters and disasters."
Xianlu blinked, startled. "Fateful encounters? Disasters?" he echoed, confusion flickering in his voice.
The goddess inclined her head, her expression serene but unyielding. "Every hardship you have endured, every storm that sought to break you, was but a thread in the tapestry of your journey. Without those disasters, you would not have walked this path. And without the fateful encounters that followed, you would not have stood here before me."
Her words reverberated within Xianlu, striking a chord so deep it left him momentarily breathless. Memories swirled in his mind—painful, bitter moments that had shaped his life. The taunts he endured, the struggles that seemed endless, the loneliness that often shadowed him. Each one had felt like a disaster, an unrelenting wave that threatened to drown him.
But there were other memories too—of his Uncle Yuhen, whose tales inspired him to dream; of his Grandfather, whose illness spurred him to seek answers; of the little shop and its library, where he found solace and knowledge; of strangers whose kindness had lit his darkest days. And then there was Kai, whose presence seemed so random, yet had become instrumental in bringing him to this very moment.
Kai, the strange and resourceful young man he'd saved on a whim, had led him to this hidden cave. And within it, he'd found the cure to his grandfather's illness—the very purpose of his journey.
Xianlu's chest tightened as the goddess's words sank deeper. His disasters had paved the way for his encounters, and his encounters had steered him through his disasters.
The goddess smiled, as if she could see the understanding dawn within him. "Do you see now, Young Fry? The currents of fate are rarely gentle, but they are always purposeful. And your purpose… is far greater than you yet realize."
The dragon gazed at Xianlu with an enigmatic expression, her cerulean eyes shimmering with a depth that seemed to hold entire worlds. Her voice, now like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind, resonated with riddles and poetry.
"Though fate has spun our threads together, the loom of destiny remains in your hands," she began, her tone measured and melodic. "The river may guide you, but it is you who must decide when to swim and when to leap."
Xianlu furrowed his brow, confusion plain on his face. "What does that even mean?"
The dragon chuckled, a sound that rippled through the air like a playful breeze. "It means, little fry, that while we are fated to meet, your destiny is not yet written. You must forge it with your own choices, your own strength."
Her gaze turned more serious, and she straightened, her ethereal presence towering yet graceful. "But fate alone is not enough. To walk this path, you must first prove yourself. I will set before you a test—a trial to measure your character, your resolve, and your understanding."
Before she explained the test, the dragon's expression softened, and her tone turned wistful. "Before you face the trial, allow me to share a tale, one of beginnings and transformation. I was not always as you see me now. Once, I was but a Jasmine Tea Koi, the weakest and smallest fry in the lake. My ties to the infusion of Jasmine Jade tea leaves were my only distinction. My scales were dull, my talent mediocre at best, and my spirit was often overshadowed by others more brilliant than I."
Her eyes glimmered with a faraway light as she continued. "The world tested me with storms, predators, and currents too strong for my feeble fins. Yet I endured. I was battered, scarred, but I persevered. And then came the day I reached the Dragon's Gate—a towering waterfall said to transform the worthy. It was a perilous ascent, one fraught with uncertainty and risk. Many fell back, defeated by fear or fatigue. I took a chance, a desperate leap, and by some miracle—or perhaps sheer will—I soared past its summit."
She paused, her voice carrying a weight of pride and humility. "It was then that I shed my koi form and became the Ethereal Jasmine Jade Tea Dragon you see before you. My transformation was not born of greatness but of persistence, of seizing the moment when it came. And so, Xianlu, I will test you not for your strength or knowledge, but for your spirit."
Xianlu's curiosity piqued despite his apprehension. "What kind of test?"
The dragon's antlers gleamed faintly, and her gaze sharpened, playful yet commanding. "The art of tea-making," she declared, her tone reverent. "For a Tea Dragon, the essence of life is found in the balance and harmony of brewing tea. To test your character, I ask you to brew a Jasmine Tea, using only the ingredients found within this cave."
As her words echoed, the ground around them began to shift. Plants of all shapes and sizes sprouted from the earth, their leaves shimmering with an unearthly brilliance. The air filled with a symphony of fragrances—floral, earthy, and sweet, each carrying a unique undertone.
Xianlu's eyes widened as he surveyed the sudden abundance. Some plants seemed familiar, their appearances fleetingly mentioned in ancient texts as mythical or extinct. But the vast majority were utterly alien to him, their vibrant hues and otherworldly patterns defying his understanding.
