Michael Wang

251278098
ywan5372@uwo.ca
nightstarfs@gmail.com
6475673125
Lillian Kroll Prize in Creative Writing

The sweet snowstorm

There was a time, long, long ago, when the world gradually lost its sweetness. Whether it
was citrus or sugar cane, it tasted as uninteresting as plain water. It didn't matter to the poor
- they couldn't afford sugar or fruit - but to the rich it was unbearable pain. But painful as it
was, they had no way of finding anything that retained even a hint of sweetness, even at
great expense. So after a long time, people finally got used to a world without sugar - and
even if the sweetness was gone, there were plenty of tasty alternatives. Sweetness
gradually became a legendary flavor.

The story takes place in a small, remote village. There were few wealthy people in this small
village, so it is unlikely that anyone had ever eaten sugar in their ancestry; certainly the loss
of sweetness did not affect them very much. However, time allowed legends about the
sweetness to spread among them. The legend says that the land of the far north, with its
giant dragons, is the only land where the sweetness is preserved.

So there was a girl with a dream that she would one day taste this sweetness. But it was too
ambitious for a young girl like her - the far north was thousands of kilometers away, with
endless mountains, basins, deserts and forests on the way. The simple villagers did not want
this flowery girl to wither away in the thorns of the wilderness. So they struggled to persuade
the young girl to dispel her unrealistic fantasies. That proved impossible, for her dreams
were so fierce that all admonition vanished like a handful of water in the sun.

The villagers had to pack her bags. The kind-hearted people provided her with dry food and
sewed her clothes. The road to the far north was treacherous and long, where, according to
legend, the oceans poured into the sky. The edge of the world lies there, at the point where
the waters meet the sky.

"The maiden was not the valiant Bruenhilde, nor was she accompanied by Siegfried; yet she
set out alone in search of the gold of the Rhine."

The news spread through the village, and people came to the village gate on the day of her
departure to see her off. Her parents and relatives played a farewell song, and they all
prayed for her safe journey.

The maiden who has left her village is alone on the deserted road where the grass and sand
are rolling. The pale shadows cast by the distant mountains cast a hazy curtain over her.
The golden sun sinks in the west and the projection of the world obscures the entire sky. The
stars begin to shine in the sky, and the moon sheds her light. A dead silence spreads in the
night forest. Only the shallow breathing of a young girl and the faint sound of her heartbeat
carried around. The rustling of voices fuelled the creepiness of the dark night.

But this did not frighten the maiden - how could one travel to the far end of the world without
a little awareness? And so she went forward, ignoring the trees that cast eerie shadows in
the moonlight.

The woods were deep and vast, and the people of this village had lived for generations in
their envelope, like hermits in the mountains. Only a very few ever made it to the bustling
world outside, but those who did never returned. The villagers don't know what happened to
them, and naturally the young girl doesn't know either; but the desire to dream supports her
as she treks from day to night, from the mountain springs to the berry bushes. Her clothes
were covered in scratches and her hair was tangled in a messy tangle of leaves and pale
ears.

Another mundane evening. She still marched forward with one deep and shallow step. The
heavy rain that had fallen last night had turned up the earthy smell of mud, and the damp
leaves that had been knocked off the trees piled up lazily on the ground, splashing away the
water that still remained as she sank slightly with her footsteps.

The sultry air flowed with her movements, exhaling with a slight dampness that gently struck
the collar of her shirt in front of her. Her heart pounded violently and she wondered how far it
was to go. All she felt was that she was tired and needed a place to rest - but where was
there to land when this was surrounded by towering trees that shaded the sky? A tree house
or a tent on a branch would be too much for an exhausted woman. All she wanted now was
a cave, or a branch low enough and wide enough. The damp air felt like suffocation with
every breath, and the flint was probably damp. ...... Could a fire be made or not? This is still
an open question.

All in all, there was still time to move on. She leaned on a long branch and looked like a
legendary druid - the kind of person who could communicate with nature. She would like to
be a druid if she could. Fumbling for the fruit from her walking bag, she ate it in a few bites.
The fruit had little flavor and was slightly sour.

The woods looked the same everywhere. If she hadn't made some marks on the ground, she
would have gotten lost. But it turned out that she would have gotten lost too, because once
again she saw the smiley face she had carved into the trunk of the tree. For some reason,
the smiley face looked a little ironic. She made a few hard strokes with the knife, but as there
was little force to it, it only added a few shallow, unnoticeable lines. She put the knife in her
pocket and held onto the trunk of the tree ready to lean on it for a bit.

