Before balance was known among people, before the wolves howled at night and the flowers bloomed during the day, an emperor ruled the vast lands of China.
    Childbirth lead to the demise of the emperor’s wife, but not before she named her sons. Yin and Yang. As they grew older, their differences tore them further apart. Although one could not distinguish the two by their looks, their souls were like fire and rain.
    When they were younger, Yin spent his days among his father learning how China had grown large and powerful over the centuries. His father taught him the meaning of war and how to conduct it. However, Yang took any chance he got to sneak outside the castle walls, searching for peace and prosperity, and finding happiness in common life.
    The Emperor came to favor Yin for his intelligence and wit, entrusting him with secrets he told none other. Yin grew closer and closer to his father, while Yang grew further from the life of riches and war.
    One night while Yin and his men prowled a poor village, an old, bent woman with a cloak pulled over her head appeared from a nearby alley. “Young man,” she croaked coming nearer, “if you swear never to rob another man of his most priceless possessions, I will grant you one wish.” A deep rumble of chuckles emitted from the men, booming like thunder through the dark night. “Why should I believe a word you say?” Yin asked with amusement, looking down at the deformed silhouette. “You shall see!” she screeched, her voice echoing off the surrounding buildings. “Though I must warn you, if your desires are kindled by hatred, they will do you no good!” Yin only grinned. What was it he wanted?  He knew from the deepest part of his heart. A heart that was entangled by roots of greed. “Alright,” he said at last. “I wish, on my arrival home, my father will not be alive to greet me. However, if I return home and he is still breathing, I will have your head, and this village will be burned to ashes. Do we have a deal?” The woman’s hood flew back, exposing her horrific, twisted appearance. Cackling at the men’s dread, she shook Yin’s hand and quickly vanished with a crack. Her crimson cloak fluttered to the dirty ground, settling before Yin’s feet. The eerie darkness weighed down on his shoulders. “Let us be on our way,” he whispered to the men. Hastily, they saddled their horses and bolted off into the bitter, cold night.
Horse hooves hitting the cobblestone road echoed within the silent castle walls. The riders were welcomed by a group of grief stricken servants. “Master Yin, the council would like to see you.” It couldn’t be. He thought, quickly dismounting his horse. Rushing down the ornate halls with a forged look of terror he burst through the heavy doors of the council hall. “What’s going on?” he asked with a sound of alarm. “Sit down, Yin,” replied a calm voice. A council member with a long white beard motioned to a nearby chair. Across the table Yang gazed miles into the distance. “We are saddened to tell you, but this morning your father was found deceased in his chamber. The doctors suggest he died from old age” There was silence as Yin put his head in his hands. No one see the satisfaction tug at his lips.
    An elaborate funeral took place in honor of the adored emperor. Subjects from every corner of the country came to mourn the great ruler. They buried him with jewels and riches of all kinds. Yin eyed the gold and pearls greedily. After weeks of grief, unease started to slither into the minds of the common people. Who will take the place of the Emperor? Will he be a fair ruler? What will become of us?
    “War is raging in the North,” one of the council members ranted one day as they were all gathered in the council hall. “And we have yet to decide the emperor!” Suggestions came from every direction.
“We should have a battle of wits!”
“We should put it to a vote!”
“We must figure out which is the eldest!”
A man at the head of the table motioned his hand, quickly silencing the others. His cheeks were hollow and the skin under his eyes dark and heavy. Putting down his thin, bony hand he opened his eyes, revealing crystal blue orbs that seemed to penetrate the air. His voice was low and raspy when he spoke. “Guessing neither of you are going to step down,” he paused, challenging one of the boys to object, “there is only one way to settle this. A battle will be held, and the victor will take the throne. You may prepare your army and at dawn in three days, you will be expected at the top of Qing Hill.” Without waiting for them to object he dismissed the two heirs. Once Yin and Yang left the room, they faced each other for a brief moment. Yang’s heart constricted with pain but Yin’s eyes were cold. “May the best man win,” he said with a sickening smile, leaving Yang alone in the hall.
    Yin woke to the feeling of ice cold needles piercing his face. The sky was darkening by the minute and rain shot through his open window. He slammed it shut and quickly put on his armor. The morning of the battle had come. Yin raced out of his room and down the hall. Behind the palace a large army of men were waiting. The wind howled and whipped at his hair. “Let’s go, boys! We’ve got a battle to win!” he shouted with his sword raised to the sky. Answered by a large chorus of battle cries, Yin lead his army to the top of Qing Hill where the ruins of an ancient battle sulked in the tall grass. Rain poured in sheets, veiling anything three steps from Yin in a blur. A white figure appeared at the other end of the long stretch of land. The crash of a gong rippled the air around them. “Charge!” screamed Yin, lunging forward. The sound of a thousand trampling feet and thunder mixed into one low rumble. Mercurial rage burned inside Yin’s chest, threatening to burst through his breastplate as he pushed against the powerful storm. He was getting closer... closer... closer. The brothers were face to face and Yin, unyielding, brought down his sword with monumental force, piercing Yang’s heart. Yang fell to the ground, and a bolt of lightning illuminated his face. “I will not fight you brother.” His whisper carried through the bellowing storm and echoed in Yin’s mind. Yin fell to his knees before his brother; hot tears stung his cheeks. Thunder shook the earth and broke Yin’s heart of stone. The sun burst through the thick clouds, bathing everything in gold.
    Yin spent the rest of his days in search of the witch, though it was only in vain. Regret weighed on his shoulders every waking hour. One day, Yin journeyed to the top of Qing hill, making his way to the center of the abandoned field. Tears streaked his cheeks as he relived the day that had brought him here many years ago. Overcome with grief, he took his samurai sword from its sheath. ”Forgive me” he whispered before driving the sword through his heart, letting go of his final breath.