Lanyun wanted to kill a celestial, but his grandmother wouldn’t let him. 

Heaving his tired body over the last stone step, Lanyun found himself before a set of red lacquered double doors. Thick white clouds surrounded both sides of the doors, which towered over him with austere grandeur. There were no other entrances, no walls to scale in the sea of clouds that surrounded Lanyun. The only other path was the stone staircase behind him. He had finally reached the entrance to the celestial realm’s Jade City.

From early childhood, Lanyun was subjected to hours of his grandmother’s numerous tales of the celestials. Many mortals had undertaken this arduous journey up Mount Tiankou to seek a contract with the celestials. Ruling the heavens from their Jade Palace hidden amongst the clouds, the celestials offered contracts to the humans below. With power unequivocal to anything humans possessed, deadly illnesses could be cured, neverending wars could be won, natural disasters could be averted. The celestials were mysterious beings that offered untold wishes to those who signed their contracts. However, all contracts came with a cost, and Lanyun’s sister had become collateral damage.

Before ascending their thrones, human emperors often sought out the blessing of the emperor of the celestials, Yushen. The imperial messengers had said that it took the current Emperor of Yuanhai seven days and seven nights to ascend Mount Tiankou’s steps to reach the realm of the celestials, but Lanyun did it in three. The ascent had not been easy as his lungs searched desperately for oxygen with the increasing elevation, and his weary limbs grew heavier with every step. The bitingly cold air stung his nose and numbed his fingertips, but despite every obstacle, Lanyun had stubbornly pushed onwards, fueled by the adrenaline following his sister’s abduction. 

Before the Jade City’s entrance, Lanyun adjusted the worn, leather satchel on his back. He tightened his thin, outer robe around his body, seeking to contain any warmth he had left. In an attempt to look more decent, he let down his long, brown hair and tied it up again using the pale green ribbon his sister had spun herself. However, there was nothing he could do about his plain, mudstained trousers and worn out black boots. He felt subconsciously underdressed for the momentous occasion.

Taking in a deep breath, Lanyun steeled his nerves to not let any nervousness show in his grey eyes and raised his right fist. He knocked on the door with three sharp raps. There was no response.

Lanyun faltered. The legends had always mentioned that the doors would open to anyone who managed to reach the Jade City’s entrance. Before he could try knocking again, the door slowly opened just enough for what appeared to be a small child with purple robes, blue hair and matching colored eyes to pass through. His height barely reached Lanyun’s waist, and he stared up at Lanyun with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“Yes, yes, I’m here. No need to knock again,” the child said apathetically. He cleared his throat and unraveled the scroll he was carrying. “Congratulations on reaching the splendid Jade City at the summit of Mount Tiankou. In honor of your great efforts, you are now presented with the option of signing a contract with a celestial to fulfill your wish. My name is Erluan, and I will be assisting you through this task. Now, due to some changes in the realm’s economy, we’ve had to adjust the required offerings for the following requests. Curing someone’s mysterious illness has been raised from 2 chickens to 3 chickens. Rain over a village is now five cattle per day. And any sort of war assistance will start at a minimum of 120 jin of gold and 5 sheep. With that in mind, what sort of contract would you like to forge at this time?”

“I don’t wish to sign any contracts,” Lanyun said. “But I do want to change one that’s already been made.”

Erluan nodded in acknowledgment and reached into his sleeve, pulling out a different scroll. “Name, age, and current place of residence?”

“Ren Lanyun, 20 years old, from Duomeng Village,” Lanyun replied.

Erluan’s brows furrowed as he looked through his scroll’s contents. “I don’t see you listed here. Are you sure you’ve signed a contract with us before?”

“It’s not one that I’ve personally made,” Lanyun explained. “I’m referring to the one that Emperor Huangbo signed one moon ago.” 

Shaking his head, Erluan tucked the scroll back into his sleeve. “Not permitted. Contracts can only be altered or voided by the parties involved when signing.”

“My sister has been forcibly taken from our village because of that contract,” Lanyun seethed through gritted teeth. He blinked rapidly as black spots swam in his vision, whether from anger or fatigue, he couldn’t distinguish. “I think that could count as having some involvement in the contract.”

Erluan shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “How the other party chooses exactly to uphold their side of the bargain is none of our concern.”

“But that’s not fair!” Lanyun protested indignantly.

“No one said the contracts have to be fair,” Erluan said chidingly. Observing Lanyun’s abnormally pale face and labored breathing, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Would you like to make a contract for a healthier constitution? It’ll only cost you 1 cattle and 3 sheep. Your countenance seems unnaturally pale. If you’re going to expel your bowel contents, please do so somewhere else. We aim to maintain a clean and serene front entrance.”

