The vast empire, with beautiful trees and lands. Temples around to worship their ever growing divine gods.

Their love was forbidden—a shizun and an emperor. The moon taught, and the sun ruled, shining over all that was known. Every time they passed, their hearts fluttered, their eyes locked, and their breath shortened.

They began to meet in the moonlight, their hands entwined, their hanfus flowing in the wind. Every night, when the northern star came into view, they kissed, their lips caught in a dance more passionate than their own. They exchanged gifts and tales, and without fail, the moon cast a beautiful hue over the emperor’s flawless skin. 

The shizun never failed to kiss him with passion, caress him with love, and hold him gently, as though he were made of porcelain. He painted his love in every spare moment, and with each small flaw, he began again.

The emperor always gave the shizun what he needed—what he wanted, when he wanted it. The world could be his if he so asked—but only at night. Their love surpassed every law and rule imaginable. 

 The emperor was the happiest he ever was before—he laughed during meetings and never raised his voice. Soon the Shi began to take notice—they watched as he slipped away each night.

              The Shi caught them one night during a blue moon; they were dancing under the stars, hand in hand, lips on lips. They rushed to tell the people, and within a day, it was all anyone could talk about. Whispers among the workers grew louder, and murmurs followed with every passing moment.

              Except this world would never accept a love like theirs. After the Shi spread the word— the people soon found out. They were enraged. The emperor was overthrown and assassinated shortly after. The shizun, however, fled—and even two hundred years later, he still lives. Some say the shizun still mourns his lover’s demise; others say he is plotting revenge. Some even claim he died long ago.

No matter which version of the tale is told, one detail always remains unchanged: the shizun kept his lover’s left eye imbued with qi to preserve it from decay.

  Every thirty years, the emperor is reborn, always blind in his left eye, no matter his new appearance. The shizun always finds him, falling in love all over again—but each time, he dies at the same age: twenty-five. No matter his condition, no matter how healthy, he always dies at twenty-five, on the same day—December 18th, the day the original was assassinated. 

Each time a rebirth died, the shizun collected the left eye, holding it close as he grieved, cradling it as he once did his lover. As the years passed, he stopped getting close to the rebirths, always remaining nearby but trying to spare his heart from the horrible pain he knew was inevitable.

And thus, the story of the moon and its sun slowly came to a close—until a new chapter was added, a new tale… and perhaps this one could end happily.