Once upon a time, there lived a woman and her husband in a city in the mountains. One night, the woman, named Lady Yin, dreamt that a radiant light glowed in her belly. And when she woke up, she found out she was with child.

After being pregnant for three and a half years, Lady Yin gave birth to a ball of red flesh. Fearing it was a malicious demon, Lady Yin’s husband struck the ball, and out burst forth a young boy with supernatural strength and a fiery temper.

The Great Immortals named this boy Ne Zha (哪吒) like the sound of an explosion, or a primal shout, for he came like a wild untamed cosmic force. They granted Ne Zha a red sash to cover his body, for his skin burned so hot that anyone who touched him would go up in flames.

So Ne Zha grew up to be a rebellious and mischievous child, for he knew no bounds. He wielded the power of ten thousand giants and ten thousand suns, but he was too young to understand, and caused chaos wherever he went.

One blistering hot day, when Ne Zha was seven years old, he went to the sea to bathe. He splashed around with his monstrous might, whipping his sash back and forth, creating massive whirlpools and mountainous tidal waves that shook the depths of the ocean.

Under the ocean lived the Dragon King and the dragon people, who governed the cycles of rain and the currents of the oceans. The sudden turmoil of the tides and waves shook their homes — sea cliffs began to crumble and the ocean floor began to crack open with thundering booms — it felt like a warzone, and they believed they were under attack. So the Dragon King sent his son to the surface to investigate.

On the first day of the year of the Fire Horse, we visited the graves of my partner’s ancestors. Some were tombs and tombstones, and some were unmarked, the locations passed down through memory.

We burned incense sticks and paper money at each of them, hundreds and thousands of spirit dollars for prosperity in the afterlife. We offered 白酒 (bái jiǔ), a clear sorghum spirit, to remind the ancestors and ourselves that the living and the dead are always connected. And at some of them, we lit thunderous firecrackers to wake them up and celebrate their passing.

At one unmarked grave we made offerings to the forgotten ancestors, whose names we no longer remembered. These sites especially we were cautioned not to photograph, so we wouldn’t unintentionally capture and bring back a malicious wandering spirit.

We also paid respects to my partner’s granduncle at a public cemetery, which was so crowded that we stood shoulder to shoulder with all the other families, all bowing and burning paper monies for all the ancestors. Since it was so crowded, fireworks were prohibited at the public cemetery, but one family nearby fired some off anyway.

It was deafening, like a warzone, and my partner, looking up from her prayers, was struck in the eye by a piece of burning ash. Quickly, her aunt had to use a piece of tissue, carefully brushing over her eye until it was clear of debris. That day, she cried coal black tears, an offering of anger and frustration, to remind the dead that living relationships entail conflict and suffering.

The son of the Dragon King was called Ao Bing (敖丙), who was known as the Prince of Bright Flame, for he often patrolled the coastlines where the crashing waves reflected the sunlight like dancing flames.

When Ao Bing saw that it was a child who was causing such careless chaos, he confronted Ne Zha, saying:

“Child, do you know that you wield devastating power? That by waving your sash back and forth you disrupt the cycles of nature?”

To this, Ne Zha replied:

“I am only bathing and cooling my skin, which burns like a roaring fire. This ocean does not belong to you, it does not belong to anyone, so I am free to do as I please. I do not have to answer to you.”

Enraged, Ao Bing rushed forward to pin Ne Zha down with his spear. But Ne Zha whipped his sash to block the strike. It unfurled like a ribbon and reversed the direction of the ocean currents.

Then, Ao Bing transformed into a huge dragon and flew towards Ne Zha like a storm. They fought for three days, clashing with thunder and lightning. But eventually, Ne Zha’s wild untamed force overpowered the Dragon Prince, and the Bright Flame extinguished on the shore.

In his pride, Ne Zha went to the body and tore out the spine of the Dragon Prince. And he wore it as a belt, in defiance of the ocean tides.

On the next day of the year of the Fire Horse, we drove up into the mountains where green tea grows. We went with my partner’s family friends, who worked for the government, as they had a home in a nearby village.

Along the way, they brought us to the King of the Crape Myrtle, a sacred tree of about 1,400 years old. Last year, they said, he bloomed red, white, and yellow.

We saw people burning incense and paper money, praying to the tree, tying numerous red ribbons around its branches, so much so that the branches were bending. Tourists crossed the short stone fence to pose by the tree, taking pictures. The smell of incense mixed with sweat and cigarettes. We didn’t stay long.

That night, after hiking through the tea mountains and sharing ghost stories over dinner, we drove back the way we came.

