Vietnamese Mythology Retold: The Fisherman who visited the Dragon Palace (Pt.2)
What good would walls and ceilings do for a palace under the sea?
As the fisherman seated himself on the turtle’s shell, it pushed off into the waves. Before the fisherman could close his eyes, he felt himself surrounded by warm water. An experience diver, he was amazed when the usual shock did not occur, nor was there any pressure on his nose and ears. After the initial daze was over, he found movement on his own neck and touched it, only to feel the gills of the hundreds and thousands of fish he’d butchered.
“Am I turning into a fish?” – The fisherman asked in panic.
“No, young master, I casted a spell for comfort. And please also open your eyes.”
The young fisherman obliged, exposing himself to a vast, hazy expanse lit with an ethereal pale green glow. Ahead, behind, left, right—whichever direction he looked, there was only that seemingly boundless, hazy expanse. Below him too he can see nothing but the pale green glow, and when he looked up he saw not the blue sky but an immeasurable dome of watery emerald light. Aside from their own voices, not a sound could be heard. There was only that sensation of wind, like a viscous spring breeze, blowing in his face and tickling his ears. He finally spotted something far in the distance, above and to the right—a tiny, speckled of something, like a splash of glowing ink.
“What is that, turtle?”
“That, young master, is the shadow of the moon. How else are we to determine if it’s night or day, being so deep down. Nothing on land casts a shadow down here, but all the heavenly bodies do, as they pass overhead. Not just the moon, but the stars and planets and even the Gods.”
“What are planets?”
“Do not mind that, young master. To sum it up, down in the Dragon Palace have a calendar that’s made by tracing those shadows. We use it to determine the seasons.”
“Better close your eyes again, young master,” the turtle said, suddenly serious. “We’ve just reached the entrance to the Dragon Palace.
It seemed to the fisherman as if the turtle has rolled over. It was a most peculiar sensation, as though his ride has done a half-somersault and is now upside-down and swimming upward. He clings tightly to the shell, although he doesn’t seem to be in any danger of falling off.
“Behold, young master, the Dragon Palace.”
When he did so, the sensation of being upside-down vanished. He was sitting atop the turtle as he has been all along, and they were still diving. A dim light, as of dawn, suffuses the atmosphere around them, and the fisherman could make out the vague outline of an immense row of white peaks. It appeared to be a mountain range of some sort, but the peaks are so symmetrical that except for their enormous size they might be artificial structures. No place in sight.
“Those are mountains, right?” – The fisherman’s eyes were still fixed on the mountains. As they came into focus, the triangular figures made less and less sense.
“I can feel your gaze, young master.” – The turtle let out a hearty laugh. “Those are pearls.”
“Pearls?” The fisherman gasped. “Are you lying to me, turtle. You mean to tell me what on top of those mountains are not snow, but precious pearls?”
“At the top? No no no young master. That whole range is pearls pile up high, millions of them put together.” – The turtle couldn’t contain his pride.
The turtle then came to a halt, and leaned on one side, beckoning the fisherman to step off.
“Where are we, turtle? Have you sent me to Hell?” – The fisherman asked, feeling a pressure on his chest from the formality that the empty space exuded.
“We are in the courtyard of the Dragon Palace, young master.” – The turtle was certainly amused at the man’s gapping mouth. “You should know full-well to not fight the Ocean. Release yourself, young master, and took your sandals off.”
The fisherman obliged, removing his footwear and inhaled hard through the nose, and exhaled through the mouth. Repeating the process, he started to feel the hushed atmosphere calming, and the pressure from before, in fact, all pressure he’d been feeling as the eldest son, being lifted.
“Thank you, turtle.” – He put his hands together and bowed to the animal.
“Watch your steps, young master. You do not want to appear unsightly in front of The Princess.” – The turtle was back to his serious self now.
Still, the fisherman failed to grasp how this space was the palace’s courtyard. There was no golden columns nor gem-engraved walls. There was no one, in fact.
“We do not have rain nor snow, young master. A ceiling or walls would be wasteful.”
“But where is the throne room, the guardsmen’s quarter, the chambermaid’s lodgings? Tranquillized as this place is, I can not help but feel… lonely.”
“Young master, it is never always the flashy and imposing that attract the heart. The serenity and seclusion of the Dragon Palace concocted a beauty in and of itself. Of course, we have dug private chambers for the Princess and the Kings, but most of the time you won’t see them inside said chambers.” – The turtle explained as they walked, until the fisherman felt a slimy texture underfoot.
Inspecting closer, he found himself stepping on a fish.
“Terribly sorry.” – He stepped back and bowed to the fish, only to realize the whole road ahead made up of millions of fish all huddled together. With this amount of fish, he could feed his family for three generations.
“Ain’t nothing to it, Mister.” said the fish the fisherman stepped on.
“We come here each day to listen to Her Highness play her đàn tranh.” Another fish said. “Feel free to walk on us. We do not feel “pain,” not as humans do anyway.”
“Oh.” - The fisherman felt relief.
“As you can see, young master. There is no need for floors down here. But since I’ve alerted others of your arrival, the Princess personally set this path up herself, so it would be easier for you to grasp the landscape.” – The turtle was greeting the fish as he went a long.
“You are lucky, sir. No one’s heard the Princess plays đàn tranh in a century.” – One fish said.
“Hush now, it’s starting.” – Another fish spoke up.
Somewhere ahead, the fisherman heard the faint plinking, a melody that seem to linger and reverberate endlessly.