Kids interview Âu Cơ
by Charactorium · Âu Cơ (2825 — 2520) · Mythology · 5 min read
Two twelve-year-old students, on a field trip, enter a temple in the northern mountains of Vietnam. Before them stands a woman dressed in white, calm and smiling. She is Âu Cơ, the fairy of the mountains, the mother of the Viet. She invites them to sit beside her and listen to her story.
—What was your life like before you met the Dragon Lord?
You know, my child, I lived alone, secluded in a cave in the northern mountains. Imagine a very high place, surrounded by mist, where you hear only the wind and flowing water. I was a fairy, a Tiên, an immortal being tied to the peaks. One day, a man appeared, surrounded by musicians. He was handsome, he played soft music. It was Lạc Long Quân, the Dragon Lord, who had transformed himself to come to me. And there, before my eyes, a marvelous palace rose from the ground, as if by magic. I had never seen anything like it. That palace is called Long Đài.
A palace rose from the ground, as if by magic.
—Were you scared when he turned into a young man?
Scared? A little, yes. Understand: he came from the waters, from the dragon people. I came from the mountains, from the fairy people. We were very different. When a being of the waters changes into a man before your eyes, your heart beats fast. But he was gentle with me. He led me to the palace of Long Đài, and we lived there together, in a timeless atmosphere. You know, when two such distant worlds meet, it is always a bit frightening and a bit wonderful at the same time. The music, it reassured me. It said he meant me no harm.
When two very different worlds meet, it is frightening and wonderful at the same time.
—Is it true you had a hundred children? How is that possible?
Listen well, for this is the heart of my story. I did not give birth to a hundred babies one after another. I gave birth to a single sack, a bọc trăm trứng, a sack containing a hundred eggs. Imagine a large pouch, like a wrapped nest. At first, I was afraid. I thought it was a bad omen, a sign of misfortune. So, with a heavy heart, I abandoned it in a field. But seven days later, the sack opened by itself. And a hundred little boys came out, alive and well. That day, I understood that my fear had been wrong.
I thought it was a misfortune; it was the beginning of a people.
—Did you have to feed your hundred sons all the time?
That is a good question, my child. And the answer will surprise you. No, I did not need to feed them. My hundred sons grew up all by themselves, without milk, without meals. It was a sign of their extraordinary, almost divine nature. Imagine children who grow big and strong without anyone preparing food for them: that is what my story tells. This wonderful detail is not there to talk about food. It is there to tell you one thing: these children were not ordinary children. They were the first ancestors of the Viet people, born to found a new world.
My sons grew up on their own: they were not ordinary children.
—They say you healed people. How did you do that?
Yes, my child, in the tales that villages pass down, I roamed the mountains and valleys to heal the sick. In the morning, I would leave with my plants, my herbs gathered on the mountain slopes. I went to the humblest, those who suffered and whom no one helped. Imagine a long walk through the forests, searching for the right leaves to soothe a pain. I was a Tiên, a healing fairy. They also say that I could cover myself with a feathered robe and turn into a phoenix to escape danger. But above all, I am remembered as a mother who cares.
I went to the humblest, those whom no one helped.
—Why did you separate from the Dragon Lord if you loved each other?
Ah, this is the saddest part, you know. Lạc Long Quân and I, we loved each other. But our natures were opposite, like water and fire. He belonged to the sea, to the deep waters. I, to the mountains, to the air of the peaks. He often left for long periods to the Kingdom of Waters, and my sons and I stayed alone, heavy-hearted. One day, we met in Tương Land, and we understood: we could not live together forever. It was nobody's fault. Sometimes, two beings love each other but are not meant for the same world.
Sometimes two beings love each other, but are not meant for the same world.
—And your hundred sons, how did you share them?
We made a difficult but fair decision. We divided our hundred sons into two equal groups. Fifty left with their father, toward the sea, toward the waters. And fifty followed me, toward the mountains. Imagine a large family splitting in two, each taking its path, but without tearing apart. With my fifty sons, I went to settle in Phong Châu, a region of the northern hills. That is where we built our new life. Thus, neither world, water nor mountain, was left without children. The people could be born on both sides.
Each took their path, but without ever tearing apart.
—Is it true that one of your sons became king?
Yes! And I am very proud of it. My eldest son, the one who stayed with me in Phong Châu, became the first king. He was called Hùng Vương. Imagine a very first kingdom, the very beginning of a people, with its fields, its villages, its festivals. This kingdom, he named Văn Lang. It was the first kingdom of the Viet. You understand, my child: my hundred sons did not remain mere children. From one of them was born an entire kingdom. That is why they say I am the mother of the Viet people. A whole people beginning with a single family.
From one of my sons was born an entire kingdom.
—Do Vietnamese people still talk about you today?
Yes, and it touches me deeply. The Vietnamese call themselves Con Rồng cháu Tiên. That means “children of the Dragon and the Fairy.” The Dragon is Lạc Long Quân. The Fairy is me. So when a Vietnamese child utters those words, they say they descend from the two of us. Imagine: all these people, so many, feeling they belong to one great family because of a story. They even built a temple for me, the Đền Mẫu Âu Cơ, where people still come today. A story, you see, can connect millions of hearts across time.
A story can connect millions of hearts across time.
—What would you like people to remember about you?
If you must remember only one thing, my child, remember this. I was afraid, one day, before that sack of eggs, and I almost abandoned everything. But life was stronger than my fear. I would like to be remembered as a mother who cares: for her sons, but also for the sick in the valleys. And remember that even when we separate, as Lạc Long Quân and I did, we can do it gently and leave beautiful things behind. The mountain and the sea, united in one people. That is my legacy.
Life was stronger than my fear.
This imaginary interview was generated by artificial intelligence from sources documented in Âu Cơ's profile. It dramatises what the figure might have said based on what we know about them, but does not constitute attested historical testimony. For primary sources and factual documentation, refer to the full profile.