"This..." Xianlu was astonished, his voice tinged with disbelief.
The dragon smiled knowingly. "Tea is not about knowing. It is about feeling, understanding, and balance. A perfect brew lies not in perfection itself but in the harmony of its parts. Show me what your spirit can create, Young Fry."
Xianlu stared at the expanse of the cave, the glittering plants swaying gently in the unseen currents of air. The dragon's words echoed in his mind—"Tea is not about knowing. It is about feeling, understanding, and balance." Balance? Understanding? His lips curled into a bitter smile. How could someone like him—someone with a mind riddled with chaos, contradictions, and darkness—ever hope to create something harmonious?
The conflict churned within him, pulling him in every direction.
A Conflict of Character
Xianlu prided himself on his resourcefulness. Throughout his life, he had clawed his way out of impossible situations, often relying on cleverness and cunning. His wit was his weapon, his mind a fortress he'd built to survive the cruelties of the world. But here, in this sacred cave, surrounded by impossible beauty and ethereal wisdom, his usual tools felt dull and useless. This wasn't a test of intellect or trickery—it was a test of essence, of spirit. And deep down, Xianlu feared his essence was fractured, unworthy of the purity this task demanded.
A Conflict of Virtue
Xianlu's thoughts were a whirlwind, his mind weaving through memories long buried. As a child, he had once believed in virtue—the ideals of kindness, honesty, and selflessness. But as he grew older, the harsh reality of the world shattered those notions. The adults around him, his relatives, his cousins, and the bullies who roamed the streets taught him that virtue was often a facade. A mask donned by those who sought to appear noble, to rise above the rest, but underneath lay something darker—something far more twisted and self-serving.
The dragon's challenge felt almost mocking to him. Virtue? The very word tasted foreign on his tongue. He'd lied, stolen, manipulated—each act justified in his mind by the cruel hand fate had dealt him. The world system was unforgiving, and survival often meant sacrificing morality for strategy, for control. Was virtue really more than a polished surface, a tool used to elevate oneself above others? In truth, Xianlu saw it as little more than a means to separate the righteous from the wicked—yet both wore masks to hide their true selves.
And now, here he stood, expected to craft something delicate, something harmonious—a reflection of balance and virtue. Could he truly create something pure? Or would his tea be as bitter and muddled as the darker parts of his soul? The idea of weaving harmony out of his chaotic existence seemed almost absurd. Could he balance the light and darkness within him, or would the flaws overwhelm the beauty of the creation?
Xianlu's fingers trembled as they hovered over the fragrant herbs. He knew the depths of his own capacity for cruelty, the ease with which he could manipulate, control, and deceive. Yet, even in the face of that darkness, something stirred—a glimmer of hope, or perhaps defiance. He didn't need virtue to craft a masterpiece. He needed clarity. The clarity to see the flaws within, to accept them as part of who he was, and to move forward with authenticity, rather than illusion.
The Dragon gaze remained steady, her expression serene, though her sharp eyes observed him closely. She did not expect perfection—none could offer that—but what she sought was authenticity. A reflection of one's true self, no matter how fractured or complex.
"Reveal your soul," she whispered softly, her voice like the hum of distant winds. "Let it flow through the tea, unburdened by masks or false ideals. Only then will it taste pure."
A Conflict of Personality
As Xianlu grew older, he began to realize that nothing truly mattered unless it interested him. The world felt like a stage, and everyone around him played roles he no longer wanted to engage with. He thought back to his days working with old customers, putting on a façade of care, sympathy, and concern, all the while using them to gather information and expand his influence. They believed in his empathy, but underneath, he had crafted a web of manipulation—feeding off their trust, their pain, to push his own agenda.
Then there were the darker moments—those moments when his ambition had driven him to darker deeds. Like when he staged an accident for one of the clan's aunties, a slip meant to ensure he could disappear without consequence, leaving the gates behind without a trace. It had been ruthless, cold, yet necessary in his mind. It had worked, after all—no records, no accusations, no interference. The clan was none the wiser, and Xianlu had made his escape.
But as much as he controlled the facade, there was a deeper, darker truth he began to uncover within himself. Xianlu had always felt a dissonance—an unsettling pull between who he was expected to be and who he truly felt he was. Moments would come when the weight of others' suffering barely touched him, and cruelty shifted from something he regretted to something more like a fleeting curiosity. He had spent years masking this part of himself, learning how to blend seamlessly into the world, but in moments of solitude, the mask would slip. A voice would whisper to him: Why bother with balance? Why not create chaos? Why not show this dragon the storm within you, the sharp edges that define you?