The damp trunk irritated the young girl's gloved fingers. The feeling of the fabric gradually
being soaked through with a layer of water came through, taking the heat from her fingertips.
She felt a little cold, but was afraid to take off her gloves and rub her hands - because that
would make her even colder.

The situation seemed to be getting worse by the day. The dark forest seemed to have
opened its sinister maw, ready to devour the young girl who had entered the wilderness with
nothing more than a passion. But things had finally taken a turn for the worse - she, for the
first time in days, saw the smoky grey damp rock face. It appeared to be the base of a cliff
on one of the mountains surrounding the forest, and the unique topography of this
near-forested range had created a cave on the far side.

The cave is fairly dry, although it still seems to be covered in a film of water. But it was much
cleaner than the damp moisture of the forest. Despite the depth of the cave, the girl had no
desire to explore it. She was already lost in the forest, and the abandoned dusty dirt path
had long since disappeared. Now that she had travelled so far on her own will, she might
actually be able to rest ...... but it was said that after the forest there were mountains, after
the mountains there were basins, and then the desert and the sea. This journey seemed to
have only just hit the head of a mountain range - not even sure if it was the right one. Myths
and legends are always distorted.

After a period of rest, the maiden regained some of her energy. But the road ahead was still
a long way off, and the girl stood in front of the cave looking out over the dimly lit forest, with
the incandescent midday sun cast through the gaps. The standing water reflected the sun's
rays, rendering a golden edge like a jewel.

The sweet ...... maiden thought again of this taste mentioned in the legends, and heard that
it was like the crown jewel of the palate, with astonishing explosive power and tension.
People in ancient times enjoyed the sweet taste as if the gods were exercising His authority.
It seemed to be their birthright.

Of course, she didn't end up wasting her time next to the cave. After a short period of
stumbling, she set off again on her journey.

--she would never forget the feeling of seeing the star-filled wilderness for the first time.

It was midnight, months later, when she stumbled out of the edge of the forest into the
endless wilderness before her. The green grass swayed unevenly in the wind, and the sky
was a dark blue, glittering with the bright light of stars. The moon cast a faint glow, yet the
field was also filled with faintly lit asterisms. Like a mirrored starry sky, the dew from the stars
is silently gathered at midnight, like a black cat at night, mysterious and distant, like a dream.
The distant mountain tops are covered with wandering clouds, shimmering blue and purple
under the starlight, as if clouds of stardust were painting canvases on a blurred canvas.

She knelt down and picked up a star's flourishing dew. It was a tiny drop of water, condensed
and not dispersed at her fingertips. It glowed with a tiny shimmer, and if there were stars
burning within it, with a cold blue light, it leapt to pass the sight of the group of stars. The
starlight in this place suddenly grew stronger, and it seemed to be morning in a trance. The
stars cast their idle eyes on the young girl, as if they were watching the rare traveller who
had come to this star-tracked meadow to see the stars.
She tries to put the drop of dew in her mouth. It was cold in her mouth, with the scent of a
distant universe, ancient and magnificent. The stars burned in her mouth, their flames cold
but leaping and licking her palate, giving her a strange sensation - as if a wonderful world
she had once forgotten had reappeared, but without the long-lost sweetness. The stars
whispered, passing starlight, curious about the true meaning of the sweetness. Was it as
fiery as enlightenment? Or is it as seductive as flux? They do not know. So they come from
the heavens and ask the maiden to bring them a sweet touch, until then the stars will always
be at her side.

Naturally, there is no reason to refuse. The maiden gladly accepts the commission of the
stars and will continue her journey towards the mountains of the horizon. In the meantime
the stars stare at her until the sun rises and the stars retreat. The morning dawn illuminates
the turquoise fields, and the dew of the stars dissipates beneath the sunlight, seemingly
subservient to its grandeur. The dark shadows of the hills and mountains expand outwards,
leaving dark shades in the sunlight. Some prairie rats poked their heads out of their burrows,
confirming that day had arrived and that the stars had all receded.

The young girl was about to take the few fruits out of her bag when she found it full of crystal
clear stars. They winked at the young girl in a friendly way, but the glint they brought made
her close her eyes. With one word, the stars told the maiden of the decision of the Council of
Stars - they would follow her to the far north, where no stars had ever shone, to watch the
ocean pour into the sky, and to the end of time to find the sweet smell that had sunk in time.
In time, they will occupy the last territory that is still starless, the far north of eternal night,
where no stars have ever shone. The Council of Stars insists that this is unreasonable, for a
wonderful night lacks stars, like a beautiful melody without the rhythm of a classical piano.

