It was another busy day on the waters as the clacking of tiles echoed through the din within the Marsilea. Venti had come and with it, renewed hopes of people eager to test their luck at games of chance. There was hardly an empty seat on the boathouse and every game was hosting a full audience. In his time aboard as a dealer Fuxing had developed quite a formidable reputation in the city for his luck and skill at mahjong. Some played for the money, some played for the thrill, but as for him–he played for the strategy and intellectual challenge of dealing with whatever hand fate dealt you. A true master was not always one who had the best tiles from the start, but one who knew how to read their fellow players and counter their hands. To uphold the name of the establishment he had been graciously employed by, he never cheated and he never refused a challenge. To refuse anyone the opportunity to play out of fear of losing would be a shameful display of cowardice, and terribly unbecoming of a man of character. If he lost, then it would be better that he did so with grace than because he played his hands poorly.

His first challenger upon the opening of the Marsilea's doors was a foreigner, finely dressed but with an uncouth temperament. With a leering grin the man set down an ornate spiral colored bottle on the table. "So you're that mahjong ace who's been the talk of the town, are ya? Look like a greenhorn if y'ask me. I'll have you know I've got a bit of a reputation m'self too–blackjack, poker, baccarat… I've given La Grande Victoria, the Astoria, and the Valdivia a run for their money. I bet this 3,000 year old Abedian perfume bottle you can't beat me. Never been able to open it, but it's probably worth a lot of money. Let's see what you've got, pretty boy." To the boorish man's insults Fuxing merely smiled, having heard similar words one too many times in the past months upon gaining notoriety. "Very well then. If you are willing to play, then neither of us shall complain if fortune smiles upon one and not the other." 

An hour later, a tirade of insults boomed from the table, an irate man storming from his seat unwilling to accept his loss. He lowered his voice once the ship's armed guards made their presence known, and with a baleful glare the foul-mouthed ruffian was escorted off the premises. With a sigh, Fuxing shuffled the tiles and stacked them in preparation for the next game. He had played well and victory had been his due reward. The young man could have cared less about the wager set forth by that vulgar man. But a bet was a bet, and so a delicate antique gilded bottle had entered into his possession. Retiring to his quarters once his work was done, the Karithian man reclined in a chair as he carefully inspected it. The material was translucent and a flawless blue, like the plumage of an azure warbler. It easily fit into the palm of his hand, and the craftsmanship was indeed exceptional.

A faint glimmer came from it when he held it at an angle, and he narrowed his eyes. Had the metal become tarnished from age or poor upkeep? Taking out a silk handkerchief, Fuxing gently wiped the bottle from tip to base and observed its luster.

The bottle was gorgeous but hadn’t been taken care of in a very long time. It was hand spun with what looked to be a lot of love. The gold wasn’t just paint but actually inlaid into the glass with a master’s touch. Even all the gold details in the blue parts of the glass were actually inlaid gold flecks. It was shapely like a water’s body and sung the song of water if one looked at it long enough. The content inside of it was ever moving once it was cleaned like the ocean crashing against great cliffs. If one listened long enough they could hear the gulls and other ocean sounds. It was peaceful and serene.

As he had rubbed the top there were a few ticking noises as a magic ring appeared once the seal was cleaned enough. The magic that Fuxing was made from caused friction and a spark. There began a sea shanty as the lock began to slowly scale back. It was a woman’s voice who sang like an angel and told her tale of old. It was an older shanty that was well known to most of the folk in Jayou. Once the lock finished the top of the perfume bottle rumbled and it popped out. A pink mist stormed out and swallowed Fuxing whole bringing him inside.

It left him in the parlor of a once lavish Abedian house. Once prideful and aglow with colors it was now tarnished with time. The paint was falling off the walls, plants were overgrowing or dead in certain parts of it, candles were burnt to nothing, and the exit now was sealed with a strange glyph. “Forward.” It read.

