“Your servant dwells among mountains and rivers, where tigers are a common sight. Yet only today, in the presence of Your Majesty, have I truly beheld the face of a dragon!”
The words were simple, but the mont they were spoken, Huang Jin, the eunuch attending beside Emperor Jiajing, felt them etch themselves deep into his mory. His gaze lingered on the young man bowing low before the throne — a youth whose every word carried clarity and reverence.
Huang Jin had served Emperor Jiajing since the latter’s days as the heir of Prince Xingxian. Now, after nearly forty years at the emperor’s side, he had seen more officials than he could count — great and small, bold and timid. Yet, to encounter a young man who left such a vivid first impression was sothing that could be counted on one hand.
This one… is no ordinary youth.
As Huang Jin continued to observe Zhu Ping’an, the emperor and the young man exchanged a few more rounds of conversation. Most of the ti, it was the emperor who questioned, and Zhu Ping’an who answered.
The questions were not difficult — about life in the mountain village, his age, and even a few topics from the examination essays on current affairs.
Zhu Ping’an answered them all one by one, his speech steady, clear, and full of youthful vigor.
“Youth truly is a blessing,” the emperor mused with a faint smile. “When I was your age, I too first arrived in the capital. Though you are young, you must set your ambitions high — learn much, see much, and do much.”
Remove Ads“This humble servant will rember Your Majesty’s gracious teaching,” Zhu Ping’an replied earnestly, bowing once more, his face radiant with gratitude.
By this point, Zhu Ping’an thought the audience was drawing to an end — surely the interview was over.
But just as he relaxed inwardly, the emperor made a small, unexpected gesture. With a wave of his hand, a young eunuch stepped forward, bearing a tray draped in crimson silk. The tray glead with several golden figures — a rooster, a fish, a pig, a cow, and a duck — each carved from pure gold.
Though no larger than a finger’s length and no heavier than a few taels, their craftsmanship was exquisite, lifelike enough to seem ready to move.
“You have shown excellence,” the emperor declared. “It would not do for Us to withhold a reward. Choose one, and it shall be yours.”
So it was a test of choice, then. Zhu Ping’an stifled a sigh of relief behind a facade of reverent joy.
“This humble servant thanks Your Majesty for the gracious reward,” he said, kneeling once again.
“No need for such ceremony,” Jiajing waved his hand. “Rise, and make your selection.”
After bowing, Zhu Ping’an stood and offered a polite nod to the eunuch holding the tray. “Thank you for your trouble,” he said softly, then reached out, intending to casually pick the largest one.
But just as his fingers brushed near the golden figures, a sudden realization struck him.
The emperor’s reward — could it truly be so simple? No. This was no re token of favor; this was the final test.
Golden rooster, golden fish, golden pig, golden cow, golden duck… though the emperor had said to “choose freely,” there was no way the choice was without aning.
The golden fish caught his eye — exquisitely sculpted, a carp leaping upward.
A carp leaping over the Dragon Gate… an on of great fortune!
There was an old legend: in the eastern rivers stood a towering Dragon Gate, and each spring, carps would struggle against the current. Those who leapt over the gate would transform into dragons. It symbolized success in the imperial examinations — the rise from obscurity to glory.
Choosing the golden carp would seem the most auspicious.
His hand hovered over the fish… but then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the faintest flicker of the eunuch’s gaze. Zhu Ping’an’s heart trembled.
He froze.
No… it’s not that simple. Of course not.
A carp that transforms into a dragon — but the dragon… the dragon is His Majesty! Would it not be presumptuous for anyone to reach for such a symbol? Did he not recall the most chilling taboo etched into the emperor’s legend — the Curse of the Two Dragons Not eting?
Emperor Jiajing was an enigma of Ming history — eccentric, devout, and bound by superstition. Ever since he learned of that curse, he had lived his life in its shadow.
In the thirteenth year of Jiajing’s reign, after thirteen long years of struggle, the emperor finally welcod his first son. Yet tragedy struck — the crown prince died within three months of birth. The emperor was inconsolable.
It was then that his most trusted Taoist priest, Tao Zhongwen, revealed the on to him:
“Your Majesty is the true dragon of Heaven, born with the mandate and blessed with divine fortune. Yet your sons too are dragon-born. Two dragons cannot et — as two tigers cannot share a mountain. Should the two dragons face one another, disaster will fall upon one.”
The emperor had broken into a cold sweat upon hearing this.
And from that day forth, he lived by it.