"A perfect night necessarily requires a perfect starry sky." This, they say, is the creed of their
parliament and will be their belief. No night can be called night at any time without the Milky
Way, the only exception being the eternal night of eternal darkness in the far north. And now,
too, the stars will send an expedition to the end of the world.

Now the Maiden is no longer alone on her journey - the stars share with her what they have
observed around the world, and listen to the Maiden's legends from her childhood. So the
maiden learns where the highest mountain in the world is, and who has climbed to the top of
it; and the stars learn sweet tales from the distant past, and they yearn for them - the words
of the stars are many and varied, but they have no such flavour.

So they went on in the morning light until dusk was approaching, and the stars were already
visible in the sky, only much thinner. The meadow was full of small animals and many large
ones too. They stopped and stood, looking at this strange human being trekking with the
stars, wondering if she was a divine being who had fallen from the heavens, otherwise how
could she be surrounded by countless stars? Perhaps another legend will soon spread
unnoticed. But that had no more to do with the maiden. At the moment, she was standing at
the foot of the mountain, peering up at the towering summit that rose straight up into the
clouds, rendered crimson against the warm orange-red hue of the flaming clouds.

She hovered at the near-vertical angle of elevation, but the grey rock of the peak,
interspersed with occasional cracks and gravel, did not seem to give any place to set foot.
The stars described the mountain as surrounded by stars, like the abode of the gods in
ancient legend, pointing straight up to the middle of the sky. Higher up, ancient trees grew
slantingly attached to the rock face, tenaciously carving a gap in the stone.

This made the maiden fret. She asks the stars if they can give her a ride through the sea of
clouds in their express car. The stars replied poetically, for you can never catch a stream of
light, even if it is the afterglow of a single star. The stars can fly ten thousand feet high only
by themselves, but they cannot take a person with them. This is no doubt a great pity, but
there is nothing the stars can do about it.

“…Darkness returns to the wilderness, with a much thinner star wrapped around a slightly
brighter, curved moon. The moon turned her unseen dark side on the maiden and asked
about the sweet smell - an ancient rhyme she had heard in the scheming of the stars, but
was reluctant to talk about it head on because of her status. So she revealed her dark side
of the moon. Like the Council of Stars, the moon is convinced that no night is complete
without a bright moon. Yet even though the moonlight is ancient and pale, it can never shine
into the far north where it belongs.

The ancient moonlight wishes she could catch a glimpse of the end of the world, as she did
when she witnessed the turning of the stars and the rise and fall of the land, a sight rarely
seen in the world. Throughout the ages, few have been able to enter the far north, guarded
for the ancient dragons, for it is the capital of eternal night, the place where all things
converge. And the Maiden, one of the very few to have come to this wilderness of stars, will
be travelling to the distant land of eternal darkness, an opportunity that the ancient Moonlight
has only dreamed of.

In exchange, the moonbeam from the ancient past agreed to take her on a journey over
mountains said to be higher than the heavens and higher than the stars. Ancient Moonlight
knows much more than the Council of Stars, for she is the first light of the night that has
shone in the night sky since before the stars were conceived. According to Moonlight's
account, the mountain range that stands in the way before the far north is in fact a living
creature, its grey rocky surface nothing more than the dust that has been deposited on it
over time. If one were to hold the blue-green moonlight to its cave halfway up the mountain
on a moonlit night, one could clearly see the breathing and undulations of the mountain
range.

The moon said so, and it happened to be midnight, so the moon poured her clear light into
the misty cave, illuminating the moss and snow on the ground in front of it. One thing,
however, surpassed the moon's expectations. The mountain seemed still awake today; it
yawned and shivered at the call of the moonlight. Countless gravel and slush accompanied
by avalanches rolled down the slopes and accumulated on the platform halfway up the
mountain, raising a dusting of snow. The sobriety of the mountain range, its together and its
undulations, was evident in the moonlight, silhouetted like a giant beast with fur slumbering.
The rumble from the mountain range was a heavy bass-like rumble, and the moon knew
what it was asking - the sleeping mountain range was asking the moon what was going on
that it needed to be awakened in the depths of the night and not chosen in the sunny, moody
mornings. Nevertheless, it is only the blazing yellow sun, not the moon, that can awaken it in
the early morning. So the moonlight sent a message in the language of light, a message that
one was setting out on a journey to the far north, hoping that the mountain would give way
so that she could get over the rift.

