There was an emperor long ago, who lived by an abundant sea. Every morning at 4 am, his chief chef would walk to the wharf to choose only the finest of fish caught that morning, of which he would prepare nothing but the finest of meals.

"A broth of fish head, milord. And steaks of its belly and loin, seared and glazed with soy and ginger." 

His servants would then feed the emperor, not letting him lift a single finger. 

"A fine meal" he would say, as they would wipe his mouth. "Whenever will you run out of fine food?" 

One day, the emperor found out. He told a servant to throw the tray at the wall and cry out in a huff (The emperor did not wish to strain his voice).

"What is wrong, your majesty?" Asked the out of breath chef. He had run up many many flights of stairs. 

"That was the best meal I've ever had." Said the emperor 

The chef stared in silent disbelief.

"However.." 

He walked over to the tray and pointed.

"It's not very exciting" said a vexed emperor. 

"Are you tired of fish?" 

"I suppose." 

"How about chicken or beef?"

The emperor shook his head and whispered to another servant, who promptly smacked the chef in the head.

"But I love fish!" Said the emperor. "Would you have an emperor not have his daily fish?" 

The chef would have very much enjoyed to keep his neck. And so he set out a kingdom wide call. 

"Any fisherman who could bring a fish fit for the king would be granted a castle in the kingdom and lordship from his lord."

And so it happened, with Fishermen coming from all over. The world was smaller then so everyone walked on over to the coast, lines stretching so far it blocked out the trade routes. 

"Premium toro from tuna freshly caught from the Northern ocean, with a sauce of ponzu and light soy "

"Grilled tilapia from the Eastern sea stuffed with lemongrass and ginger." 

"Crispy fish skin on poached salmon, caught from the mouth of the southern river that feeds into the ocean"

The dishes went on and on. The tastings went so long that some of the dishes went spoiled in the line. 

But after every bite, the emperor just grew more tired and tired. 

"When will I be satisfied?" he complained loudly. 

As he said this, a small old woman stepped forward from the line. The guards tried to stop her, but she skipped and weaved through their bodies and weapons till she was right at the seat of the emperor. He looked at her, and raised his hand, stopping the guards from approaching.

The emperor regarded her mid-chew. "What fish dish have you brought me today?"

The old woman raised her empty hands. "I have no fish for you today, milord."

The emperor’s eyebrows rose with mild annoyance."Then what use have you to me?"

He gestured to his guards to send the old woman away. However, old woman though she was, she slipped through their grasp like a cat. She smiled with her wrinkly lips. 

"I may not come with a fish, but I come with a story."

The emperor gestured for his guards to stand down. 

"Does it have a fish in it?" asked the Emperor. 

"Have you heard the tale of the God fish?"

As soon as she had finished with her story, the Emperor summoned his chief attendant, the chef. He in turn summoned the head of the military who summoned the admiral of the navy. 

An entire fleet of ships were sent out into the deep unknown of the ocean. 

“In the east,” she had said. “Where the water falls off the world swims the God fish.” 

 The fleet arrived at the edge of rushing water in the dead of night. Here under the light of the moon, the tides constantly pushed and pulled upon an invisible shore. 

“Shall we set up nets here?” asked the Admiral. 

“No net shall be able to hold this creature,” said the Chef. “Tell your men to take a sail and drape it over the edge of the horizon.” 

There was no place for the ships to moor. They were at the mercy of the ever shifting tides. Some had lost to the current, to be washed away into the unknown. The others did their best to hold fast. 

It was a long night. But soon the sun began to creep over from the great beyond. Some of the men sighed with relief. The night was over. However, the chef gritted his teeth. 

The worst had just come. 

“As the sun will rise, so too will the God fish, “ the old lady had said. “Swimming on its rays, dancing in the golden light, with a grace and splendor you might never see again in a lifetime. It is said some mornings you might catch its silhouette in the distance, for but a moment. Such days are auspicious days.”

And so it arrived, bursting from the water. It was as large as a ship, and covered in scales of red and gold that shone resplendently like a sun in its own right. There was a collective gasp of joy as everyone saw this. But that joy would turn to pity as the creature was caught on the ship's sail.  

It struggled, thrashing in the air. It was a heart wrenching sight, that such a beautiful creature be bound like this to be killed for a meal. But the chef’s loyalty was to the emperor. 

“Pull!” he called out. 

And so all the ships were turned in reverse, the rope going taut as they fought against the God Fish. It was no difficult battle. The God fish wildly moved through the air, nearly dragging the fleet into the unknown. However, it was fighting against a fleet of more than a hundred strong. They raised their sails and soon the fish was fighting against both men and the wind.
It would eventually grow tired and crash upon the deck of the head ship. 