Remove AdsThree years later, Emperor Jiajing successively fathered more sons — Zhu Zaihe, Zhu Zaihou, and Zhu Zaichen. Yet, he never forgot the “curse of the two dragons.” The image of his firstborn prince’s death still haunted him, so Jiajing refused to see his new sons. He dared not even na a crown prince, fearing that doing so might bring disaster once again.
To outsiders, the emperor’s behavior seed absurd. Courtiers whispered among themselves, and even the Empress Dowager could no longer stand to watch. She took her son aside and lectured him at length. Unable to withstand his mother’s rebuke, Emperor Jiajing reluctantly agreed to et his eldest surviving son, the second prince Zhu Zaihe.
They spoke briefly, and the emperor personally sent him off to the academy. Zhu Zaihe was already fourteen — this was practically the first ti he had ever seen his own father. Overwheld, the boy was ecstatic. Yet fate, ever cruel, struck again.
That very night, Prince Zhu Zaihe fell ill. Within days, he followed his elder brother into the afterlife.
The emperor was terrified, nearly driven to madness. The curse of “two dragons must not et” beca an unshakable truth to him. From that day onward, he dared not even look at his two remaining sons, Prince Yu (Zhu Zaihou) and Prince Jing (Zhu Zaichen). Even when they t by chance in the palace, or during major ceremonies that required his presence, he would not utter a single word to them.
And now, if you were to choose the golden carp — are you wishing for it to leap over the Dragon Gate and transform into a dragon?
If you beco a dragon, then I, Jiajing, am also a dragon.
What are you thinking? Do you not know that “two dragons must not et”? Are you trying to bring misfortune upon , Jiajing?
It might sound like Zhu Ping’an was overthinking, but given Jiajing’s obsession with Daoist alchemy and immortality — and the fact that he ingested heavy-tal elixirs daily — hallucinations were perfectly normal for him. The emperor was always eccentric and paranoid. For soone like him, better to believe it’s true than risk it being false!
With that thought, Zhu Ping’an withdrew his hand from the golden carp. Calmly, he reached past it and picked up the golden rooster beside it.
“Your servant thanks Your Majesty for this gracious gift.”
Kneeling, Zhu Ping’an held the golden rooster in both hands and bowed deeply before the emperor.
“Oh? The golden rooster?”
Eunuch Huang Jin, who stood by the emperor’s side, was astonished. Zhu Ping’an’s choice had completely defied expectation — all the others who had been summoned earlier had chosen the golden carp without exception. Was this youth acting on purpose, or was it pure coincidence? If by accident, his luck was remarkable. But if by design… then this young man was extraordinary indeed.
“Oh? And why has my loyal subject chosen the golden rooster?” Jiajing asked slowly, nodding with faint approval yet clear curiosity.
Of course, it was not a random choice. I had given it careful thought. Jiajing believed in Daoist alchemy and immortality — and I, having read plenty of xianxia novels in my own ti and studied Daoism, knew sothing about its symbolism. In Daoism, every creature in heaven and earth holds different aning, but none is more cherished than the rooster. The founder of Daoism, upon ascending to immortality, left behind the saying: “When the rooster and the dog ascend to heaven.” Moreover, many early patriarchs of the Daoist sect shared a deep affection for roosters.
There is even a tale of a Daoist master who, during a fierce battle against evil spirits, was saved by a heroic rooster. Exhausted after days of struggle, the master was near defeat when the rooster crowed loudly, summoning the dawn and banishing the demons.
As for fish, Daoism favors the scaleless blackfish — not the carp.
Ordinary folk despise the blackfish, for after giving birth, the mother sotis devours her own young — an act so cruel that even tigers do not commit it. Thus, common people scorn the creature as vile and unnatural.
But to Daoists, the story is told differently. They see in the blackfish a sacred act of devotion. The mother blackfish spends months bearing her young, pouring every ounce of her life’s essence into them. When her strength is spent and blindness overtakes her, she can no longer hunt and awaits death. Yet her young, moved by filial piety, swim willingly into their mother’s mouth — offering themselves as sustenance so that she might live a little longer.
Remove AdsWhat kind of love is this? What kind of devotion? Compared to the crow feeding its parents or the lamb kneeling to nurse, this — this self-sacrifice of the blackfish — transcends them all.
Thus, Daoism elevates the blackfish as a symbol of ultimate filial piety.
And so, Daoists admire the blackfish, not the carp.
That, precisely, is why Zhu Ping’an chose the golden rooster — and not the golden carp.
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