The thought lingered, sharp and tempting. Yet even as it took root, Xianlu flinched, recoiling from it as if staring into a mirror he didn't want to see. Was he truly that person—the one driven by destruction, by a need to dominate and manipulate? Or was this just another fragment of his fractured identity, one he could choose to defy, to rise above?
A Conflict of Identity
The question that haunted him most was simple yet overwhelming: Who am I? Was he the failed son of a hooligan—a pawn molded by the chaos and turmoil of his lineage? Was he merely a mortal consumed by ambition, destined to crash against the harsh realities he could never fully control? Was he a great disappointment—a man whose emotions were too wild, too unruly, leaving him unable to master his own desires?
Each thought spiraled deeper into uncertainty, pulling him into a storm of self-doubt. Was he simply the clever trickster—always manipulating, always one step ahead of disaster, yet forever lost in his own web of deceit? Or was he something far more profound, something hidden beneath layers of lies and facades—something yet to be fully revealed?
The dragon's words echoed in his mind, slicing through the noise of his inner conflict. A hidden truth, she had said. A truth he had ignored for far too long. What if she was right? What if, beneath the layers of persona and manipulation, there was a version of himself he didn't recognize—something far removed from the man he thought he was?
The internal turmoil roared like a storm, and Xianlu found himself paralyzed. He wanted to scream, to demand an answer from the dragon, from the world, from himself. But no answer came. Only the stillness of the cave, the soft rustling of the plants, and the dragon's expectant gaze.
He closed his eyes, trembling as the weight of his thoughts pressed down on him. His mind was a battlefield, each thought a combatant vying for dominance. Yet, amidst the chaos, a memory surfaced—his grandfather's weathered hands, steady as they brewed tea in the quiet of their shop. His uncle's laughter, teasing yet warm, as he shared stories of koi and dragons by the fire.
They hadn't raised him to be perfect or virtuous. They'd raised him to endure, to adapt, to grow. They'd taught him not to overthink but to trust the moment, to find stillness in action.
Xianlu took a deep breath, inhaling the clean, floral-scented air of the cave. The aromas wrapped around him, soothing the edges of his turmoil. Slowly, he exhaled, letting go of the storm within.
Don't think, he told himself. Just feel.
Xianlu opened his eyes slowly, the tension in his chest easing with every breath he took. The storm of doubts and fears that had raged within him began to settle like a distant memory. No longer was he lost in the labyrinth of his mind; instead, he felt the warmth of the present moment. The lush, vibrant plants spread out before him, swaying gently in an unseen current, no longer seemed like obstacles. They pulsed with life, their colors vivid and rich, beckoning him forward. It wasn't a challenge to conquer, but an invitation to engage with something deeper—a connection beyond thought.
His hands trembled slightly as he reached out to touch the delicate, jade-green leaves, their smooth surface cool against his fingertips. The sensation was grounding, pulling him into the present with each brush of his fingers against the plant. Xianlu closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to feel the pulse of the world around him—each breath, every heartbeat, harmonizing with the essence of the cave.
There was no room for hesitation now. The tea wasn't something to be crafted in his mind; it was something to be born from his soul, a reflection of who he truly was. With every movement, his touch became softer, more deliberate, and the world seemed to still for him alone.
From her place across the pond, the Dragon observed him with keen eyes. Her ethereal gaze remained calm and contemplative, though a subtle, approving smile touched her lips. Her soft antlers gleamed in the dim light, and her long, flowing hair shimmered with an iridescent glow, making her appear more divine with each passing moment. She watched as Xianlu moved not with hesitation but with a quiet certainty, his hands weaving through the plants like an artist finding their brushstroke in the stillness of creation.
The Dragon watched him intently, her serene expression giving away little. Her gaze was calm, but there was a glimmer of recognition in her eyes—a knowing that cut through his turbulence. 'You've walked the line between control and chaos before,' she thought to herself. 'But balance is not the absence of darkness—it's the acceptance of it. Even chaos can be refined.'
There was a softness in her expression now—no longer teasing or condescending, but one of genuine understanding and pride. She saw the struggle, the internal battle that had raged within him, and in its place, she witnessed a different energy. A calm determination, a connection not born of skill, but of acceptance.
"You have found your center," the Dragon murmured softly, her voice a gentle hum in the still air. "From here, the essence will flow."