CHAPTER ONE

Out on the shore, the waves crashed over the white sand with a measured and ceaseless rhythm. The first layers of sunlight emerged behind the horizon, blending together hues of orange and blue. A handful of surfers paddled casually into the water. This secluded area, known only to a few, boasted some of the best waves on the island. 

A man stood alone on the shore, a surfboard tucked under his arm, surveying the water with a distant gaze. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with salty air. The breeze picked up, causing the tall palm trees behind him to sway gently.

He walked steadily into the surf, the cold water biting at his ankles and then his knees. He paddled out, each stroke through the water steady and strong. He reached the lineup of waves and sat up on his board, watching the horizon with a practiced eye, scanning for the perfect wave to catch. 

A promising swell appeared, building in size. His eyes fixed on it, then he turned his board to face the shore, feeling the wave lift him. As he popped up to his feet, he rode the wave with ease, letting the water carry him in its steady, powerful flow. 

*** 

It was already late afternoon when he got home. He had finished later than usual because a family of four showed up without reservations and pleaded with him for a surfing lesson, as it was their last day on the island. Unable to refuse the family's two young twin girls who looked up at him with their big, pleading eyes, he found it impossible to say no, especially when they begged, "Please, mister, we came all this way to learn how to surf!"

He set his board down against a nearby tree in front of his house. “House” was a loose term for his current living arrangement, which was an old camper van tucked away about a mile from where he taught lessons. It was parked between a cluster of palm trees and overgrown monstera plants. He didn’t plan on staying there for as long as he had, but the waves were ideal for surfing, and the locals were nice. He knew he should probably leave soon and head to the next location before anyone really started to notice that he still looked exactly the same as he did when he first showed up to their beach town almost 20 years ago.

As he set his board down, he heard movement behind him at the entrance of his camper. Despite this, he deliberately took his time wiping off his board and untangling bits of seaweed that had gotten stuck around one of the fins. 

When he was done, he made his way towards the van. Just as he sensed, there were two men sitting on the folding chairs in front of the camper. They were both in casual wear, just like everyone living on this island, yet they still managed to look completely out of place.

The two men in front of him looked like twins, with the same pale complexions and silver-white hair. One wore his hair long and was tied back in a neat bun, while the other wore it short and combed back. 

“Xiǎo dì,” the one with longer hair said, removing his sunglasses. “Do you know how hard it was to find you this time?” (xiǎo dì - little brother)

“You could have just called,” he replied.

“We did,” said the one with shorter hair. “There’s no reception on this damn island.”

He looked at his brothers, feeling exactly like he did back when they were kids. Back then, his older brothers would find him, just like this, hiding outside of their home in a makeshift fortress he’d often put up whenever he wanted to get away and be alone. 

He walked between the two of them and stepped into his van, opened the fridge, grabbed three beers and went back outside. 

He handed a cold can to each of his brothers and plopped down on the sand between the two of them. The three of them stayed like that for a little while—sitting in silence, drinking their beers, with only the sound of the crashing waves heard from the distance.

“It’s Second Uncle,” his eldest brother finally said, wiping sweat from his brow and running his hand through his short, silver hair. He removed his sunglasses and looked straight at his youngest brother, his expression serious. “He doesn’t have much time left.”

He looked up to his right as his eldest brother was speaking, then over to his left where his second-eldest brother was sitting. Naturally, he wanted to ask just how bad it was, but the both of them showing up in person to deliver the news told him enough. He finished the rest of his beer, crumpled up the empty can, and took a long breath. 

“Ok,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

***

He wanted only to head straight to his Second Uncle’s residence and made it clear he had no desire to see anyone or go anywhere else. His brothers understood and took him straight to their Second Uncle’s ancestral home, where their uncle, Ao Qin, was outside in his garden, tending to his camellia trees. 

Ao Qin was a venerable figure, with a long white beard that cascaded down to his chest and hair that, though thinned by age, still held the remnants of its former jet-black hue. His skin was weathered, lined with the deep creases of centuries of wisdom and experience. Though his eyes were clouded, nearly opaque with age, giving the impression that he could scarcely see, they still held a faint glimmer of the sharpness that had once been there.

As soon as he sensed that all three of his nephews were there to greet him, the old man couldn’t help himself and laughed out loud with joy. 

“So it takes my impending death to get all three of you back in one room together,” Ao Qin said with a chuckle, and placed the watering can down on a nearby bench. 

“Second Uncle, you really should be resting,” said Ao Yi, the second-eldest of Ao Qin’s nephews, as he helped his uncle sit down.

”I’ve been resting all morning,” Ao Qin said, patting his second-eldest nephew on the shoulder. “Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I should let my garden do the same!”

Ao Jia, the eldest of his nephews, took on a stern tone and said, “Second Uncle, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re just faking all of this to get us to visit more.”

Ao Qin laughed, “If I knew it worked so well, I would have done it sooner!” 

Everyone shared a soft laugh, trying to deflect the sadness in the air. Ao Qin was more than just an uncle to them; he was a patriarchal figure who had often guided them through life when their own father was too busy or preoccupied with work, which was often. The old man then turned to face his youngest nephew. Though the old man couldn’t see his face clearly, he could feel every bit of unease he was feeling. Ao Qing turned to his older nephews and asked the two of them to prepare some tea in the other room. Ao Jia and Ao Yi excused themselves, leaving Ao Qin alone in the courtyard with their youngest brother.