"...... what?" The mountain ridge had slept here for many years and knew nothing of the
outside world; it had awoken from its slumber at this moment in response to the call of the
moonlight. How many of the world's countless mountain giants could still wake up from their
hibernation? Moonlight patiently explained until the mountain ridge regained its memory of
the end of the world.

"Good ......" boomed Mountain Ridge. Once he and Moonlight had joined hands in trying to
shine on the far north, only to stay in this meadow until today. Hearing that someone would
bring the moonlight to the far north, the mountain ridge, who had not been awake for a long
time, asked the maiden to piggyback on a trace of his dust as well, the tentacle of his mind,
through which he could see the beauty of the sea pouring into the firmament, the legend that
had long been passed down in the world, even before time. He heard again of sweet smells,
and the mountain ridge had long forgotten every taste, for the flowing waters of time had
washed away the sensations. But the pursuit of a flavour that did not exist in the world
interested Mountain Ridge quite a bit. It was like an alchemist chasing the legendary sage's
stone, or a wizard pursuing the legendary golden magic, it was a quest for the unknown.

"In that case, please bring my token." The mountain ridge shook and rustled, and from its
summit a wisp of smoky grey gravel floated down.

With that, the maiden ascended the coiled, rough stone steps made by the mountain range,
that occasionally bore the radiant gems of the mountain range's body. The dark side of the
moon watched her until she was blocked by the mountain and out of sight. A bright ray of
moonlight showed her the way, and the stars poured out their songs for her. A few months
away from her small village, the maiden has nevertheless found enough travelling
companions to accompany her on her journey, though these are high in the night sky or
rooted in the earth.

Mountains, soaring high into the clouds. From the top of the mountains, she can look into the
distance and see an endless sea of clouds. The stars whisper in her ears that this sea of
clouds is the new ocean, capable of carrying her delicate body. Just like the mythical people
who traveled on clouds in the Cloud Top City.

Indeed they did. But stepping on the clouds is a little unsteady, like stepping on a piece of
marshmallow. Now and then, there are dark cumulonimbus clouds raining down a storm,
clouds with golden thunder and lightning that dispel a hint of mist from the sea of clouds. The
damp air carried a hint of flowers, and the clouds squeezed each other in the air to form this
plain of clouds.
The young girl walked on the clouds for a few days. Then she met the birds. The bird with its
feathers tinged with gorgeous flowers was like a mythical phoenix, noble and elegant. It also
looked like it had a high interest in the humans trekking through the clouds. It shook its
beautiful feathers, which were sequentially arranged with some radiant colours. When it was
in motion, it was like a paintbrush dabbed with different colours, painting the blue and clear
sky with strong colours.

"Oh, that's the Painter of the Vault." Star whispered, "It paints the most gorgeous scenery in
the sky. Like the evening sun across the sky when the mountain flowers are in bloom, or the
aurora borealis when the stars are shining brightly."

The Painter of the Vault of Heaven approached the maiden, his black eyes surveying her.

"Rare, how rare." The painter spoke with a sharpness, a somewhat high tone, "A little girl,
and the stars and the moon and the mountains."

It looked sideways at the green moonlight that surrounded her, "So, it's to the end of the
world?"

The Painter has pride of its own. It is convinced that it is the greatest artist in the world, yet it
cannot use the skies of the far north to paint its masterpieces. Whether it is the morning sun
or the evening fire, its feathers can paint the sky with brilliant light - yet even the turquoise of
the aurora pales in the face of eternal night. The painter of the firmament wishes to have the
pure blackness from the far north, the blackest colour in the world, like the deep eyes that
gaze into the abyss, and even deeper than that - there is no light in that colour.

"In exchange, I will paint a clear vault of sky for you." The painter chittered. It vaguely
remembered the old days when sweetness still existed. "Sweetness, I remember, it was the
best smell in the world." The Painter smacked its lips as if reminiscing about the past.

Taking one of the Painter's feathers, which shimmered crimson as if it were on fire, the
maiden watched as it lifted off in place, pulling out a long trajectory of azure blue, as if the
blue still carried the scent of moisture. Jewel-like blues intertwine in the sky, carrying a hint
of orange and red in between. The pearly white of the clouds, the turquoise blue of the sky
and the orange-red of the sunset mingle and blend together to reveal the golden morning
sun on the watery sky. The stars that have not yet dispersed shimmer faintly on this clear
canvas of the sky, and the moon lets out its soft moonlight. The sunrise in the east was like a
fiery dragon coming out of the sea, shooting a golden orange-red image across the
aquamarine sky, smearing the air like paint dissolved in water.

