❝a lone traveller walks on a quest to the stars❞
Title: The Elixir of Life
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 1,850
Characters: China ; Hong Kong ; Taiwan ; Emperor Qin Shi Huang
Rating: PG
Warnings: n/a
Summary: Written for hetalia_contest’s week 019 prompt, “youth.” China’s young siblings refuse to go to bed unless he first tells them a story. And so, he recounts the tale of a young boy and his first emperor-a man who would have done anything, if only to live forever.
The Elixir of Life
The most difficult thing about being so much older than his siblings was that, more often than not, China ended up parenting them. Most days, it wasn’t so much of a burden. But then, on nights like this one, it was nothing short of annoying.
He opened the door to Hong Kong’s room and heaved a great, weary sigh, worthy of his years. “I thought I told you two to go to sleep, aru.”
Taiwan had been sitting cross-legged at the foot of her youngest brother’s bed, chatting animatedly. Now, she turned around quickly, a guilty look plastered to her face. “Oh, Gege,” she groaned, “it’s still early.”
She was still but a young girl, but the look on her face as she crossed her arms across her chest was almost comedic in its maturity.
“Go back to your room, Mei,” China insisted firmly. “Stop bothering Hong Kong, aru.”
Now she looked indignant. “We’re just talking, Gege!” It was amazing that, even without any other female influence, Taiwan had already mastered the pout that well.
China might have rolled his eyes; the gesture went by far too quickly for anyone to tell. “You do this every night, you two-you need to get some sleep, aru.”
“You never go to bed this early!” Taiwan accused.
“You’re young,” China murmured, as though that explained everything, “you need rest, aru.”
“How would you know? It’s not like you were ever young, Gege!”
Hong Kong watched this scene unfold blandly, his knees up against his chest and his chin cradled against them. Now, he glanced up and said, “We’ll go to sleep if you tell us a story.”
China and Taiwan turned to look at him in surprise, which was the standard reaction whenever the youngest Asian nation chose to speak.
“Really?” China asked the question dubiously.
Taiwan looked like she was mulling it over. “Yes, Gege-tell us a story.”
China sighed and sat down on the bed between Hong Kong and Taiwan. His young brother wasted no time in scurrying to sit right beside China, between the crook of his arm and his chest. Taiwan edged over primly, but eventually ended up lying on her back, her head in China’s lap so that she could gaze up into his face as he spoke. Once everyone was settled, China cleared his throat and began.
---
“The world has not always been the same. Countries and empires rise and fall, people change and grow, and civilization ever continues to evolve.
Nearly three thousand years ago, there lived a man who thought that he alone could shape the world-and he set out to realize this dream. He wanted to put the warring tribes all under his command, but to do so, he had to capture the spirits of the land. Hann was the first to fall to him, but Zhao, Yan, and Wei soon followed him. When the last two, Chu and Qi, were finally captured, the man brought them together and told them that he would be their master forever more. And his first order to them was simple: they were to bestow upon him their gift of immortality.
Hann, an old man, merely laughed and shook his head. Zhao and Yan were silent, ironic smiles playing on the two brothers’ twin lips. Wei and Qi, though still battle-weary, had enough rebellion in them yet to refuse to answer. So it was Chu, their sister, who brushed the dark hair away from her face and answered the new king gravely.
‘It is not for mortal men to dwell with us,’ she said, her eyes shining like night-stars. ‘You may seek this secret your entire life, but I doubt you will ever find it.’
And then, Chu disappeared in a flash of smoke. When it finally cleared, all that was left of the spirit was a pile of ash. Enraged, the king demanded of Chu’s siblings to know where she had gone, but the spirits all shook their heads slowly. One by one, beginning with Qi, they all disappeared into smoke as their sister had. Finally, only Hann was left.
‘Our role is now over,’ he told the king, whom he seemed to have pity for. ‘The lands are now unified, so what need is there now for separate spirits? Our time with this land is done. But worry not, o king. One will come to take our place.’
Just one, the king thought bitterly. Where he had many, he was to suffice himself with just one.
Hann smiled. ‘He will be stronger than all of us together. That, I suppose, is largely your doing, o king. The child I speak of has been wandering the countryside for some time-a thousand years or so. But he is still very much a child. But unlike us, he is truly immortal.’ With one last cackle, Hann went the way of his siblings.
The king, determined to find a way to live forever, had his men scour the countryside to find the last spirit. It took several years of searching, but one day two soldiers returned to the palace, holding a young boy-no more than nine years old-between them by the shoulders. The child did not squirm or struggle, but merely hung there placidly, a bored look in his dark eyes-eyes like night-stars.
Was he the spirit of the land? The king wanted to know. The boy shrugged noncommittally. The king asked the question again, this time having his men brandish their weapons in the boy’s face. Again, he did not answer, only quirked one eyebrow at the king as though to ask whether or not he was serious.