No matter where he went in the palace there were whispers of time that literally did not stand still looking at the house. Dust, cobwebs, and even the library had been hit. Curiously there were books everywhere as if someone had desperately tried to go through it. The whispers got louder as they led him to his ultimate destination.

It was a room that spanned a great length. There was an artificial sky and since it was night where he was it was night there. Stars danced in the skies above showering light down on the great pool that was below. Lotus flowers were overgrown and it seemed to be an ecosystem all of its own. There was a marble walkway from where there were dressers and stands. There was even what looked to be centuries old campfires littered about. By the walkway to the center of the pools was a skeleton. His clothes had faded in time and on him was a series of pages.

They were meticulously labeled in order.

“To whom it may concern,

I was given seven days to find my way out of this place or free the spirit that dwells within the perfume bottle. I moved her safely to her bed among the lotus flowers and water in the center of the pool before she turned to stone. She looks like she could wake up at any moment now but I am drawing near the sixth day and I know I can’t find my way out of this place. She didn’t deserve this. It was my fault but he took it out on her instead and now she suffers because I could not be man enough to tell him no. Her name is Jaladhija Zheel and she is my family’s djinn.

She was created a thousand years before this letter was written. Jala was made of a wish one of my ancestor’s had and given to him by a witch. Jala could grant any wish as long as it went along with the rules of her code. Most Djinn or Genies depending on the Djinn you deal with… Only live as long as their first masters do. Jala was different she could be passed down my family and the head could have unimaginable power as long as Jala deemed it so. We went from a poor family to one of great might in Abed.

Then my father got his greedy hands on her. He used her for unimaginable things. I even saw her be summoned to be his shield. He almost got her killed but he thinks nothing of her as an object. Jala has always been kind to me and even helped raise me since my father was incapable. My father has always been sore with her since she told him no the first time. He wanted to become the king of Abed, she refused. She refused to make the princess fall in love with him and was incapable of it.

I know he abused her in more ways than that. His sick fantasies must have left scars on her more than the whip marks on her back. She has always been strong. If I had just kept my mouth shut for a few more years and left nature kill him… I could have prevented this all. I could have saved Jala. However, in my anger, I stood up to my father and declared how much I loved Jaladhija. He was livid because I had been declining dowries and marriages… He assumed it was because of my love for Jala. He began to have these wild accusations that I was spending time with Jala in her bed. I would never against her will and she has never seen me like that. I am not my father.

It all came to a head when Jala once again refused a wish that she felt was immoral. We were all shouting within the perfume bottle’s palace. Father had asked Jala to make me fall in love with a noble’s daughter so that he could get the dowry. Jala refused and he hit her. He said that he had, had enough of our secret affair. Jala was shocked and asked him what he meant but he didn’t believe her. He shot her with some kind of ancient magic. She hit the floor like all the life had left her. He told me she would sleep for the next thousand years until someone woke her up but I could save her if I could reverse the spell within seven days.

I am no sorcerer. I don’t even understand what he said that day to the fullest extent. I noticed he sealed the exit so I could not leave. He plans to kill me and probably get another heir. I’m fine with that as long as I can save Jala. I might not be able to save her in these seven days but I am hoping I can find a way for the person reading this letter to.

- Vihaan Zheel”

“To whom it may concern,

I’ve failed her so many times these past six months. Food is running low and I’ve scoured this place high and low for what could possibly help her. She turned to stone at midnight on the eighth day and not a moment sooner nor later. My chance to get out of this hell has been sealed. However, I refuse to fail her any more. The glyph for the spell my father used has appeared in front of her at different intervals. I imagine after the thousand years that you will be able to see it no matter what.

I wrote it down over these six months to get the full context. I searched her library up and down for what it is… I really have failed her. The reverse spell for what my family did is the song that she had always sung to me as a boy when she put me to bed. It’s an ancient text and I’ve come to find it is also the song that gave her life. It is my ancestor’s song to her. I know my ancestor must be disappointed in us for our treatment of Jala.