Quickly they covered it in a mixture of salt and seaweed and covered its eyes such that it might not see the sun. They cut its fins with knives and bound its body in hooks. 

As they sailed back, all the men were crying, for such a beautiful thing had been taken. 

But the Emperor’s mouth watered as he saw the creature enter the harbor. Only good things could come from such a creature. 

“Please sir,” the sailors begged. “Let this majestic beast go. You will deprive the world of its beauty.” 

“And so you would deprive me of its wonder as well?” asked the Emperor. “Just imagine. If such a creature looks this good on the outside, how much better would it taste?” 

“Chef!” he called out. 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Make me a dish worthy not of an emperor, but of this god.” 

“As you wish.” 

Indeed he did. The dish he made was utterly indescribable. Such that the emperor could only say. “It is heaven. Utter heaven.”

And so it was for another year. But by the end of that year, again, there was that sound of shattering clay, and a bit of fish lining the wooden dining room of the emperor. 

The chef sat down defeated upon the kitchen floor, resting his cleaver beside him. 

“What am I to do?” he lamented aloud.

“Has the greedy man grown tired of me?”

This was spoken by the God fish, who could not be killed. Instead he had been packed with ice and salt and had been chopped up every day for his meat. 

His scales were dull and gray in such a place. His eyes had long since turned black and dead. 

“I am so sorry, God fish.” said the chef. 

“It is quite alright,” said the divine creature. “For I know of a solution to your predicament.” 

“While I had chanced to dance upon the sun rays, I glimmered a creature in the ocean of the sky that far outmatches my splendor.” 

“He is a Dragon god of the highest order, Master of the great Ocean. None but the blessed have caught glimpses of such a divine thing. Much less have tasted of its flesh.”

“Head to the highest mountain that overlooks the sea. Past its scarf of clouds, past the snow that lines its crown,” said the God Fish. “He will be there.”

At the break of dawn, he gathered the kingdom’s army and promised them lordship, should they be brave enough to best the mountain and conquer the Dragon God. 

No sooner had he said this did the army begin to scatter into the wind.

“Lordship is nothing compared to the ire of a true god.” 

“The emperor is a mere man. We shall not trifle with the divine.”

This, of course, was not pleasant news to the Chef.

“Cowards, all of you!” he yelled out to them. “Cowards and traitors.” 

But though his words pierced them in their hearts, it did little to make them stay. Still, desperate to please his lord, the chef was determined to make this journey alone.

It was not a pleasant journey. 

The moment he stepped onto the mountain, he was beset by the roar of untamed winds and the sting of hail as they whipped about in nigh perpetual storm. 

He understood now why the soldiers would not climb.

And yet, he continued. Through the winds that grew to thunder and lighting and hail that turned to swords of glass, he was not fearless, but surely he was determined. 

He only stopped once, because it was the only place he could stop: A little hovel on the side of the mountain, in the lee of the rock where the wind could not strike. He stumbled in, for on his way, he had lost an arm and a leg. 

“Oh, you poor old soul,” cried out a voice. It was an old decrepit priestess, with a long mane of scraggly white hair, so long that it swept the floor behind her. “Let me help you up.”

He led the injured chef to a window overlooking the sea. 

“Please, my good priestess,” said the chef. “Not here. I grow weary of such a sight.”

“How can one not appreciate a god’s beauty?” asked the little priestess.

“It is not beauty that ails me,” said the chef. “But what lies beneath.” 

The wise old priestess raised her heavy gray brows. 

“I am a chef you see. The emperor’s chef…” 

As he explained his predicament, he noticed that the priestess’s lips would pucker deep into her face. They would quiver and shake and slowly recede like the waterline before a tsunami. By the end of his tale, her face was so stretched out, she looked rather like a ghoul.
“...so will you help me?” 

She could hold back no longer. All that tension she held back came roaring out as hideous raucous laughter.

“What a silly silly emperor!” she cried out. “What a greedy little man! Oh how I'd love to meet him.”

“He will only meet with those with promises of delicious fish.” 

“I can guarantee you, if you let your king come here, I shall have him enjoying the wonders of all the fish I make, including the bad ones.” 

She picked up an old jar, swirling its murky contents. 

“He will love this.” 

The chef would have laughed or yelled, but so drained was he that a mere nod was all he could muster.  If it would end this quest, one way or another, so be it, he thought. 

So without another word, the chef, the emperor’s most loyal attendant, stumbled out. 

Fortunately, it was significantly easier to head down a mountain than climb atop one. 

Unfortunately, the road was equally as treacherous. 

When the chef arrived at the foot of the hill, he was naught but a head, calling for his emperor. 

