The Heart of The Stars

In the beginning, there was only a single, lonely star. Driven by a desperate yearning for companionship, it exploded, giving birth to millions of stars. These celestial bodies, working in concert, forged the Earth. Awestruck by the planet’s wonders, humanity stumbled upon magic, a discovery quickly tainted by greed. One man, consumed by insatiable desire, mastered the forbidden magic of blood, resurrecting the dead at a terrible cost. Each soul he revived became a vessel of corruption, spreading a plague worldwide. He, the self-proclaimed god of destruction, commanded this horrifying army, unleashing death and devastation upon the land.

Outraged by this betrayal of their gift, the stars created mages wielding the power of light, champions tasked with cleansing the darkness. These mages vanquished the god of destruction, but his dying curse—a promise of return, wreathed in black fire—left a chilling legacy of fear. In response, the mages founded Zhang Sheng, a kingdom ruled by four kings chosen by the stars, and dedicated to preparing for his inevitable return.

Centuries passed. The people of Zhang Sheng, having learned to live with—or perhaps despite—the lingering threat, developed a reputation for revelry. The kingdom was renowned throughout the land for its almost constant festivals, at least one each month. However, one festival eclipsed all others: the Hé Xī Jié, or Gentle Sunlight Festival. Held only once a decade, this two-week-long celebration drew visitors from every corner of the world. For nobles and commoners alike, it was a time of unparalleled joy. But for me, a lowly servant, it was the absolute worst time of year—except for one crucial detail: lowly servants usually had the day off to celebrate. Unfortunately, I served the Tong family, renowned for their breathtaking floral displays and responsible for the decorations at every major festival.

My unfortunate luck began the moment I awoke. I was immediately thrust into a whirlwind of activity.

“Where are the embroidered banners?!” Maidservant Fei, the head servant and therefore the most stressed individual in the entire operation, bellowed. If anything went wrong, she would bear the brunt of the blame.

“Xing!” Maidservant Fei’s sharp gaze found me. “Go to the garden and get the decorations—now!” she snapped before turning her attention to another flustered servant.

My feet pounded the dirt road, each step accelerating as the urgency of the situation sank in. Time, I knew, was my most precious enemy. My heart hammered in my chest as I ran, the mile stretching before me. Finally, I reached the storeroom, a surprisingly elegant space despite its function; its walls intricately carved with veined patterns, its floor spotless. My breath hitched in my throat, my heart still pounding.

“Where…” I gasped, my lungs burning.

This wasn’t my first mile-long sprint. It was far from it. Yet, I never grew accustomed to the exertion; each time I pushed myself harder.

“Are… the… flowers ready?” I finally asked.

A small servant girl, her fingers nervously fidgeting, approached, bowing her head. “They’re…” she began, hesitating.

“What?” I pressed, cutting her off. I knew what she would say, but I refused to accept it.

“They’re not ready…” she mumbled, the words hanging heavy in the air. The truth, the unacceptable truth, was spoken.

“Who do you think will get blamed for this?” I asked, the question laced with bitterness. Everyone knew I was responsible for the flowers – their quality, the servants’ work in the garden, everything.

“You…” she whispered.

“SO WHAT HAPP–” I snapped, catching myself mid-sentence. I stared at the servant, a wave of disorientation washing over me. I didn’t recognize a single feature. She was new, utterly new. Her posture, hunched and hesitant, betrayed her inexperience; clearly, the other servants had pushed this burden onto her. I knew the feeling all too well.

“What is your name?” I asked, striving to control my rising anger.

“R-Rou…” she stammered, her eyes already welling up. My patience, already thin, frayed further. I had no time for this.

“Rou,” I said firmly. “Get the decorations I made – the ones that are completely finished.”

“Uhmm…” she hesitated.

“The ones already prepared for transport!” I snapped.

Rou bowed quickly and scurried off. I scanned the room; not a single servant dared meet my gaze. Cowards, I scoffed. Rou returned shortly with a box overflowing with decorations: paper cutouts, fairy lights, lanterns, and more. I snatched the box, my gaze fixed on her.

“No matter what,” I growled, “make sure the thrones are ready.”

The unfinished decorations didn’t matter; the thrones were the centerpiece of the festival. Each king received a custom throne, adorned with flowers grown under exacting conditions to achieve perfect vibrancy and texture. We had plenty of decorations, but as I hurried towards the festival, a cold dread settled in my stomach. The thrones… the thrones consumed my thoughts.