The king clenched his hands and ordered the boy to be killed for defying him. Now, finally, the boy spoke.
‘You could try to kill me,’ he said slowly, his speech as calm and unhurried as the Yangtze River, ‘but I doubt that would work.’
The king turned to the boy and gripped him by the shoulders, shaking him. Even he could tell that the boy was different; he had the same ethereal mannerisms and cryptic speech as Hann and Chu.
‘I can make anything I want come true of my own power,’ the king explained to the boy, arrogance coloring his tone. ‘There is but one thing I truly desire-that skill of yours, to escape sword and illness, to stave off old-age and accident.’
The boy shrugged again. ‘I know not how to bestow it upon another.’ He might have sounded sad of this fact, had the king bothered to pay attention to the shadows that crossed his face. ‘I have been watching you, and this whole country, for years now-I do not think you will ever find what you are looking for.’
The king responded: ‘But if anyone else can help me search for it, it would be you, wouldn’t it?’
The boy merely looked the king in the eye, as though daring him to answer his own question. The king smiled, wickedly.
The king kept the boy at his palace, where he was educated and raised. He was a protégée with too much sagacity; he had an opinion on everything the king did, and had no qualms about criticizing him if he thought the king wrong. As the one person the king could not threaten, the boy grated on the king’s nerves. But the promise of immortality kept the king cordial, and the amusement of angering him kept the boy intrigued.
The boy nodded and gave his approval when the king standardized weights and measures. ‘It will make it easier for the farmers and merchants to trade.’
He smiled softly when the administrative positions began being given out on the basis of merit, and not hereditary. ‘All my people have the propensity to be great.’
And he wept on the day that the king burned the books, refusing to speak to him for months afterwards. ‘To destroy learning is to destroy life,’ he finally said, when he had forgiven the king enough to speak to him.
The long years rolled by, and thought the boy never grew any older, the king began to feel the weight of his conquests and reign. The boy watched in wonder as gray began to show at the king’s temples, and his chest became round and soft.
‘You might die, soon,’ the boy told him blandly.
‘Not if you give me the elixir of life,’ replied the king.
The boy merely shook his head, sadly. If he was honest, he would have admitted that he did not want the king to die.
One day, the king called the boy to his bedside. ‘This is it-your last chance to save me.’
The boy held one of the king’s large hands in both of his own and bit his lip. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how. I wish I did.’
‘Truly?’ the king smiled, slow and rueful. ‘How very ironic.’
‘Live,’ the boy pleaded.
The king shook his head. He squeezed the boy’s hands tightly. ‘If you remember me, forever, maybe that would make me immortal.’
‘I could never forget you,’ the boy replied. He told himself that he was not crying.
The king’s life slipped away during the night, while the boy slept at his bedside. When he awoke to find the king’s body cold, he wept.
He disappeared into the hills again, not wanting to live with the king’s son as he had with the king. But he did not forget-the king would not let him.
He had left his army behind, eight thousand soldiers made of terracotta. The boy watched from afar as his land began to change shape, but when he was lonely, he would wander thought the maze-like rows of that first king’s mausoleum, recognizing the faces of the soldiers as men he had known.
‘So,’ he asked the king’s grave, every so often, ‘have you found your immortality?’
Sometimes, when he had no one to talk to and no one to criticize, the boy wished that he didn’t have the gift his first king had so desired.”
---
As China finished speaking, Taiwan sat up and gazed at his face, looking at him curiously. “I liked the story, Gege,” she said, softly.
“Was it about you?” Hong Kong asked.
“Don’t be silly, Hong,” Taiwan cut in before China could respond. “Nii-san says that Gege has always been old-even when Nii-san was a little boy. Right, Gege?”
“Perhaps, aru,” China murmured ruefully.
Hong Kong raised his head as though to ask another question, but China turned to his two siblings sternly. “You said you’d go to bed now, aru.”
Taiwan looked like she was about to argue, but then she sighed and got up from the bed. “Good night,” she said, and reached up to give China a sisterly kiss on the cheek before returning to her own bed.
“Good night, Hong,” China said, tucking the young boy into bed.
“I was right,” Hong Kong said. It was not a question.
China did not answer, only quirked one eyebrow at his brother as though to ask whether or not he was serious.
---
Footnotes:
* “Gege” means elder brother, and “Mei” is short for “Mei-mei”, or younger sister. Taiwan refers to Japan as “Nii-san” because its his native tongue, not hers.
* Don’t ask me what time period Taiwan and Hong Kong were young and living in China’s house, because it could be any number of eras.
* Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China.
* Hann, Chu, Qi, Wei, Zhao, Yan-the provinces that the first Emperor conquered in order to unify China.
* China does not include the suffix “-aru” when telling the story because I thought it would intrude too much into the narrative.
