Long De Chuan Ren

"雖不曾看見長江美；夢裡常神遊長江水
雖不曾聽見黃河壯；澎湃洶湧在夢裡

古老的東方有一條龍；她的名字就叫中國
古老的東方有一群人；他們全都是龍的傳人
巨龍腳底下我成長長；成以後是龍的傳人
黑眼睛黑頭髮黃皮膚；永永遠遠是龍的傳人

百年前寧靜的一個夜；巨變前夕的深夜裡
槍砲聲敲碎了寧靜夜；四面楚歌是姑息的劍
多少年砲聲仍隆隆；多少年又是多少年
巨龍巨龍你擦亮眼；永永遠遠的擦亮眼。"

- 龍的傳人（李建復）
--
There is a certain serenity in the scene—a certain softness never seen, and rarely heard. With the soft press of hands, warm like new dough—a tenderness seen, but so quickly dissipated.

Like xian sheng is the same as gege—the way a lion is a lamb.

Perhaps this is what tranquility is like. Taiwan never learned, and China forgot. Or maybe they both learned, but they most certainly forgot. Because the time of the "gu" has disappeared, vanished with Diao Chan—it followed suit, but it was very late. And they forgot, and wondered if such a thing had ever existed. The world of surging masses gave way to machines engulfing; the bow gave way to the gun.

China swallows first. Taiwan opens her mouth.

The air tastes of relief. It goes down like lotus seeds.

"You once taught me something." Taiwan looks at China, who says nothing; he is unusually patient, and the taste of the air intensifies on her tongue; "It was just like anything else you taught me. You taught me when you did not need to, and I did not want you to. Xian sheng, you should know what that is. That is called guo jia chou."

China's lips quirk, and Taiwan lapses into silence. She lets him have his say, but flinches back when he reaches out a hand; it drops. "Xiao Taiwan, I taught you many things...." His fingers are scarred and rough.

Her eyes flare. "Xian sheng. I did not need you to. And I don't need you. My people may mostly be from you now—but they are mine now. I need not see the Huang He or Chang Jiang, because I have the sea around me. They are Taiwan ren."

"Don't be silly," he replies flatly. "You are still young. You have not lived as long as I have—"

"Then being old has made you foolish," she hisses, but Yao continues—

"Come home, Taiwan. Come back to Zhong Guo. We have the sea, the Chang Jiang, the Huang He—"

"My island is my home! My house is my own, even if it is close to yours. Xian sheng...!" She darts forward, surprising Yao; "You told me about guo jia chou. But I have not been humiliated the way you have"—his eyes narrow at the mention—"and have only become stronger." And then, only then do they both note—the serenity has been broken. It was broken quite a while ago.

Taiwan spins about, and Yao reaches out again, calling, "Zhong Guo Taibei—!"

"Zhong Hua Taibei!" she spits over her shoulder, and does not stop; but China is too fast for her, reaching her and taking her hands, holding them firmly even as she lashes in outrage—never enough to hurt him, but only to unbind herself from the vise. The touch is unfamiliar, because he only ever had her on his shoulders, when she was small enough; otherwise, the contact did not exist, and only now does she feel the flesh of his palms. "Let go!" she says, tugging viciously at his limbs.

"Taiwan...," he says, gazing at her, contrasting with her fury at letting him touch her, "you will never leave me. Zhong Guo Taibei, Zhong Hua Taibei—Xiao Taiwan, you will never leave. You can run, and you can break free. But you will never leave me, you know." Even when she cries out in outrage, his eyes tighten, as he realizes the full extent of what he said; suddenly, he feels very old, older than he usually does. "You never called me your da ge...but...Taiwan, look!" He gestures to their interlocked hands. "You have skin like mine. Yellow skin...and your hair is black, your eyes...."

"I never called you Da Ge because you are not my brother! Xian Sheng, release me...." Is she begging?—no...but she has lost her demanding tone. She stands defiant, and Yao admires her youth, not grudgingly; fire does not die.

"And they call me a dragon...," he murmurs instead. Taiwan looks at him, looks hard—there is no hostility in China, only musing as his body works itself, struggling to contain her. "Does that make you...the descendant of the dragon?" And then, before Taiwan can protest, before she can reply that she is the phoenix in her own right, he releases her. There is something in his eyes, something that tells her that she should leave, now, while he is musing upon his age. And that is not hard to do, because in the next moment she is far away, from Yao, who looks like a confused old man lost in the river. Perhaps the Chang Jiang, which rushes by in all its beauty, or the Huang He, its power running ocher.

She thinks she has left him behind; she has, for now, because he does not pursue her, only shattering the ageless silence with this—

"You will never leave me, Taiwan."

And she does not think it, or admit it, but somehow, this is true, untrue.

In the Gu Lao, the dragon stretched with the jiang, with the he, with the great wall. That is old, she feels, because now, while the ageless dragon soars above with polished eyes, there is also the heir of the dragon. It need not be her. But—

She glances downward, at her yellow skin, and the bits of black silk flown down from her crown.

Zhong hua is what she is. The phoenix, the dragon's heir, because the blood of the Huang He runs in her veins, the same way the Chang Jiang flies through the arteries.

You will never leave me, Taiwan.

I already have, she replies, but her heart pulses with the Chinese earth.