A Martian Poet in Siberia

What was that story? The one about the forest fire racing up to the town and the prefect, Liu Kun, who begs for the wind to change? The wind changes direction. Then in another town there are tigers, dozens of them, snatching babies from their hammocks and dragging the aged from their pallets. Liu arrives and what happens? The tigers jump into the Yellow River with their cubs on their back and are never seen again.

How did you do it? asks the Emperor, amazed at his powers.

Ou ran, Liu replies. Just pure chance.

Truly a superior man, says the emperor, as the court sycophants, nonplussed by his reaction, quickly rearrange their expressions and stop sniggering.

But then I wasn't dying, Xing would say. Zhudi holds him, knows our baby calms him, despite his despair, knows the memories we will have when he is gone help him face what is coming.

One breath of Earth; get me down alive, then I'll go, he laughs.

Tell your baby about me, Zhudi.

I used to tell him that the only qi he would be getting near to was the qi in zhao qi, the methane in our first Earth-made digester. But that was before. By that time spiky banter was out, unless he initiated it, which he did on his good days. But I was glad that the baby gave him some comfort and if some of the ancients gave him similar comfort I was not going to weigh in with counter-arguments from others among them, whatever strength they gave me.

The others sat with him as well; there was no roster, it wasn't a duty we felt obliged to perform; even in near-death he exerted a charm few could resist.