The maiden continued on her way in the stunning sky, carrying the blessing of the painter in
the air. This morning's sunset was particularly beautiful, the sky clear and translucent. In the
distance, where the colours are absent, is the infinite darkness of night. The ancient dragon
hovers in the air, its majestic golden pupils looking sternly at the unwelcome visitor who has
intruded into the far north.

The closer we get to the far north, the thicker the darkness becomes. The bright morning
light has long since disappeared behind them, and the painting of the dome's painter is no
more than an oil painting out of sight. The night expands like a blizzard. A dark grey covers
the world, a day when obscurity embraces the sleeping firmament. There is no light, the
stars shine hidden. She looked to the stars in the distant sky, a dull white grey, like a few
grains of ashes scattered casually on black cardboard, still emitting the warmth of the flame.
The moon, on the other hand, had long since vanished into obscurity.

"What do you come here for, distant guest?" The ancient dragon hovered in the dark sky, as
it had done since ancient times, its jagged scales and golden pupils emanating a glazed light
in the darkness.

"For the sweet smell." The maiden's voice was tiny. In front of the massive ancient dragon,
the young girl's form was as slender as a speck of dust. The ancient dragon nodded and
moved out of the way, "Then go in."

The ancient dragon had no intention of stopping, and simply watched the young girl walk into
the place where all things converged. The darkness seemed to be just a curtain covering the
far north, but inside was a tundra full of pale white. A blizzard was raging, yet the snow
tasted different when it fell into the maiden's mouth. It was a taste she had never tasted
before, like the thrill of salted soy milk at birth, or the delight of seeing the sunrise for the first
time - a sensation that penetrated all her limbs like a dream.

Perhaps this was the sweetness, the last of the sweetness gathered here. She trudges
across the frosty snowfields, dripping with frozen white granulated sugar. The stars passed
through her mouth and felt the intoxicating sweetness - a wonderful sensation that had never
been felt before, that seemed like a clear night and a beautiful star track. The moonlight
hovered in the blizzard and not long afterwards a layer of sugar frosting formed, the snow
reflecting the white haze of colour.

The snowfields were littered with icebergs and ice floes made of sugar. She continued on,
and although the sweetness of the place made her feel wonderful and indulgent, she had a
promise to fulfil with her companions. It was as cold as winter, and the sky was a constant
white. The blue sea floats with chunks of icing sugar, and the ground is covered with endless
deposits of white sugar. All the sweetness of the world had somehow been put into this last
piece of pure land.

Some time later, the sea began to rumble. The sky gradually turned black, the pure
blackness of emptiness. The sea rose from the ground and the earth tilted; the firmament
then began to swoop down too, until at the end of the pure blackness they met, and the sea
merged into the firmament, and the water flowed from the earth up into the sky, where it then
turned into clouds and blue, punctuating the blue sky of the outside world. Guided by the
light of the ancient moon, she walked in the darkness to the end of the world - where several
thin white lines intersected, and at the point of intersection grew a turquoise plant to the
infinite darkness of the night.

The maiden placed the tail feather that ran with flame in the dark air and watched as the
blackness climbed the crimson flame and finally became a dark feather, dense with ancient,
deep dark shadows; she opened her book bag and watched as the swarms of the universe
swirled up into the sky, forming thousands of stars and constellations, dotting the pure
blackness of the far north with the blue and purple of the stars; she let go of her hands and
the lime green moonlight shimmered like streams of light across the night sky; she shook off
the dust and And the breath from the mountains blends into the earth. The ancient dragon
gazes at the entrance with golden eyes, its glazed scales reflecting the blue and purple stars
and the bright moonlight of the darkness. At last the maiden leaned down and held up the
melon that the plant had borne - a gathering of the sweetness of the world, growing in this
dark, far northern tundra, a symbol of sweet taste.

And so sweetness returned to people's lives - whether watermelon or sugar cane - with all its
celebrated charm. But since then no one has seen the maiden in pursuit of sweetness, who
is said to be as sweet as frosting.

Perhaps the maiden eventually returned to her homeland, or perhaps she went elsewhere to
continue her journey. But in this wonderful world the return of sweetness is an indisputable
fact. Perhaps it was then that her small, closed village would know that she had succeeded.

And so the first golden rays of morning rose in the far north.