* The Terracotta Army, the first Emperor’s true immortality.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 1,850
Characters: China ; Hong Kong ; Taiwan ; Emperor Qin Shi Huang
Rating: PG
Warnings: n/a
Summary: Written for hetalia_contest’s week 019 prompt, “youth.” China’s young siblings refuse to go to bed unless he first tells them a story. And so, he recounts the tale of a young boy and his first emperor-a man who would have done anything, if only to live forever.
The Elixir of Life
The most difficult thing about being so much older than his siblings was that, more often than not, China ended up parenting them. Most days, it wasn’t so much of a burden. But then, on nights like this one, it was nothing short of annoying.
He opened the door to Hong Kong’s room and heaved a great, weary sigh, worthy of his years. “I thought I told you two to go to sleep, aru.”
Taiwan had been sitting cross-legged at the foot of her youngest brother’s bed, chatting animatedly. Now, she turned around quickly, a guilty look plastered to her face. “Oh, Gege,” she groaned, “it’s still early.”
She was still but a young girl, but the look on her face as she crossed her arms across her chest was almost comedic in its maturity.
“Go back to your room, Mei,” China insisted firmly. “Stop bothering Hong Kong, aru.”
Now she looked indignant. “We’re just talking, Gege!” It was amazing that, even without any other female influence, Taiwan had already mastered the pout that well.
China might have rolled his eyes; the gesture went by far too quickly for anyone to tell. “You do this every night, you two-you need to get some sleep, aru.”
“You never go to bed this early!” Taiwan accused.
“You’re young,” China murmured, as though that explained everything, “you need rest, aru.”
“How would you know? It’s not like you were ever young, Gege!”
Hong Kong watched this scene unfold blandly, his knees up against his chest and his chin cradled against them. Now, he glanced up and said, “We’ll go to sleep if you tell us a story.”
China and Taiwan turned to look at him in surprise, which was the standard reaction whenever the youngest Asian nation chose to speak.
“Really?” China asked the question dubiously.
Taiwan looked like she was mulling it over. “Yes, Gege-tell us a story.”
China sighed and sat down on the bed between Hong Kong and Taiwan. His young brother wasted no time in scurrying to sit right beside China, between the crook of his arm and his chest. Taiwan edged over primly, but eventually ended up lying on her back, her head in China’s lap so that she could gaze up into his face as he spoke. Once everyone was settled, China cleared his throat and began.
---
“The world has not always been the same. Countries and empires rise and fall, people change and grow, and civilization ever continues to evolve.
Nearly three thousand years ago, there lived a man who thought that he alone could shape the world-and he set out to realize this dream. He wanted to put the warring tribes all under his command, but to do so, he had to capture the spirits of the land. Hann was the first to fall to him, but Zhao, Yan, and Wei soon followed him. When the last two, Chu and Qi, were finally captured, the man brought them together and told them that he would be their master forever more. And his first order to them was simple: they were to bestow upon him their gift of immortality.
Hann, an old man, merely laughed and shook his head. Zhao and Yan were silent, ironic smiles playing on the two brothers’ twin lips. Wei and Qi, though still battle-weary, had enough rebellion in them yet to refuse to answer. So it was Chu, their sister, who brushed the dark hair away from her face and answered the new king gravely.
‘It is not for mortal men to dwell with us,’ she said, her eyes shining like night-stars. ‘You may seek this secret your entire life, but I doubt you will ever find it.’
And then, Chu disappeared in a flash of smoke. When it finally cleared, all that was left of the spirit was a pile of ash. Enraged, the king demanded of Chu’s siblings to know where she had gone, but the spirits all shook their heads slowly. One by one, beginning with Qi, they all disappeared into smoke as their sister had. Finally, only Hann was left.
‘Our role is now over,’ he told the king, whom he seemed to have pity for. ‘The lands are now unified, so what need is there now for separate spirits? Our time with this land is done. But worry not, o king. One will come to take our place.’
Just one, the king thought bitterly. Where he had many, he was to suffice himself with just one.
Hann smiled. ‘He will be stronger than all of us together. That, I suppose, is largely your doing, o king. The child I speak of has been wandering the countryside for some time-a thousand years or so. But he is still very much a child. But unlike us, he is truly immortal.’ With one last cackle, Hann went the way of his siblings.
The king, determined to find a way to live forever, had his men scour the countryside to find the last spirit. It took several years of searching, but one day two soldiers returned to the palace, holding a young boy-no more than nine years old-between them by the shoulders. The child did not squirm or struggle, but merely hung there placidly, a bored look in his dark eyes-eyes like night-stars.
Was he the spirit of the land? The king wanted to know. The boy shrugged noncommittally. The king asked the question again, this time having his men brandish their weapons in the boy’s face. Again, he did not answer, only quirked one eyebrow at the king as though to ask whether or not he was serious.
