Mei Du fled in grief and terror after the Goddess of Purity inflicted her punishment. Not knowing where to go, where she could hide, she slithered through farms and terraced fields, passing small villages or finding herself lost in large towns. Disoriented and confused, she left destruction in her wake.
Stone statues of her victims marked a macabre trail of her travels. They were young and old and from every class—their only similarity the horror forever etched into their grey features. One peasant woman had dropped to her knees, hands ripping at her own hair. A young scholar had been turned to stone with his arms thrust out, hands splayed, hoping to ward off an unspeakable evil. A small boy of seven years had collapsed onto his side, legs drawn into his chest in a fetal position, mouth agape and eyes shut tight.
But it had been too late.
What was seen could not be unseen, Mei Du learned, when it came to the power of her gaze.
It didn’t take long for her infamy to spread. Soon, mobs were chasing her, wielding spears and axes, the farmers carrying heavy spades or pitchforks. Their legs were no match for the power and speed of her serpentine coil, but sometimes they managed to corner her, and she had no choice but to look in their eyes to survive. It never took more than three people turned to stone before the crowds would retreat, screaming curses and obscenities, or moaning in sorrow and fear.
They cast flaming torches at her, burning the green scales of her serpent body and blistering the thick, pocked skin of her torso and arms. Expert archers shot at her from afar, puncturing her abdomen and back. She wrenched those arrows out and threw them aside. Her wounds healed almost instantly. Mei Du’s curse had been to live in this mortal realm, not to die. Her punishment was to suffer in her monstrosity and solitude, to cause death and wreck havoc, inflict tragedy and terror.
Months slid into years, and the years slid into oblivion. In the beginning, she missed her home, her family, wondered if they grieved for her, grateful that they would never know her terrible fate. But then her loved ones’ faces began to blur and fade, as did the details of her mortal life. Sometimes a small memory would emerge, like desert winds revealing a long-forgotten treasure in the sand—the fragrant scent of jasmine tea, a lone lotus perched on a deep green leaf in a tranquil pond, or the sound of laughter drifting over a high manor wall—stirred something wistful within Mei Du’s chest. These shining, scattered moments from another life always left her feeling bereft.
As time wore on, those remembrances disappeared. And as people continued to hunt her with sticks and knives and axes, as they continued to taunt her with curses and slurs, she began to look each and every one of them in the eyes instead of averting her gaze. She took pleasure in turning their contempt into stone.
Mei Du knew that she would live long, reviled and hated.
It was as the goddess had wished it.
Then, that fateful day, the one prophesied to slay her finally found her. Mei Du crouched motionless behind a thick pillar; there were ten in the abandoned temple, rising to the tall roof like sentinels. The red and gold paint on them had long since flaked off. She wanted a glimpse of this glorified hero who the mortals were convinced could end her. The dust dissipated to reveal a young man not yet twenty years, holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other with a majestic eagle etched upon it. Both the sword and shield gleamed, polished to a mirrored shine.
But it wasn’t this that caught Mei Du’s attention, not the young man’s height nor the taut muscles of his bare arms—it was the faint glow that limned his frame. There was no mistaking it. The God of the Sea had held the same inner light. This young man was no mere mortal; he was divine, or touched by a god somehow.
Blood roared in her ears, and she slid back, her long serpent coil whispering against the stone floor. Fear gripped her as those encounters with the god disguised as Hai Xin erupted again, memories she had buried long ago—had forced herself to forget. She trembled, a tremor that vibrated to the tip of her tail. The young man turned his head in her direction, his hand gripping the sword tighter. His black hair was pulled back in a topknot, revealing strong cheekbones and the masculine cut of his jawline. He smelled of metal and sweat, and the bloodlust that had become so familiar to Mei Du over the centuries, emanating from the men who hungered to kill her.
The first time one had found Mei Du in an abandoned dwelling, she had hoped for help, understanding, some sort of salvation. She had hoped he had come to free her from this unfair curse cast by a vengeful goddess. But Mei Du’s hope dwindled with each man who appeared, on purpose or accidental misfortune. It had dwindled with each encounter suffused with their fear and loathing, always screaming, sometimes fumbling for a sharp weapon, until she ended it by meeting their gaze.
A few were so overcome with terror they shut their eyes. Those she sank her fangs into, tasting the bitter venom that filled her mouth. Wild animals would come later to eat the corpse.
She never had to wait very long.
But this would-be hero was different, as the rumors had declared. She could feel it in her bones just as she could taste the bright scent of him in the air. He was god-touched somehow. Perhaps the Goddess of Purity had sent him as a test, or the God of the Sea as an envoy to reclaim what he never should have taken so brutally in the first place. Mei Du didn’t know, but she saw again in her mind’s eye the innocent girl struggling to her feet, legs shaking as she tried to rearrange her torn skirt. Mei Du felt again that girl’s pain and confusion, horror and heartache.
Rage filled her, as hot as the torches that have been thrown over the years, blistering her skin and scorching her scales. She waited for the intruder’s gaze to turn in another direction, and in that instant, slithered across the temple behind another pillar, faster than he could blink. Hissing deep, the sound reverberated through the vast space, and the man stiffened.
Sweat gathered at his brow, and she at last tasted his fear in the air, sharp and sour. She felt a spike of pleasure from the scent. Perhaps she’d take her time, tease him as a snake would her prey. God-touched or not, this man would die like all the others—screaming in agony and regret.
The intruder edged farther into the temple, sword raised, his silver shield lifted at chest height. His movements were assured, powerful, yet he kept his head lowered and his gaze averted.
Mei Du grinned, the act so unnatural it felt as if her face had split, cracking the pustules and thick scales of her cheeks. The man slipped behind a pillar, and she slithered to the lone statue that still stood: the Goddess of Purity. She hissed again and circled the sculpture, taunting the intruder.