“Are these… all of them?” Maidservant Fei asked anxiously, her eyes wide as she saw the box.

“For now,” I admitted, my head bowed.

“You like gardening, right?” Fei asked, her tone ominous.

“Yes,” I replied swiftly.

“Fail me,” she hissed, snatching the box from my grasp, “and you’ll never touch a single plant again.”

I returned to the garden, my pace slower this time, a silent prayer on my lips that the servants would have had enough time to prepare the thrones for transport. It wasn’t about decorating them – I’d spent countless nights on that already. All they had to do was get them ready to move. Why couldn’t they even manage that?

Hesitantly, I pushed open the heavy wooden plank door. The shop was empty, not a soul in sight. Holding my breath, I moved towards the back garden, briefly considering a last look at the flowers blooming in the window boxes. “No,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Have faith.”

A small gasp caught in my throat as I stepped through the back door. The field of flowers stretched before me, breathtaking in its immensity. But the gasp turned to a relieved sigh as I saw them: three magnificent thrones, each mounted on wheeled planks, even more stunning than I remembered. The fire throne blazed with flowers whose petals shed shimmering ash; the wind throne was a swirl of clouds formed from sky-blue and white blossoms that danced and drifted; and the ice throne glittered with bold, icy spikes, each flower glowing faintly with tiny snowflakes. Rou rushed towards me, her head bowed lower than usual, a wide smile on her face.

“My lady! The thrones are ready!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with eager anticipation. I could sense her desire for my approval, but it wasn’t mine to give.

“Help pull the four thrones,” I instructed, my voice suddenly sharp as a sudden, chilling realization struck me. “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3...” No matter how many times I counted, there were only three. Panic tightened its grip.

“Where’s the creation throne?!”

Rou’s face mirrored my alarm, her eyes wide with confusion as she looked from the three thrones back to me, speechless. My gaze swept across the scene, then landed on a familiar figure: Yue, in her grey servant’s dress, assisting a male servant in readying the first throne for transport.

“Yue!” I called, starting toward her. She didn’t react, didn’t even look up. “Yue!” I repeated, my voice louder this time.

She glanced up, a furtive peek she thought I wouldn’t notice – a habit that always infuriated me. I marched towards her, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the male servant. She never ignored them.

“What?!” she snapped, yanking her arm away, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

“Where is the creation throne?!” I demanded, the words tumbling out. My focus, my nights, my very soul, had been poured into that throne, making it far more exquisite than the others, far surpassing the beauty of any ritual dancer who would grace the festival.

Yue looked around, feigning ignorance. How could she possibly miss something so breathtaking? I’d spent countless lonely nights perfecting that throne; to me, its beauty rivaled the stars themselves.

“You didn’t make a throne for the King of Creations?” she asked, her tone dripping with unconvincing surprise.

I couldn’t believe the audacity of her question. “You know I spent nights on that throne,” I stated, my voice low and dangerously calm, my eyes blazing with fury.

“No,” Yue replied, a sly smirk playing on her lips, barely concealed. “I never saw you touch a single flower for that throne.”

I knew she was hiding something, but I was powerless to stop her.

“Rou!” I called out, panic rising in my throat. Rou came running, her head bowed.

“Get the thrones transported...to...the festival,” I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs as if a gun were pressed there.

Rou noticed my distress. “Is everything okay?” she asked, her concern evident.

“Maidservant Fei can’t be kept waiting,” I mumbled, the words feeling alien on my tongue.

Finding the missing throne was crucial, but ensuring the safe delivery of the others was paramount. I couldn’t trust Yue with that task; she was a constant thorn in my side. I remembered my arrival, her immediate claim of me as her personal servant—an unnatural arrangement for a servant to have her own servant. Years of her torment had forged a painful reminder within me, to get the ability to command her, to rise to head servant of the gardens. Her hatred had only intensified since then. She won’t ruin this for me.

“Everyone, get into place!” I shouted, my voice carrying across the garden.

Yue, ever the provocateur, murmured, “What about the missing throne?” aiming for my weak spot.

“Leave that to the head servant of this garden,” I retorted, my title a weapon against her.