“No, I’m fine,” Lanyun insisted despite growing increasingly lightheaded. “I demand to see the contract that Emperor Huangbo signed.” 

“How about enough wealth to last you three generations?” Erluan continued to suggest. “That could be yours for the life of your closest blood relative.”

“I’m already set to lose that thanks to the contract you made with the emperor,” Lanyun said pointedly. He moved to lean against one of the red lacquered doors for support, attempting to appear more awake than he felt. “Just let me see it.”

“Technically, I wasn’t the one who made the contract,” Erluan clarified. “I’m just a messenger for the celestials. All contracts are made with at least one executor and then ratified by a lawyer.”

“Well then let me talk to one of them,” Lanyun said.

Erluan sighed, seemingly unwilling to argue any further. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait here in the meantime, and please try to stay respectful. We really do not want any unconscious nor rowdy humans desecrating our sacred entrance.”

“It’ll be less likely to happen if you work fast,” Lanyun called after the retreating form of Erluan as the child disappeared behind the doors. Resigning himself to the wait, Lanyun silently watched the white clouds billow around him and listened to the call of a bird he’d never heard before in the distance. He reached down and brought up the gourd he had tied to his cloth belt. There wasn’t much water left inside, so he sipped slowly at it to soothe his dry throat. He had refilled it at a small spring halfway up the mountain, and he still needed enough for the journey back down.

There had still been some vegetation and small animals for the majority of his climb, but now at the summit, he couldn’t see any other traces of life in sight. The entrance to the realm of the celestials felt unnaturally desolate and empty. Lanyun’s grandmother had told him about the celestials flying overhead, practicing their heavenly arts, and the strange, mystic creatures that resided amongst them. But now, accompanied only by the clouds, he couldn’t help but feel as if everything were simple fiction, bedtime stories to calm a crying child. 

Lanyun watched the sun that was still overhead when he had first arrived at the doors, slowly sink down into the sky. Cerulean melted into violet, and a hazy orange washed over everything. He had waited for almost an entire day. His stomach grumbled in complaint. There were only four dried persimmons left in his bag, and he needed to make it last for the way down. Lanyun turned to move his exhausted limbs, which felt as if they had grown a hundred times heavier during his wait, and pounded on the doors desperately. 

“Open up!” Lanyun yelled. There were no handles for him to pull, and the doors refused to budge with any force. “Erluan, are you there? Open the door!” 

There was still no response despite his incessant racket for over ten minutes. 

“Please,” Lanyun begged. “I have to save my sister.” Enraged by the silence, he began kicking at the door instead, painting the red doors in muddy boot prints. “Yushen, you coward. Let me in!” 

Suddenly, Lanyun heard the wind whistle by his ear before a force struck him in the back of the head. Without having a chance to see what had attacked him, Lanyun saw his vision blur and collapsed onto the floor.

Lanyun didn’t know how much time had passed when he opened his eyes again. The rough, stone floor felt cool against his cheek. Every muscle in his body ached as he slowly sat up, causing his head to throb horribly with pain. Instinctively, Lanyun reached for his red cord bracelet and mindlessly rubbed the teal colored stones attached to it as he ignored his discomfort and assessed his situation. A myriad of unknown, dark-colored stains dappled the floor, leading up to a pile of hay in the corner of the small room. There was a rank and damp smell in the air, most similar to rotting fruits in a bucket of water. Turning to the side, Lanyun saw iron bars hammered into the ground and a pair of black boots behind them. 

“Finally awake?” a low voice sounded impassively from above. “You were sleeping so deeply, I thought you had died.”

Lanyun slowly looked up. The owner of the voice wore a black robe with golden flowers embroidered on the right side and grey clouds on the left. He had neat, cropped hair in a shade as dark as the night sea, contrasting against his pale, flawless skin. Dangling from his left ear, the man had a single earring colored in swirls of blue and green and seemed a bit mismatched compared to the rest of his black and gold palette. Lanyun noted, however, that all fashion errors could be forgiven with a face like the one the man possessed. With a high nose bridge and prominent cheekbones, every inch of his symmetrical features could’ve been painstakingly chiseled by a reverent sculptor’s hands. But what struck Lanyun the most were his eyes. They were a unique gold that matched the glow of the burning candles along the prison’s walls, bathing him in a divine light.  

Lanyun knew then that the stories his grandmother had told were true. The celestials were indeed ethereal beauties.