I will include the full song underneath my letter. I know it by heart because she sang it so much. If I had only waited a few more years… I know that Jala is strong enough to deal with the torture my father put her through. I know it has hurt her in more ways than one. Jala is not an object to be owned and if I could wish for her freedom I would. She has always given me a sad smile whenever I asked her if she could grant me that. She would kiss me on the forehead and tell me not to worry about someone like her. Jala is a person even if she does not see it that way.

She was our treasured gift and we soiled it all. The person who inherits her perfume bottle next will own her contract and her. I wish that you will take care of her better than I could protect her. Take care of her better than my father did. She was born from a wish of pure love on the rabid seas of the Nyella… She is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on with the biggest heart. She is a treasure and I failed her.

We all did.

-Vihaan Zheel”

The pages after that contained the song. It was lengthy but told the tale of love and desire.

The pathway up to Jala had a pile of dusty pillows. There was a stone figure in the center of them that looked to be peaceful but by the letters was anything but. She appeared to have elvish ears, hair that flowed long maybe to the floors, and indeed a beauty if judging just from her stone.

The glyph appeared just as the man said it would as he would get closer to it.

As he polished the bottle, he thought he heard the sound of moving water. Like the tides on the beach, it would flow softly. It was like holding a shell to your ear…when he closed his eyes he could almost imagine the salty sea breeze. The ticking sound made him open his eyes again to see the bottle unseal itself, a song rising from the rolling waves and filling his ears. This song felt so familiar, yet he wasn't sure why. The verses had been hummed by sailors and travelers, young and old at the banks of the river but Fuxing had never paid much attention to it. The top then tumbled out on its own and a pink fog quickly poured out of it. Alarmed, he covered his nose and mouth, dropping the bottle on the table in his haste. But before he could move away, it enveloped him and his vision blurred. He regained consciousness on a cold, hard dusty floor. Cobwebs were everywhere, the air was stifling and stagnant. A chill went down his spine as he quickly stood on his feet. This atmosphere, he knew it well. Silence told years of abandonment…just like that old storage room he vaguely remembered sitting in for ages.

There was no exit. Where it was, it was completely blocked off and the only way was deeper in. The further he walked the more he felt grating voices all around him. This place looked dead, and fear rose within him with each step. The library was littered with books but Fuxing kept going forward despite his dread. The voices were almost too loud until he finally arrived at a place that seemed to have some life. Light from above gave a small comfort and he could see more clearly. It was nighttime here too, wherever here was. Where the lotus flowers grew was nearly choked with plants, clearly having been untended for far too long. The halls were eerily empty and it looked like someone had tried to live here for a while. His question as to who was answered when he stumbled upon a skeleton. The young man flinched when he saw it, and there were several pages of paper tucked within its bony fingers. He was deathly afraid to approach, fearing it would rise up the moment he came close. After a few long minutes Fuxing gathered the courage to take the papers, taking care not to damage them. They were old and he didn't want to risk tearing them. If this person had held onto them like life itself, they must be important. He didn't have the luxury of ignoring what he found now; lest he meet a similar fate.

Bringing the papers into the light, he began to read. Slowly, carefully, Fuxing learned of the tragedy of the man whose corpse he had found and the truth about the bottle. This bottle was once a home from what he had seen earlier, but it was changed into a prison by spiteful man. This victim's own father had sent him to his inevitable death here because the spirit of this place denied to grant a wish that went against one's will. The kind spirit was in turn betrayed by the family she had dutifully served. After the last page was read, Fuxing was on his knees. The papers on the ground before him, his head in his hands. In all of his life, he could have never imagined such cruelty. It was too much, too heartless! Everything within him cried out that the punishment of these two individuals was an injustice against the world. The spirit deserved so much better. She deserved to be loved, not used or owned like an object. Just thinking about it all hurt him inside.

