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Physically, Yao couldn’t have been older than 14. At the time, his body was still small, and his bones were yet to develop fully; but he carried himself with the utmost grace, and his countenance was that of constant solemnity.
The transition from Zhou unto Qin had taken a considerable two hundred years of his life, yet had only produced a vague, muddied change that was unclear to even Yao himself.
Then, the four hundred years that followed had rendered his face a ghostly pale with their unceasing, sanguine wars. His heart, too, had hardened; long years of enduring endless bloodshed and deceit had left him jaded and severe in his judgement.
Being somewhat familiar with various great works produced by various schools of thought, their opposing arguments brought Yao’s mind to the brink of combustion, yet the difficulty in this understanding brought him a taste of what it seemed like to be “alive”.
Of course, by then, it came to be that Yao himself was a deeply conflicted man.
The two first met in a lush forest, dense with long, knotted branches and canopied by overgrown foliage. Yunnan Province, then known as Wang Dian, crouched high up in the boughs of a tree, unleashing volleys of arrows at the foreign soldiers.
He overthrew them with ease — the terrain was labyrinthine, and without the guidance of Yunnan’s people, the invaders had no way to defend themselves.
Wang Dian glanced over the fallen army, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. They seemed to him strangely dressed, and he taunted them, yelling meaningless insults and belting folk songs. From the corner of his eyes, he caught the gaze of a young soldier within the crowd. Though all the young man had done was raise his head, and stare at Dian with his thin, narrow eyes, Dian felt an inexplicable fear rise into his throat.
Really, he had only been having a little fun at their expense, but he’d gotten complacent. After countless days of defending his home, the soldiers took over that precious land. Wang Dian was tied up and thrown into the Han camp – the enemies’ camp. He knelt on the ground, but his mind hadn’t yet submitted. His eyes were cold as ice, and his spirit was just as unshakeable. He let out a deep, rumbling roar, and tensed his body waiting for an opportunity to counterattack.
Then, Dian saw a group of people gather around the young man he’d seen that day. His hairpin sat loosely at the crown of his head, and his long hair fell untied around him, dripping water onto his already wet clothes.
A corner of his mouth twisted up in a queer smile, and for a moment it seemed that civilisation and savagery had blended together. Dian sat there, bearing witness to that indescribable beauty while the smell of river water permeated this unfathomable realm of mystery.
He watched the young man, Wang Yao, raise his hand. In that one motion, the Xiang and Li rivers flowed as one. At last, the Lingqu canal was complete, and the soldiers’ path was clear.
It was then that Wang Dian knew he’d witnessed a true miracle. And so, as the ruler of Baiyue had bowed his head for those below him, he finally accepted his defeat.