by Grace Lin
So together, with the tree leaves waving farewell, the family made their way up the mountain. They climbed high, so the kites could fly without the trees getting in the way. When there was nothing between them and the sky, they stopped.
And they had a delightful time. The children laughed as their kites soared in the wind. The women smiled as they sipped the tea and the men happily ate the delicious treats. Ye Ye recited poetry that made the women sigh, told stories that made the men gasp, and sang songs that made all the children join in.
But all too soon, the day was ending. The moon was already rising in the sky when the children were told to wind the strings of their kites.
“Why bring the kites down?” an older boy asked. “This will be the last time we will be able to play with them.”
“Yes,” a girl said. “Let them fly for as long as they can.”
So instead of bringing the kites in, they cut the strings. As the kites were freed, a strong gust of wind burst from the sky. One by one, the butterflies and dragons disappeared as if flying home to the moon. As the kites vanished from sight, there was a sad sigh. No one spoke, but they all wished for an escape from tomorrow’s tragedy.
Quietly, the family packed their belongings and began to climb down the mountain. They walked a long time, so long that the moon rose overhead and they began to shiver with cold.
“Are we lost?” a child asked. “This does not look like the way home.”
“That’s impossible,” his mother told him. “How can we be lost? There is no other direction than down.”
“But the boy is right,” Ye Ye said. “Look at the rock before us. We have climbed this mountain many times yet I have never seen this rock or any rock of this type before.”
“And there are no trees,” a young girl said. “Always there were trees below us, and now there is just more rock.”
“It’s colder too,” another said. “It is much too cold for an early autumn night.”
“What has happened?” a woman asked.
“I think,” Ye Ye said slowly, “we are no longer on our mountain. Somehow we are on a different one.”
“How is that possible?” a man asked. “And why?”
Before Ye Ye could open his mouth to reply, one of the children shouted.
“Home!” she cried. “Our home is right there!”
And it was their home—the dark red gate doors were wide open, allowing them to see light shining from the windows of their houses. Their chickens squawked a greeting, and their dogs jumped through the gate with cheerful barks.
Our ancestors couldn’t believe it. Dirty pots and pans that they had left in the morning were still in the washbasin, mixed-up shoes and hanging laundry were exactly where they were before. Even the book that Ye Ye had left was open on the same page. Ye Ye walked from room to room and house to house, with the family following like a parade. Finally, he found a slip of bright silk stuck in the hinges of the gate doors. He turned around to look at the family crowding about him.
“It is a miracle,” he said to them. “We have been moved here, beyond the magistrate’s reach. We are saved!”
The family cheered, but could not help asking, “How? Who did this?”
Ye Ye looked at the empty land around him and the dark blue sky with the moon above and then at the thin strip of silk in his hand. “This silk is from one of the children’s kites. The kites brought our wishes up to the Old Man of the Moon and he must have decided that our destinies lay here,” Ye Ye said, and he motioned upward. “For there is only one other here with us tonight. It is only us and the moon.”
“And your family has been here ever since?” Dragon asked.
Both children nodded. “For over a hundred years, our family has lived on the mountain, and we keep growing. Sometimes we travel down the mountain, sometimes people come to us; anyone who visits is welcome to call our place home.”
“So…,” Minli began, but her words died away as Da-Fu pointed toward the horizon. Minli and Dragon followed his hand and finally saw what could only be Never-Ending Mountain, home of the Old Man of the Moon.
CHAPTER
39
Never-Ending Mountain was enormous, so large that it made Fruitless Mountain seem a like a loose pebble. Minli could not see the tip or the bottom of it, as it seemed to grow out of a gorge so deep that the base must have been at the foundation of the earth. Minli felt as if she were on the edge of the world as she stared across the great gulf separating them from the Never-Ending Mountain. It stood before them like a piece of raw green stone towering forever into the sky and disappearing into silver mist.
“There it is,” Da-Fu said, “Never-Ending Mountain!”