If what Vihaan had discovered was true, then the key to breaking this woman free was this song. She had spent thousands of years trapped in a prison of her own home. It was time she was able to live for herself for once. Following the pathway up he found the bottle's spirit as the man had written. Although a statue, there was a faint aura of magic that Fuxing could detect. As a spirit, she wasn't dead. Holding up the pages with the song, he then approached to glyph and recited the song… 

Time had stopped for her the moment the spell hit her. There were no five minutes of hearing as the dead had. There was no knowing what became of the family she loved and protected. There was just darkness and in that darkness, she slept. The last thing she remembered was how much she had failed. She failed her family. The strict rules that she was born into were noble rules and she had refused based on those principles. Was it really her fault then? Would she ever see it that way?

The moment that Fuxing finished reciting the song the sky lit up in brilliant colors with the moons as the centerpiece. Water dripped from them and hit the stone woman several times until the stone became like water. The stone washed away into the water leaving the tanned woman lying still in the pillows. A gentle breath started and before long she was shooting up. “SHAURYA NO,” the words left her lips as if that was the last thing she was doing before she was put to sleep.

She stopped and tried to stand but her legs were like jelly as she started to stumble towards the pool. Fuxing had dived in after her as her arms and her legs were too frail to try and keep her up. He took her out of the pool and gave her something to cover up with. It didn’t take her long to see the remains of the son she had tried so hard to protect. Her hand went to her lips as she let out a scream. “VIHAAN!” She finally stumbled from Fuxing even risking injury to herself as she clung to the skeleton. She let out wild wails as she pressed herself to it. “No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not to you.” She was in denial. “That foolish old man.” She was tried to hug it tight from Fuxing pried her from it.

It would do her no good to cling to the dead. It was one of the things she couldn’t grant wishes towards. She was pressed into the man’s chest as she wailed and cried. She cried so much that eventually no tears came and her voice became inaudible. “He wouldn’t…” She whispered. “He did…”

Her pink puffy eyes looked around. “How long?” She looked up at him now as her vision focused. She didn’t know this stranger. “How long have I been gone?”

There was a flash of light as a giant scroll appeared in front of them. The name Shaurya Zheel slipped off of it. It was like a leaf to the wind. She watched as in it’s place Fuxing’s name was written out. “You?” Her eyes looked back at him. “The ownership of the bottle has shifted.” The paper disappeared but she was still an emotional mess. Her family was gone… and in their place was a man she didn’t know.

As the stone that she was made into became flesh again, the miraculous wonder of ancient magic being undone was eclipsed in the shadows of loss. Her time had stopped the moment the spell took hold. Fuxing understood that well when she cried out begging for mercy from a man who might not even be alive anymore. A thousand years had passed, and now she would have to face the aftermath. Still weak from a millennium of slumber, her legs collapsed from beneath her as she tried to stand. She was frantic, afraid, confused. He did the best he could to be there for her as she learned the terrible, tragic truth. There was nothing he could do to explain, after all she knew more about the fateful day than he. The man who had been like a son to her gave up his life in hopes of someone else finding her, entrusting her fate with them. Fortune had been kind as it had been Fuxing to undo the seal, but that was all the comfort Fortune offered as the cruelty of reality set in.

It stung to see her weep terribly over someone she dearly loved. As painful as it was, he pulled her away from Vihaan's remains until she stopped trying to hold them. If only he could bring the dead back to life…but this man had been dead for at least a thousand years. There was no life to give back. Fuxing simply stood and held Jaladhija as she cried her heart out, wrapped in his outer garment. Words failed him and he could not find a single one to help soothe her suffering. When her tears finally ran dry, it dawned on her that things had changed. Eyes like bright coral looked up to him as she asked: "How long? How long have I been gone?" Focused only on the spirit before him, Fuxing paid no heed to the scroll of ownership rewriting itself with his name. To her question he sadly answered. "…A thousand years. At least that long." The words of the surly brute who had wagered her bottle hours earlier rang in his mind along with what Vihaan had written. The papers the Abedian man had painstakingly wrote were still in front of the place he had laid the djinn to rest. 