Ao Bing stood in front of his Uncle, unsure of what to do or say. Ao Qin sensed this and softly said, “Jianyu,” while gesturing for him to sit on the bench next to him. 

When he heard his Uncle address him by his given name, it was as if the walls around his heart at that moment lowered a bit, and he obediently sat next to Ao Qin. 

Given name- In Chinese culture, the given name is deeply personal, often used by close family or in meaningful moments, symbolizing intimacy, respect, or authority.

“There is no need to feel bad, my boy,” said Ao Qin, using the comforting tone he would reserve only for Ao Bing. “It’s not like this should come as a surprise to you. After living to a certain age, even dragons have to die.”

“You promised you’d live forever,” said Ao Bing. But even he couldn’t say it with a straight face and had to laugh at himself once he blurted it out. He reached for his Uncle’s hand and held it firmly. “You can’t go back on your word, Second Uncle.”

Ao Qin squeezed his nephew’s hand and smiled. “I remember that day clearly, you were inconsolable. How old were you? 11? 12? You were so confident in your martial skills, yet when you saw me with the slightest of injuries, you acted as if I lost my entire arm!” 

“An arrow through your arm wasn’t a slight injury. And you had two of them in your shoulder that day.”

Ao Qin scoffed. “You kept making me promise to never get hurt again, and the only way I could get you to stop crying was to agree with your snot-nosed pleas to live forever! Aiya, you were so annoying back then, so scrawny and so sensitive.”

The two shared a laugh. Ao Bing placed both of his hands around Ao Qin’s and said solemnly, “Second Uncle, I apologize for leaving without telling you.”

Ao Qin shook his head and placed both of his hands on his nephew’s shoulders. “My boy, we all do what we have to do. What matters is you’re here now.”

Ao Bing felt a sting in the back of his eyes, but before he could acknowledge it, his brothers came back to let them know that the tea was ready. 

The three of them helped Ao Qin get up and walk back into the main living area, and for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, the four of them drank tea, laughed, and shared stories, as if over a century hadn’t passed since the last time they were all together like this.

***

Later, after the three siblings left to let Ao Qin get some rest, they found a small bar on the outskirts of the village where their uncle resided. They were dressed casually—Ao Jia was wearing an old baseball hat, Ao Yi was in a hooded sweatshirt and Ao Bing still had the same board shorts and tee shirt he had on from earlier in the morning. The old woman who served them their drinks instantly recognized them, but knew better than to acknowledge them—if Ao Qin’s nephews were having beers in this hole-in-the-wall dressed as they were now, they were doing so because they didn’t want anyone bothering them. 

Ao Jia thanked the woman for the beers and waited until she went back behind the bar before asking Ao Bing where he was planning on staying. 

Ao Bing hadn’t thought that far ahead, and his heart was still heavy after spending the afternoon with Ao Qin. He sadly asked how much time their uncle had left.

Ao Yi looked down at his beer. “He told Father that he doesn’t think it’ll be long. A couple of weeks, a month at most.”

With the mention of their father, Ao Big let out a breath. “I’ll probably just stay in the city,” he said. Both of his brothers nodded, they figured that’s what he was going to say. If Ao Bing had it his way, he would just stay in the city or at his uncle’s the entire time, and not have to see his father or return home at all.

They finished their beers and Ao Jia paid their tab, leaving behind a generous tip. As they made their way out, the old woman, seeing how much of a tip he left, called after Ao Jia and bowed deeply.

“Tàizǐ diànxià, this lowly subject is not worthy of your patronage.” (Tàizǐ diànxià- crown prince) She also turned to Ao Yi and Ao Bing, and bowed to them as well. “Thank you as well, Your Highnesses.”

She was too moved not to acknowledge them now.

Author’s Notes:

The Ao Family So Far: Yes, I know, so many Ao relatives. Here they are in order of age.

• Ao Qin: Second-eldest of the older Ao generation; younger brother to Ao Bing’s dad (so he’s their Second Uncle)

• Ao Jia: The eldest of the younger Ao generation- Ao Bing's oldest brother; the Crown Prince. The Tàizǐ diànxià is the heir apparent to the throne.

• Ao Yi: The middle brother of the younger Ao generation- Ao Bing's middle brother.

• Ao Bing: Our brooding Dragon Prince, the protagonist of the story! Ao Bing will often be referred to as Jianyu, his given name (more on that below).

Given names: In Chinese culture, the given name (名字, míngzì) is the personal name chosen for an individual at birth, often carrying deep meaning, wishes, or aspirations from the family. It is used in close relationships or formal settings, and hearing it spoken, especially by someone significant, can evoke a sense of intimacy, respect, or authority. In this moment, when Ao Qin addresses Ao Bing by his given name, Jianyu, it reflects a deep, personal (in this case, close familial) connection.

Names in danmei:  In danmei stories, characters often have multiple names, titles, and honorifics, reflecting the richness of the genre’s cultural and historical influences. A single character might be addressed by their formal name, a given name used by close acquaintances, titles that signify status or role, and affectionate or reverential honorifics. This layering of names adds depth to character relationships, signaling shifts in intimacy, respect, or authority, and immerses readers in the nuanced dynamics of the narrative.