“I bet the Old Man of the Moon does live up there,” A-Fu said. “The top of this mountain must reach the moon.”
“How do we get up there?” Minli asked. She was starting feel dizzy from staring upward so long.
The dragon looked chagrined. “If I could fly,” he said, “I’d be able to get us up there to see the Old Man of the Moon.”
“If you could fly,” A-Fu laughed, “you would not need to see him!”
“But,” Minli said, “it looks like flying is the only way up to see the Old Man of the Moon.”
“There’s probably another way,” A-Fu said.
“Yes,” Da-Fu said, “you probably just have to let the Old Man of the Moon know you’d like to come up.”
“How do we that?” Dragon asked. “Send a message?”
Minli looked up at the sky as Dragon and Da-A-Fu continued to talk. Send a message, send a message. Dragon’s words echoed in Minli’s ears and she felt as if she were searching for a match to light a lantern. The wind gusted at her, as if it were trying to tell her something. She watched A-Fu’s braid fly in the air; as she pulled it down, the cut pieces of her sleeve flapped like the tail of a kite…
“I know!” Minli said excitedly. “We’ll do it like your ancestors did!” She quickly kneeled on the ground and reached in her traveling bag for the two borrowed lines. Dragon and the children looked at her curiously as she waved the sheet of paper and the string before them.
“We can fly a kite up to the Old Man of the Moon,” Minli exclaimed. “I’ll make a kite of the two borrowed lines, that’s bound to get his attention.”
Da-A-Fu and the dragon grinned and together they made the borrowed lines into a kite. They fastened the page from the Book of Fortune onto Minli’s chopsticks and attached an end of the red cord to the kite. But as they tried to trim the thread—A-Fu thought it would look neater if the end didn’t dangle—they discovered that the borrowed line could not be cut.
“It is a string of destiny,” Dragon said as he tried again without success to cut the thread with his claw. Each of them, in succession, had tried to break it—Da-Fu even tried to snap it with his teeth. “It is reasonable to think it is unbreakable.”
“Well, we don’t need to trim the string to make the kite,” Minli said. “But we can’t cut the kite free to go to the moon.”
“Just fly it until the string runs out,” Da-Fu said, “then let go.”
Minli nodded. It made sense. As they gazed at the wound coil, she said, amused, “It won’t take too long for the string to run out, anyway. There is not a lot there!”
“I just hope there is enough for it to fly,” A-Fu said.
So, with Da-Fu running, they began to fly the kite. As the kite rose higher and higher, Minli watched the coil of string in her hand.
“Is the string running out yet?” each asked over and over again. But Minli shook her head every time. The thread seemed to endlessly unwind. Even as the kite climbed upward becoming the size of a name chop mark, the string continued. Slowly, it disappeared from view with the thread scratching the darkening sky with a faint red line.
“That is a magic string,” Da-Fu said in an awed voice.
“Of course,” the dragon said suddenly. “It’s a thread of destiny. If we are destined to see the Old Man of the M
oon, it will stretch to reach him.”
“You may be destined to meet him, then,” A-Fu said, impressed. However, as she looked at the sky turning to night, she frowned. “But we are not. Da-Fu, we should go back home. We have been gone too long. After the Green Tiger, we should try not to worry Amah and A-Gong so much.”
“Don’t you have anything you want to ask the Old Man of the Moon?” Minli asked. “You could change your fortune too.”
“No,” Da-A-Fu said, laughing. “Why would we want to change our fortune?”
The children ran down the mountain, their laughter melting into the air. Minli shook her head in confusion, but waved goodbye. As Minli watched them turn into figures of shadows, seeming to dance toward their home and village, she thought of her own Ma and Ba waiting for her in her home far away.
As the sky deepened like brewing tea, Minli and the dragon looked in silence at the red line reaching to the heavens. But just as the moon rose in the darkness, Minli felt a sudden jerk on the string. It began to strain and bend.