We stopped by the sacred tree again. This time, there was no one in sight. Our friends told us that they wanted to pay their respects to the tree, but if they were seen or photographed performing such rituals, they could lose their jobs, for government officials took part in no such superstitious activities.

With the area lit only by the car headlights, we watched them burn incense and paper money, offer clear sorghum spirits, and pray in the dark. The tree stood tall in the middle of the night, its branches bending like a thousand shadowy arms, trying to embrace the burning ashes of memory.

When the Dragon King heard about what Ne Zha had done, he emerged from his underwater Palace in a rampage, bringing hurricanes from the heavens. The ocean also traveled with the Dragon King, drowning plains and forests. Entire coastlines were demolished, entire villages swept away.

And soon, the Dragon King arrived at Ne Zha’s city in the mountains. His voice boomed like thunder, saying:

“Ne Zha! You have desecrated the body of my son, the Prince of Bright Flame. Surrender yourself! Otherwise, this ocean will drown your people!”

Ne Zha saw that the ocean had risen to the very lip of the city walls, but in his pride he stood tall, the spine of the Prince of Bright Flame around his waist, and yelled:

“I will never surrender! My life is my own, I am free to do as I please.”

Hearing this, the Dragon King swallowed up the ocean and flew high into the sky. From his eyes flowed tears of grief and rage, and it rained for many days and many nights. But Ne Zha was unmoved, and let the rain pelt his smoldering skin.

Seeing her people suffering and her city beginning to flood, Lady Yin went to her son and said:

“Ne Zha, wild untamed fire, I held you in my womb for three and a half years. Even as you walk alone, you are forever bound to me.”

With tears in her eyes, she sang a beautiful song, and removed Ne Zha’s red sash, and wrapped her arms around him. She embraced him, and her body went up in flames.

Shocked, Ne Zha’s mouth hung open, and the tears of the Dragon King mixed with the burning ashes of Lady Yin and landed on his tongue. He tasted a deep bitterness, and finally understood what he had done.

With his father’s sword, the one that had cut him from the red ball of flesh, Ne Zha began a sacrifice. Limb by limb, he used his own immense strength against himself, and carved the burning flesh from his bones, as an offering to the Dragon King.

The Dragon King ate the burning flesh and went back to his Palace, returning the ocean to its rightful place. And the fire of Ne Zha extinguished on the mountain.

On the eighth day of the year of the Fire Horse, I took part in a ritual where my partner and I offered tea to the elders of her family. They sat down before us, pair by pair, mother and father, first uncle and his wife, first aunt and her husband, second uncle and his wife, and so on.

For each pair I bowed, a cup of tea in my hands, and called them by new names. With each bow came a red packet, and the flashes of a camera, trying to capture time.

Then came grandmother and grandfather. They traveled down from the mountains for over six hours on a bullet train, a feat for a pair in their eighties.

Grandmother and grandfather had taken care of my partner during the summers when she was a child. They would take her to get beef noodles for breakfast, and then she would play in the river all day, until the sun set and it was time for dinner.

Now there are many buildings around the river, some that reach high up into the sky. There is a stone fence along the river bank, and the jasmine flowers no longer grow. But the jasmine scent remains, from her memories and from her dreams and from the jasmine flower song carried along by the birds.

I bowed and offered them tea, and called them by new names. My partner offered them tea, calling them the names she always had — but she could not speak, for her grandmother had tears in her eyes, and she had tears in her eyes.

In that moment, time stopped, and tears flowed freely. And in the center of the room grew a large sacred tree, and from the tree sprouted ten thousand branches, and each branch bent into our beating red hearts and bloomed flowers of purple and gold.

Under the sacred tree, the Great Immortals gathered lotuses from the celestial pond.

With the lotus roots, they fashioned bones, firm yet hollow, so that the pure forces of life could flow freely through them.

With the lotus blossoms, they made a pair of lungs and kidneys and a liver, and other organs, soft and glowing with a gentle light.

And then they draped lotus leaves over what was made, and the green of the leaves rippled into yellow and orange and red, as summer goes into autumn, and settled into a smooth and brilliant skin of olive brown.

Then in the celestial pond they whispered to the Earthen Star:

“Is it time? Is it ready?”

And after three and a half years, the Earthen Star replied:

“It is time.”

And the Great Immortal reached into the star and pulled out a deep dark coal, lit into an ember. This they placed into the center of the lotus body, as its heart, and breathed into it the spirit of a wild cosmic force.

In the lotus body, Ne Zha awoke, like a sprout bursting from the seed, like a laugh exploding from the belly, like the sun rising up after a long night.

(This is a creative retelling of the legend of Ne Zha)