In the deep mists of China's ancestral history, during the era of the Five Emperors, the land was a tapestry of wild rivers, sacred peaks, and emerging civilizations. This was the time of Emperor Yao, a ruler of legendary wisdom who sought a successor not by blood, but by merit. Among his many concerns was the future of his two daughters, Ehuang and Nüying. They were sisters of unparalleled grace and intellect, raised within the palace but possessed of a spirit that yearned for the harmony of the natural order. When Yao discovered the humble and filial Shun, a commoner who endured the cruelty of his family with unwavering kindness, the Emperor decided to test him. Yao did not merely grant Shun administrative power; he gave him his two daughters in marriage, believing that a man's ability to maintain harmony within a household was the truest measure of his ability to govern a nation.
Ehuang, the elder, and Nüying, the younger, moved from the luxury of the imperial court to the modest dwellings of Shun. They did not complain of the transition. Instead, they became his closest advisors and protectors. The sisters were aware that Shun’s father, Gu-sou, and his half-brother, Xiang, were envious and sought his life. Through their foresight, Ehuang and Nüying saved Shun from numerous traps. When Shun was sent to repair a granary and his family set it on fire, the sisters had provided him with a bird-like cloak that allowed him to leap to safety. When he was sent to dig a well and they attempted to bury him alive, the sisters had instructed him to dig a secret side-tunnel. This period of their lives established a bond of three-way loyalty that would become the stuff of legend—a triad of mutual respect and shared destiny that defined the transition from the rule of Yao to the rule of Shun.
As Shun ascended the throne, becoming one of the most revered emperors in Chinese history, Ehuang and Nüying reigned as his consorts. Their era was marked by the 'Shan-rang' system, where power was handed to the most capable, ensuring peace throughout the Middle Kingdom. However, the governance of such a vast land required constant vigilance. In his later years, Emperor Shun decided to embark on an inspection tour of the southern territories, a region known as the Chu lands, characterized by the winding Xiang River and the vast Lake Dongting. This was a wild, untamed frontier far from the central plains. Despite their desire to accompany him, the logistics of the journey and the duties of the state necessitated that the sisters follow later or wait for his return. Shun traveled south toward the Jiuyi Mountains, also known as the Nine Holy Mountains, to perform sacrifices and observe the needs of the southern tribes.
Tragedy struck in the wilderness of Cangwu. The Great Emperor Shun, exhausted by his labors for the people, passed away unexpectedly. The news did not reach the sisters immediately. They had traveled south to meet him, navigating the treacherous waters of the Yangtze and entering the mouth of the Xiang River, the chief river of the Lake Dongting drainage system. As they moved through the lush, verdant landscapes of what is now Hunan Province, the air grew heavy with a sense of foreboding. The Xiang River, with its deep green waters and mist-covered banks, seemed to whisper of loss. When the messengers finally arrived to deliver the news of Shun’s death near the peaks of Cangwu, the world of Ehuang and Nüying shattered. Their grief was not merely the sorrow of widows, but the profound lament of two souls whose existence was intrinsically linked to their husband’s virtue and presence.
For many days and nights, the sisters wandered along the banks of the Xiang River. Their cries echoed through the valleys, and it is said that the very birds stopped singing to listen to their lamentations. They stood amidst the dense groves of bamboo that lined the riverbanks, their tears falling like rain upon the green stalks. These were no ordinary tears; they were the essence of a divine sorrow. Wherever their tears landed, they left dark, permanent stains on the bamboo, creating a mottled pattern that looked like fingerprints or droplets of blood. This was the birth of the Xiangji bamboo, or the 'Spotted Bamboo of the Xiang Consorts' (Phyllostachys bambusoides f. lacrima-deae). Even today, the bamboo in this region bears these unique markings, a botanical testament to a grief that refused to fade.