Fuxing let go of her slowly, worried she didn't have the strength to stand. "I'm sorry…" That was all he could say as an outsider who had stumbled in and freed her by chance. 'Feng Fuxing' now adorned the magical manifestation of the contract where her former owner's name used to be. If only he had the memories of what it was like to console another during a period of mourning. He had awakened into this world all alone, with no real family or connections to speak of. She was different–she had a family, people she had known and loved. She had watched her family grow over the years as she faithfully served them. But not anymore. 

Tears tried to fall once more when he told her how long it had been. “He must have been so scared.” Her voice was quiet as she worried about the man who had fought so hard for her release. Vihaan had been so alone in his final moments and she wasn’t there to tell him she would be alright. He had died to save her and she found herself almost getting sick over the thought of it.

Her legs were still shaky but so was her whole body as exhaustion and depression set in fully. Her eyes were slowly drooping the more she got tired from the whole ordeal. Even though she had been effectively asleep… It was no restful sleep.

His apology made her frown deeply as her hand gently came up to cup his face. The sadness in her eyes was tenfold more than her face could show. “You have given Vihaan the greatest gift that he could have wanted. I know him well enough to know that he fought for me and the biggest thing you could have done was fulfill his last wish.”

It became clear that Jala was more a peacekeeper and a people pleaser. Even now she couldn’t fully reap her sorrow. Bound by the contract it forced her in line with certain objectives. The hand against his skin was cold and it shook from the tragedy. Before long she would pass out and when she would next wake she would try to process everything once more.

“I’m exhausted…” It was probably a terrible thing to say. She couldn’t do anything more for the time being. “Can… We bury Vihaan later? I want to take him to the fields of Abed. He loved playing near the spice fields when he was a boy. I would like to bury him at home. Maybe Manoj will help him finally rest his soul. Manoj was the man who created me or rather had me created. He’s buried in Abed as well.”

Even after all of this, she still was worrying about others. It was too clear that she had always been acting in others' best interest for so many years. Where she had every reason in the world to sit down and cry, to make demands, to even lose her temper–she didn't. The weight of the tragedy proved too much and the spirit lost consciousness again. Now that the bottle was unsealed completely, Fuxing was able to leave with Jaladhija in his arms. The mist brought them back into his room, and it was then he realized he could have nearly broken the perfume bottle when he dropped it earlier. To his surprise no harm had been done, and he laid the weary djinn onto his bed. The warm air of Jayou would help her clothes dry, but until then he lightly covered her with a blanket and placed as many cushions and pillows as he had around her. 

When she regained consciousness again, she asked if they could bury her dear friend back in his homeland. There was that longing in her eyes as she spoke fondly of happier days, and of her first master. Abed was quite a ways away, but Fuxing had no complaints. "Yes, of course we can. It is only right that an honorable and brave soul like him should return home for his final rest…alongside his ancestors." Ancestors. Those from the past whom their descendants owed everything to for who they were and what they did. He was sure Vihaan made his ancestors proud with what he had did. Manoj would certainly believe so, Fuxing thought. For his creation to possess such a kind soul, surely the same could be said of the master. It was a pity that not all the successive generations of his line had followed in his steps.

"For the time being, you should rest." Fuxing said, changing the subject. "The house within the bottle is in remarkable shape for having left on its own for a thousand years, and there is no better place than home when it comes to recovery. However, it will take a while for me to tidy the place up–so you'll have to settle with my humble lodgings until then." The man gave a smile, poking fun at himself. To be frank, Fuxing didn't have the foggiest idea on how he would tackle the cleaning of an entire palace. He had never cleaned anything in his entire life, nor had the memories of doing so. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to let that intimidate him. Sweeping was no different from using wind to whisk the dust away, right?