“Something’s happening!” she cried out.
“Pull the kite in!” Dragon said. “Bring it back!”
“Something has changed!” Minli said as she strained and pulled. “It’s heavy now!”
The dragon reached above Minli’s head and grabbed the cord. Together, they pulled and dragged. As they strained, Minli wondered if they were bringing down the moon itself.
But there seemed to be no end to the string. As they wound up the thread, it seemed to get thicker and thicker. And when the string became the width of Minli’s little finger, a strange clattering—like a wooden wind chime—filled the air.
“Something has happened to the string,” the dragon gasped between heaves.
And something strange had happened. The thread—which was really now more like a thick silk rope—seemed to have divided itself into a long strange web, reinforced with bamboo stalks. As the endless U-shape came toward them, Minli gasped.
“The string,” Minli panted, “it’s… it’s a bridge!”
CHAPTER
40
Ma stood by the window as the stars began to poke holes in the deep, blue velvet sky. The days without Minli had passed slowly, and the evenings even slower. Ma wondered how the silver goldfish could remain calm in the bowl, while she herself felt she could barely breathe. As the night air touched her face, Ma thought of Minli, bit her lip, and sighed. Her eyes closed as she willed her tears to stop forming. When she opened her eyes, Ba was standing next to her.
“I know,” he said to her, and he placed his hand over hers.
“It is hard to wait,” Ma said.
“Yes,” Ba said, “we are like the dragon waiting for a sign of his pearl.”
“The dragon waiting?” Ma asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Ba said. “It’s just a story.”
The wind blew gently, like the calming touch of a healer. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Ma said. “It might make the time pass faster.”
Ba looked at her, surprised, and then nodded with a small smile.
THE STORY OF THE DRAGON’S PEARL
Once, a dragon found a large white stone, round and softened by the ocean and wind. As he admired it, it began to shine in his hands. How pretty, he thought. I will make this into a pearl.
So day after day, month after month, for many years, the dragon went without eating and sleeping as he made the pearl. He carved the stone with his claws and smoothed it with his scales. He carried it into the clouds, rolled it in fresh raindrops, and bathed it in the Celestial River. He polished it with pale chrysanthemum petals. Finally, it was done—perfectly round and luminously smooth. It was flawless and beautiful. As the dragon looked at it, a tear of exhaustion and joy fell from his eye and landed on the pearl. As the teardrop soaked into the pearl, it began to shine with a dazzling radiance. The dragon smiled with delight. Exhausted, he fell asleep in the light of the pearl.
But the pearl continued to glow. The light was so lovely that it caught the attention of the Queen Mother of the Heavens. When she found out that the brightness came from the dragon’s wondrous pearl, she sent two of her servants to steal it. The servants were able to accomplish this quite easily, as the dragon—weary from his many years of work—slept quite long and soundly.
When the Queen Mother received the pearl, even she was astonished by its loveliness. No pearl, no jewel, no treasure in the heavens or on earth could compare. She quickly had a vault made in the deepest part of her kingdom that one could only get to by going through nine locked doors. She put the pearl in the chamber and tied the nine keys to the doors onto her belt.
When the dragon woke up and found his pearl missing, he began a frantic search. He hunted the oceans and mountains, the rivers and valleys. He flew through the Celestial River, examining each star. But none gave the pure, clear light of his pearl.
Eventually, the dragon was forced to give up his search. He had no idea where to look or where the pearl could be. But he did not give up hope that he would find it. Instead, he waited for a sign of it.
And he did not wait in vain. On her birthday, the Queen Mother had a grand celebration. Inviting all the immortals of heaven, she held a “Banquet of Peaches,” an endless assortment of rich and delicious dishes made from the peaches of immortality. Fragrant and potent peach wine was served with each dish, and every time her glass was low, the Queen Mother called for more.
