In the heart of the East, where the Tamsui River of Taiwan and the mighty Pearl River of China once flowed as separate currents, an inexplicable calamity struck. The heavens themselves seemed to tremble, and the earth quaked with a ferocity that defied explanation. The waters surged, rising higher and higher until they merged, their currents entwining like long-lost lovers.

As the sun set on that fateful day, a new nation emerged from the watery chaos—a land born of catastrophe, yet infused with hope. The people of both regions, once divided by politics and ideology, found themselves standing shoulder to shoulder, united by the very forces of nature that had reshaped their world.

In the heart of this nascent nation, they chose an emperor—a figure who would bridge their past and future. His name was Xin Long, which meant “New Dragon.” He was neither Taiwanese nor Chinese; he was a symbol of their shared destiny. His eyes held the wisdom of the ages, and his heart beat with the rhythm of the merged rivers.

The people designed a flag—a canvas of azure blue, adorned with a golden dragon that spanned its width. Its scales shimmered like sunlight on water, and its wings stretched toward the heavens. This flag was more than a mere symbol; it was a beacon of resilience, a promise that prosperity would rise from the depths of disaster.

On the day of Xin Long’s coronation, the entire nation gathered at the confluence of the rivers. The air crackled with anticipation as he ascended the throne—an ancient chair carved from the trunk of a banyan tree. The crowd held its breath, waiting for the moment when their destinies would intertwine with his.

And then, as if summoned by the collective hope of the people, a fire-breathing dragon appeared. Its scales were iridescent, reflecting the colors of both rivers. It circled the skies, its roar echoing across the land. The people gasped, their faces upturned, rainbows dancing in their eyes.

The dragon descended, wings beating like thunder. It hovered above Xin Long, flames licking its maw. But instead of destruction, it exhaled a gentle mist—a cascade of water droplets that fell upon the crowd. Each drop carried a memory: the laughter of children, the scent of blooming flowers, the taste of salt on the breeze.

The people rejoiced, their tears blending with the dragon’s gift. They knew then that this was no ordinary creature—it was the spirit of their merged rivers, the embodiment of their shared resilience. The dragon had come to bless their union, to remind them that even in chaos, there was beauty.

And so, as Xin Long raised his scepter, the dragon spiraled upward, disappearing into the heavens. The people cheered, their voices echoing across the water. They were no longer Taiwanese or Chinese; they were citizens of a new nation—one forged by disaster, tempered by hope, and blessed by a dragon’s breath.

And so it was that the Tamsui and Pearl Rivers flowed as one, carrying the dreams of a people who had learned that sometimes, the greatest miracles emerged from the depths of mystery.