But that would not stop this poor man. He rolled and tumbled all the way to the palace door, where he was brought to the Emperor. 

In the hands of a servant, he told the emperor of what he saw on the mountain. 

“There is food there for you,” he said. “It’s all for you.” 

“But how will I get there?”

The Chef could not answer. His eyes were closed. His lips pressed together in a satisfied smile. 

A servant wiped away the emperor’s tears. He stood up and took the chef into his arms.  

“Gather them” he ordered 

“Who my lord-” 

 “Everyone! Gather them all!” 

He yelled this with his own voice, hugging the chef in his arms. 

The emperor sat at the bottom of the mountain, with the entire kingdom crowded

below him. As it was since the beginning of time, he was to be without body. The kingdom was his spirit. The people were his hands and feet. And so with them, he began to walk. 

Upon their backs, still holding the head of his chef, a procession of his people carried him upwards, mourning with him all the while. They were not to carry his sadness, but they felt it in their core: The chef was truly a beloved man.  

And as they loved him, he loved one man above all else. 

He would get his meal.  

But as with the chef, his as his retinue made their way up the mountain, they were ravaged by the winds and the rocks and the rain. 

They began to fall one by one, till thousands became hundreds, and hundreds became tens. And tens became one. 

The emperor alone pushed on. Cut and ravaged, the once plump emperor became a gaunt old thing. So sickly and tired from having to move so vigorously for the first time in his life. And worst of all, he was starving. 

But still he clutched the head of the chef close to his chest. It was as though the chef guided his heart to the monastery. 

By the time he arrived at the door, he had naught less than a centimeter’s worth of flesh hanging off his bones: a dead man walking. His kingly robes hung loose upon his body, slowly shedding off him like the skin of an old snake. 

The priestess addressed him without a word, hanging an old monk’s robe around the beaten man. Any other man would have thanked her profusely, but the emperor held his head high proudly, still refusing to address the priestess. 

The priestess simply smiled and bowed low, gesturing to the table she placed by the window facing the sea. 

Dinner had already been prepared: Hot rice, a boiled egg, and fish. Dried salted fish, not even fresh. It was hard and brittle and smelled like death. He would have thrown the table…had he had the strength. 

He sat down with the chef, looking down at the food. 

“I don’t know why you told me to come here. It’s just regular old food.” he said. The chef regarded him silently. 

His arms trembled as he lifted the bowl. His stomach grumbled with hunger. It couldn’t hurt to have a bite. 

It tasted simple. So frighteningly simple. Even if it wasn’t very good, it was delicious.  The emperor couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. Mouth wide as his trembling hands struggled to shove the food down. 

It wasn’t just the flavor or the texture, he surmised. It was something wholesome and bigger than all of that…as though the gods had graced his tongue. 

He looked out the window to the ocean as its water sparkled like fish scales. The sun that shone above it suddenly began to unfurl, and uncoil as a great serpentine creature flew towards him. It wrapped itself around the high mountain and regarded the Emperor with its baleful eye. 

With a booming voice that shook the very heavens, it said to him 

“I am the Dragon god, lord of Heaven and Ocean. Was it you who captured the Godfish from my sea?”

The emperor smiled. 

“Why, yes!” he said proudly. “My attendant here caught him for my meal.” 

The emperor lifted the chef’s head to the Dragon god. 

“I am impressed,” said the Dragon god. “I had heard legends of a powerful emperor…To capture my son from his cradle and so boldly claim to have eaten his flesh is a brave claim indeed.” 

“Are you going to kill me for it?” asked the Emperor. 

The Dragon god laughed, his rumbling sending cracks through the walls of the little monastery. 

“No, dear child. I was merely impressed.” said the Dragon God. “However, I do see you eating a new meal. Was my son not sufficient?” 

The emperor shook his head.

“If I am honest, he grew too tame for me.” 

“Then you shall not mind if I take that boy back?” asked the Dragon God. 

The emperor shook his head again. 

There was suddenly a loud snap as a crack formed within the earth of the kingdom. The crack turned to rumbling as it grew into a fissure. The Emperor watched as the entire kingdom fell into itself, swallowed by the mouth of its own body.

And from this pit, the God fish emerged, thrashing wildly onto the earth. The hooks still dug into his skin, the salt still stinging the wound.  He moved wildly to get the hooks off, cracking the earth and splitting it. When the last hook was removed, he washed his silver skin in the water and swam upwards to the sky with his father, speaking of the things that only the divine knew.

This left the emperor without a kingdom, or people, or a bed or even his own name. 

“Now that you are just a man,” asked the priestess, “What would you like to do?” 

The man raised his empty bowl to her with a smile, his hands still shaking. 

“May I have seconds please?”