So when the guests heralded her with compliments, flattery, and fine gifts, the Queen Mother recklessly decided to show off her stolen treasure. “My dear friends,” she said impetuously, “your gifts and words are fine, indeed, but I have something that far outshines them.”
And she took out her nine keys, unlocked the nine doors, and brought out the dragon’s pearl. A hush went over the party as the pearl glowed with a light of such radiance that it flooded out of the palace and into all the heavens.
As the light broke into the sky, the dragon—ever faithfully alert—jerked up his head. “My pearl!” he said and flew as fast as he could toward the light.
When the dragon reached the Queen Mother’s palace, he burst upon a crowd of admiring immortals fawning over the pearl in the hand of the Queen Mother, pompous with pride. “That is my pearl!” he cried. “Give it back!”
The Queen Mother was infuriated. “This is my pearl,” she declared, “how dare you!”
“It is mine!” the dragon said, and looking at the flush of her cheeks and evading eyes, demanded, “You stole it, didn’t you?”
“I don’t need to steal anything,” the Queen Mother blustered. “I am the Queen Mother of the Heavens! All treasures made by the earth or heaven belong to me!”
“Heaven did not make that pearl,” the dragon said, “nor the earth! I made it with years of work and effort. It is mine!”
The Queen Mother began to panic, and she fled out of the palace and into the garden, clutching the pearl. The dragon pursued her, determined not to lose the pearl again. The party guests followed, creating such a commotion of excitement and chaos that the Heavenly Grandfather (who tended to avoid his daughter’s flamboyant parties) decided to leave his study to investigate the disturbance.
The Queen Mother, flustered and agitated, ran through the garden, leading a great chase. As she reached the garden wall and could not run any farther, she was horrified to see not only the dragon and her party guests, but also her father coming after her. As they reached her, in a fit of terror, she threw the pearl over the wall.
The dragon gave a roar of dismay, and all rushed to look over the garden wall to see the pearl fall deep into the Celestial River. In the deep blue water that separated heaven and earth, the pearl seemed to grow larger and glow more radiantly.
The dragon began to make movements to dive into the river when the Heavenly Grandfather stopped him. “Leave it there,” he said, “and shame on you both. The pearl should not belong to one being. Do you not see this is where the pearl belongs, where everyone on heave
n and earth can see its beauty and enjoy it?”
Both the dragon and the Queen Mother, humbled, nodded and the guests praised the Heavenly Grandfather’s wisdom. And so did the people on earth, for now when they looked up into the sky the moon glowed down upon them.
There was a peaceful silence after Ba finished the story. Finally Ma gave a small sigh and a smile. “If Minli were here, she would ask you if that story were true.”
“And I would have to tell her, ‘probably not,’ ” Ba said. “When I was a very young boy, I remember seeing a glimpse of a rare dragon pearl. It was being carried to the Emperor himself, guarded by hundreds of men, and there was still a moon in the sky.”
“There is more than one pearl in the ocean,” the fish said. “So of course there is more than one dragon pearl. Though the dragon pearl that makes the moon is by far the largest.”
Ba glanced carefully at the fish and then at Ma, but both seemed ignorant of the other, and neither looked at him.
“I remember hearing about that,” Ma said. “That pearl was supposed to be worth the Emperor’s entire fortune. A single pearl. I suppose it could’ve belonged to a dragon.”
She spoke without the desire or envy she used to feel when speaking of the wealth of others. The moonlight seemed to transform her, lifting the years of bitterness and hardship and leaving her with a sad serenity. It affected Ba unexpectedly, in a way he had not felt in years; he filled with great tenderness.
But Ma continued to stare dreamily out the window, as unaware of his thoughts as she was of the fish’s words.
CHAPTER
41
“It must be a bridge to the top of Never-Ending Mountain,” Dragon said, “and to the Old Man of the Moon.”
With the attached bamboo stakes, Minli and the dragon had anchored their end of the bridge to the ground. As it stretched into the night, it quivered in the moonlight.