Resentment twisted her features as she bit back a retort. I savored her powerlessness, a deserved recompense for years of torment. But my triumph was short-lived; the thrones needed delivering. The male servants prepared—some to pull, some to push—with me leading. The female servants ensured a clear path.

“Now!” I commanded, taking the first step towards the festival.

The mile-long journey proceeded smoothly, interrupted only by minor inconveniences—a child in the road, a rock lodged beneath a wheel—all quickly resolved. Upon arrival, I witnessed the awestruck reactions to my creations. Gasps of admiration rippled through the crowd. I allowed myself a fleeting smile, but it was quickly suppressed.

Even Maidservant Fei was speechless. “Xing…” she breathed, gazing at each throne. Her delight was so complete that she hadn’t even noticed the missing fourth throne. I’d either dodged a bullet, or the consequences would be ten times worse.

“Quickly! Get them into position!” Fei exclaimed urgently.

The thrones were carefully moved onto the three-tiered stage. The lowest level held the crown princes’ thrones, each painted to subtly reflect their fathers’, the kings, though far less opulent. Above them, on the second level, sat the three kings: the King of Impulse, the King of Movement, and the King of Emotions, each equally revered. Highest of all, on the third level, was for the throne of the King of Creations, the most beloved of all, favored for his miraculous abilities. However, once the thrones were in place, a glaring absence was impossible to ignore: the King of Creations’ throne was missing. Fei’s icy gaze fell upon me, a silent promise of death.

“Xing,” she hissed, her tone already a venomous wound, foreshadowing a far more brutal punishment. My shame was palpable; I imagined Yue reveling in my misfortune. A vow of revenge formed in my mind: Yue would pay for this. Before Fei could unleash her full fury, the festival began with the announcement of the kings.

“Bow before the kings!” a loud eunuch proclaimed.

We all dropped to our knees, our foreheads touching the ground, palms flat.

“The King of Impulse!” the eunuch announced. The king ascended, a chuckle escaping him as he settled onto his throne—a clear sign of approval. Each king had his own unique signals of satisfaction. But my heart plummeted when the King of Creations was called. At first, only the king himself noticed the missing throne. He ascended the stage, his initial confusion quickly erupting into furious rage.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he roared, his voice a thunderclap that left my ears ringing. His anger went beyond disrespect; it was betrayal. “Explain yourselves!”

I was doomed. Worse than dead; I would be erased from existence, a victim of Fei’s relentless vengeance. Before anyone else could react, I raised my head. The assembled crowd stirred in confusion, the kings rising to their feet, their anger consuming. Fei seized my hair, her grip a painful vice. She dragged me before the enraged kings.

“I hope they behead you!” she snarled as I struggled against her hold.

“Wait!” I cried, but my pleas were futile; Fei, the queen of assumptions, ignored me.

“Your Majesties!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the confusion.

The crowd parted, revealing the four furious faces that bore down on us. Fei, still gripping my hair, fell to her knees, pulling me down with her.

“Please forgive me!” Fei shrieked, her voice ringing through the silent street. “I entrusted a lowly servant with an important task, only to have her sabotage me!” Tears streamed down her face, adding to the drama of her already desperate plea.

I didn’t dare meet the gaze of the kings, or anyone else present. Their silent judgment was far more potent than any spoken words; I felt the weight of their disapproval pressing down on me like a physical burden. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken accusations.

Finally, the King of Creation broke the suffocating silence. His voice, low and dangerous, cut through the tension like a knife. “Is this amusing to you?”

I forced myself to look up into his eyes, and the icy fury I found there was far worse than anything I had anticipated. His hatred was palpable, a chilling wave that washed over me.

“Is this a joke?!” he thundered, his voice echoing through the kingdom, silencing even the faintest whisper. The innocent onlookers flinched at the raw power in his tone. “To disrespect your king in this manner?! Who gave you the audacity?!” He exploded, and a storm unleashed his anger.

After a moment of heavy, suffocating silence, he spoke again, his voice laced with a simmering contempt. “What explanation do you offer for your actions?”

I swallowed hard, and my throat suddenly dried. “I...” I began, the words catching in my throat.

“Hear comes, Tong Yang! Daughter of the Tong family!” A herald’s voice announced

Never in my wretched, miserable life had I felt such a surge of incandescent rage. The injustice of it all, the crushing weight of her accusations, ignited a fire within me.