The Curse of Withering

Emperor Yan, ancestor of the Ying Clan, had ruled with wisdom—until Xuanyuan Sage's curse struck. Overnight, his face cracked like drought-stricken earth, his hair whitened as winter reeds. Yet his heart still burned with unquenched desire.

Gathering his five sons, he pleaded:

"This withering came too soon! I who denied myself pleasure now crave it like parched soil craves rain. One of you—take my age, lend me your youth! The throne shall be your reward."

Four Refusals

Eldest Son: "Women would mock a youth with an old man's back. Ask my brothers."

Second Son: "Age steals strength, beauty—even wisdom. I cannot."

Third Son: "Could I ride to war trembling like bamboo in the wind? No."

Fourth Son: "Even cleansing requires servants' hands. Forgive me, Father."

Yan's heart shriveled further.

The Youngest's Sacrifice

Then Prince Xiao, barely sixteen, knelt:

"My life is your gift. Take my youth, Father."

As their hands clasped:

Yan's spine straightened like a spring bamboo shoot.

Xiao's skin wrinkled like discarded silk.

The court gasped. Xiao, now ancient, ruled with a sage's patience while Yan—reborn in vigor—chased pleasures like a butterfly chasing flames.

The Futility of Desire

For decades, Yan indulged:

He feasted in Jade Emperor's orchards, yet hunger remained.

He embraced celestial nymphs, yet loneliness festered.

Finally, under a moon worn thin as an old coin, he returned to Xiao:

"Son, desire is a fire fed by oil—it only grows. I traded your youth for emptiness. Take it back."

Their second exchange:

Xiao bloomed anew, his wisdom now tempered like forged steel.

Yan, aged again, vanished into the Misty Peaks, where his bones became mountain stones, his breath the wind.