The king clenched his hands and ordered the boy to be killed for defying him. Now, finally, the boy spoke.
‘You could try to kill me,’ he said slowly, his speech as calm and unhurried as the Yangtze River, ‘but I doubt that would work.’
The king turned to the boy and gripped him by the shoulders, shaking him. Even he could tell that the boy was different; he had the same ethereal mannerisms and cryptic speech as Hann and Chu.
‘I can make anything I want come true of my own power,’ the king explained to the boy, arrogance coloring his tone. ‘There is but one thing I truly desire-that skill of yours, to escape sword and illness, to stave off old-age and accident.’
The boy shrugged again. ‘I know not how to bestow it upon another.’ He might have sounded sad of this fact, had the king bothered to pay attention to the shadows that crossed his face. ‘I have been watching you, and this whole country, for years now-I do not think you will ever find what you are looking for.’
The king responded: ‘But if anyone else can help me search for it, it would be you, wouldn’t it?’
The boy merely looked the king in the eye, as though daring him to answer his own question. The king smiled, wickedly.
The king kept the boy at his palace, where he was educated and raised. He was a protégée with too much sagacity; he had an opinion on everything the king did, and had no qualms about criticizing him if he thought the king wrong. As the one person the king could not threaten, the boy grated on the king’s nerves. But the promise of immortality kept the king cordial, and the amusement of angering him kept the boy intrigued.
The boy nodded and gave his approval when the king standardized weights and measures. ‘It will make it easier for the farmers and merchants to trade.’
He smiled softly when the administrative positions began being given out on the basis of merit, and not hereditary. ‘All my people have the propensity to be great.’
And he wept on the day that the king burned the books, refusing to speak to him for months afterwards. ‘To destroy learning is to destroy life,’ he finally said, when he had forgiven the king enough to speak to him.
The long years rolled by, and thought the boy never grew any older, the king began to feel the weight of his conquests and reign. The boy watched in wonder as gray began to show at the king’s temples, and his chest became round and soft.
‘You might die, soon,’ the boy told him blandly.
‘Not if you give me the elixir of life,’ replied the king.
The boy merely shook his head, sadly. If he was honest, he would have admitted that he did not want the king to die.
One day, the king called the boy to his bedside. ‘This is it-your last chance to save me.’
The boy held one of the king’s large hands in both of his own and bit his lip. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how. I wish I did.’
‘Truly?’ the king smiled, slow and rueful. ‘How very ironic.’
‘Live,’ the boy pleaded.
The king shook his head. He squeezed the boy’s hands tightly. ‘If you remember me, forever, maybe that would make me immortal.’
‘I could never forget you,’ the boy replied. He told himself that he was not crying.
The king’s life slipped away during the night, while the boy slept at his bedside. When he awoke to find the king’s body cold, he wept.
He disappeared into the hills again, not wanting to live with the king’s son as he had with the king. But he did not forget-the king would not let him.
He had left his army behind, eight thousand soldiers made of terracotta. The boy watched from afar as his land began to change shape, but when he was lonely, he would wander thought the maze-like rows of that first king’s mausoleum, recognizing the faces of the soldiers as men he had known.
‘So,’ he asked the king’s grave, every so often, ‘have you found your immortality?’
Sometimes, when he had no one to talk to and no one to criticize, the boy wished that he didn’t have the gift his first king had so desired.”
---
As China finished speaking, Taiwan sat up and gazed at his face, looking at him curiously. “I liked the story, Gege,” she said, softly.
“Was it about you?” Hong Kong asked.
“Don’t be silly, Hong,” Taiwan cut in before China could respond. “Nii-san says that Gege has always been old-even when Nii-san was a little boy. Right, Gege?”
“Perhaps, aru,” China murmured ruefully.
Hong Kong raised his head as though to ask another question, but China turned to his two siblings sternly. “You said you’d go to bed now, aru.”
Taiwan looked like she was about to argue, but then she sighed and got up from the bed. “Good night,” she said, and reached up to give China a sisterly kiss on the cheek before returning to her own bed.
“Good night, Hong,” China said, tucking the young boy into bed.
“I was right,” Hong Kong said. It was not a question.
China did not answer, only quirked one eyebrow at his brother as though to ask whether or not he was serious.
---
Footnotes:
* “Gege” means elder brother, and “Mei” is short for “Mei-mei”, or younger sister. Taiwan refers to Japan as “Nii-san” because its his native tongue, not hers.
* Don’t ask me what time period Taiwan and Hong Kong were young and living in China’s house, because it could be any number of eras.
* Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China.
* Hann, Chu, Qi, Wei, Zhao, Yan-the provinces that the first Emperor conquered in order to unify China.
* China does not include the suffix “-aru” when telling the story because I thought it would intrude too much into the narrative.
* The Terracotta Army, the first Emperor’s true immortality.