By Ling Yuan

Chang E is hunched over her desk working. The administration of the moon is a monumental task but the goddess’ only assistant, Jade Rabbit, is of no help, for his talent lies not in math but in pounding rice cakes. Several times, Chang E tried petitioning for assistants specialising in advanced math, but the Queen Mother of the West–the highest goddess of nine supreme heavens, embodiment of ultimate yin, dispenser of prosperity, longevity, and eternal bliss–would point at a cluster of gloomy clouds, a melancholic sigh, her divine voice quivering. Take a look, Moon Goddess. This isn’t the time to expand your office.

Except the yearly mid-autumn festival when devotees gather outside their homes at night bearing lanterns to marvel at the moon at its brightest and fullest, no one pays attention to Chang E. Mankind is constantly stirring up a deluge of problems that demands urgent attention from the gods. Last month, the God of Wealth went viral after his three-day lecture on the crypto market crash; this month the God of Longevity returns to the top of the monthly staff meeting agenda with the new XBB sub variant wave of the inexorable Covid-19 virus. Sometimes Chang E is envious of the prestige, fame and respect that comes with overseeing an important department, the kind of department the gods talk about with a serious, intellectual look on their faces. The kind that drives worried, desperate mortals to temples, knees on floor, head bowed and a fervent prayer, offerings of perfumed incense, lit candles and sweet-smelling blooms. She notices how even the lowly ranked immortals of these departments seem to stand taller, glow brighter than their peers from smaller, lesser-known ones like the Pottery Department or the Silkworm Department. But at the thought of pointless meetings that last for days, and work lunches of pretentious laughter, petty gossip and eye-rolling flattery, she tells herself it is not a bad thing to wade into a sea of numbers at her desk. Sure the work is monotonous, but it is her, not bitcoin or XBB, the poets and romantics write about.   

The thing that angers Chang E most is how people believe she stole the elixir of immortality from her husband Hou Yi, so she alone could ascend as Goddess, while the poor hero of a man was abandoned to die a mortal, the opportunity to escape samsara irrevocably lost. Alright, she may have a drinking problem once in a while but excuse me, she a thief? She of the Confucius-educated, hailing from seven generations of imperial scholars, knows plenty about ethics and propriety, mind you. But how was she to know the bottle she found under her husband’s pillow was not wine he was hiding from her, but the elixir of immortality bestowed on him by the Queen Mother as a reward for shooting down nine suns from the sky and saving earth from scorching to ashes? 

Imagine her shock at finding her house beneath her feet and herself heading heavenwards past the clouds, into enormous darkness and onto a giant cratered rock, where shortly from a sudden cloud of mist emerged a tall bearded man in heavy silk robes, exquisitely embroidered, sceptre in one hand, scroll in another, accompanied by an entourage of armoured guards. The man who was not a man but a god, introduced himself as the Heavenly Minister of Celestial Appointments. Then unrolling the scroll, he declared in a roaring voice Chang E Goddess of the Moon, and left her a heap of books–just like that. Poor girl wasn’t even given a choice. What was she to do? Rebelling against these mighty, powerful beings and risking a deathly fate was out of the question. Since she was stranded on the moon with nothing to do, she might as well dive into the books packed with lunar formulas, celestial rules and heavenly protocol. By the time she was done reading, a century had gone by. Life as a goddess on the moon is not as remarkable and varied as she had imagined it would be. 

Chang E finishes the calculation for the next lunar eclipse and pours herself a shot of whiskey. She wonders about the day when every human and beast attain nirvana, and the earthly realm ceases to exist. When that day is, where will everyone head next, she doesn’t know–it is one of those things beyond even the foresight of the highest gods. The day she signs off her last calculation, and gets off this moon, she hopes she still has the opportunity to look for Hou Yi and explain what happened.

Litro Magazine

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