The Dragon Who Wouldn't Fly

Written years back and decided to duplicate here. It is still on my paid domain but I felt that a cover would do this story justice too.

Names are in Chinese. This setting is in the olden times where the people wore long sleeved clothes and cloth shoes.

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“Xiao Ping! What are you doing?” a woman dressed in tatters called out to her daughter. The child who was concerned, was playing with the soil. It had rained the night before and she was fascinated that she could draw on the wet ground. She had drawn a creature with a long neck and huge wings on its back. She finished the touches with a cloud of smoke bellowing out of its mouth.

“Xiao Ping! Do you know what that is?” she heard her mother asked from behind. She turned around and blinked as if she didn’t know that her mother had been calling her for the sixth time. She shook her head.

“That’s a dragon, you’ve been drawing. You’ve seen it?” her mother went closer bending over her child to look at the drawing more closely. It was a beautiful and detailed piece of art on the dragon. She had heard of tales of dragons in the high mountains beyond but never seen them. They were said to be fire-spitting and fly about in the dark to find people to eat if they were not in the house yet. Their village had missing people since the dragons were heard to be roaming about, so everyone were not allowed to stay out after the sun set.

“Did you see one?” Xiao Ping nodded her head.

“Where?” Afraid to know the answer, she mentally took a deep breath. When she pointed to her head, the woman let out a sigh. It was dangerous at night and if Xiao Ping saw the dragon in the day, the Head Villager would forbid anyone out at any one time. They had sent fighters to the mountains once and only one had returned, he kept mumbling about fire, dragon and wings. The doctor gave his diagnosis that he had turned mad.

Taking the girl’s hand, they went back to their house. The woman took one last look at the drawing and shivered.

The knocking was insistent. It wouldn’t stop and the voice outside was calling her name. “Mrs Yong! Mrs Yong!” She crawled out of the bed with difficulty.

“Coming!” She called to the voice outside. She grasped when she opened the door. The Head Villager and there were two men from the magistrate’s office.

“Mrs Yong, someone reported that you’ve seen the dragon. Is this true?” The Head Villager asked. He was worried when a young boy ran to his house this morning shouting about the dragon painting. He had rushed to the magistrate’s house and explained about the disturbance in the early hours. Seeing Mrs Yong’s worried face, he felt guilty as her husband had died of illness two years before and she had been struggling to bring up her only daughter.

“Dragon? Oh! The drawing on the ground! My daughter saw it in her dreams. I’m so sorry. I should have washed it away. But, it was so well done that I…” She sobbed.

“Mrs Yong, I’m sorry. Here, take a seat.” The Head Villager patted her awkwardly. After a while, she stopped crying.

“Oh dear, I’m not a good host here. I’ll get you some drinks, sirs,” Mrs Yong started to rise but Inspector Leong stopped her.

“We’ll wash away the painting, though it’s such a pity to destroy a piece of art your young daughter has drawn.”

“NO! Please! I like the dragon! Please, mummy, don’t let them wash away my drawing. I like it!” Young Xiao Ping had woken up from the commotion. She tugged at her mother’s sleeve crying pitifully. Seeing her daughter so sad, Mrs Yong didn’t know what to do.