by Grace Lin
“I don’t know if I believe it,” the servant girl said, even while urging them forward, “but these were all created over a hundred years ago by the master painter Chen, who was supposed to have a magic paintbrush or inkstone or something like that. He even painted a picture of a dragon that came to life.”
“Is that in one of the paintings?” Yishan said, teasing.
“Yes,” Pinmei said softly. She had seen the image of a red dragon flying off a paper as they had rushed pass.
“Anyway,” Yanna said, not hearing Pinmei’s whisper, “it’s not like anyone would be able to prove it either way. You’d have to know thousands and thousands of stories to know all the pictures. I walk here all the time and I don’t know any of the ones we just passed.”
“None?” Pinmei said, her shock making her voice louder than she’d intended.
Yishan gave a sly grin. “I bet Pinmei knows all of them,” he said.
Yanna turned to look at Pinmei, who would have flushed if her cheeks had not already been red from the cold. “Do you?” Yanna asked.
Pinmei gave a tiny shrug and nodded.
Yanna stopped walking. “We can take another rest,” she said, and then waved up toward one of the ceiling beams. She looked at Pinmei. “Do you know that one?”
It had begun to snow again, and despite the walkway’s canopy, the snowflakes flew in like fine silver threads. But Pinmei could still easily see the painting. It was a picture of a young girl and her parents standing before a king. In the girl’s arms, there was a large bowl with a smiling fish in it.
“It’s the Story of How a Girl Brought Joy to the Heart of a King,” Pinmei said.
“Well, now you have to tell it,” Yanna said, and a crooked smile formed on her face. It fit her face so perfectly that Pinmei realized Yanna’s serious manner was a new occurrence. “Can you?”
“Of course she can,” Yishan said, and Lady Meng nodded in agreement. Pinmei hesitated, but looked at their expectant faces—proud, encouraging, daring—and felt the stone of Amah’s bracelet on her wrist, strong and smooth. Pinmei took a deep breath, and when she exhaled, the air steamed from her mouth, curving like the tail of a dragon before disappearing. She began the story.
When the first king of the City of Bright Moonlight came to power, the people had no love for their new ruler. The past ruler had taxed them heavily and punished them harshly, and they had no hope for better. So when word came that the new king was coming to visit, all trembled.
“He’s coming to see if he can raise our taxes!” a woman wailed.
“Anything he sees, he will take for a tribute,” another cried.
The villagers began to panic and hid their most valued possessions. Gold ingots, ivory chopsticks, even prized crickets were secreted away. Anything beloved or cherished was put out of sight.
One girl in the village had a special treasure. It was a fish. But it was not an ordinary fish. It was a fish of great beauty, silver like the moon and as lively as a butterfly in spring. The girl claimed she had found the fish in a rubbish pile outside a rich home when she traveled to a far town, but no one believed her. Even when she pointed at the fine scar that ran through the fish’s fin where she said she had mended it, her parents told her to stop being ridiculous.
Nevertheless, the fish was admired and beloved by the whole village. The youngest child to the oldest, grumpiest elder would come daily just to see it. “Your little fish,” the girl’s mother told her, shaking her head with a smile. “It just brings joy to the heart.”
So, of course, when the news of the king’s visit was heard, all expected the girl to hide the fish. “I can help you make a special cover to hide the tub,” one villager offered. “There might be room in my hollow tree if you want to hide it there,” another said. But the girl shook her head. Instead, she kneeled beside her fish, deep in thought.
“You must hurry,” her mother scolded her. “If you don’t find a place to hide your fish, the king will take it when he comes.”
“He may have it,” the girl said. “It will be my gift.”
“What?” her father said. “Don’t be silly. The king doesn’t need your fish. He will just take it and your treasure will be lost.”
“How can you say that?” the girl said. “A king needs joy brought to his heart too.”
The parents looked at each other, and nothing more about the fish was said.
When the king arrived, he was saddened by his reception. He knew the people did not trust him, but he did not know how to gain their faith. He received each obligatory gift knowing that the good wishes that went with it were false and the respectful bows were shallow. It is not even worth trying, the king thought, gloom overwhelming him. I will return to the palace today.
“More villagers, Your Majesty,” a servant said.
The king looked up, expecting to see another family with smiles of clenched teeth. Instead, he saw a glistening fish frolicking in the water. It jumped a perfect arch, its scales shimmering a rainbow, then dived straight down—splashing the king with such glee he could not help laughing aloud.
“See?” the girl said to her parents. “I told you.”
The king wiped the drops of water from his face, but the smile remained. “What do you mean?” the king said before the girl’s parents could hush her. “What did you tell them?”
Slowly, and uncomfortably for the parents, the story was told. The king wiped his face again, but this time the wetness was not from the splashes of the fish.
“You are right,” the king told the girl, and his deep black eyes met her shining ones. “A king does need joy brought to his heart. I thank you for doing so.”
“But I cannot take your beloved fish from you,” he continued. “You may keep it.”
“Oh no,” the girl said, and the parents put in hastily, “it’s our tribute gift.”
“It would be unfair to the other villagers,” the king’s assistant murmured, “and it would break tradition.”
“Ah… yes,” the king said. He looked again at the twinkling fish. “Then let me make it a gift. I will set it free in the lake, and it can continue to bring joy to the hearts of all the villagers.”
“But what of your own?” the girl asked.
“The fish has already brought joy to my heart,” the king said, “as have you.”
And all the villagers who witnessed this exchange felt a stirring within them as well. Perhaps, they thought, they had judged this new king too quickly. They began to whisper kinder and more hopeful words about the king, and those words traveled with him as he carried on his tour. Because instead of returning to the palace, the king continued going to each village so he could become the leader he wished to be, heartened by the joy brought by the fish.
“I like that,” Lady Meng said as Pinmei finished. “Especially because the first king of the City of Bright Moonlight is known for being the greatest ruler in the city’s history. All his descendants, including King KaeJae, revere him.”
“Well, it’s too bad it’s just a story,” Yanna said, her crooked smile appearing again. The wind loosened a lock of her hair, and it danced freely among the flying snowflakes. “But it was good one.”
CHAPTER
25
The Long Walkway ended in a courtyard flanked by red-columned buildings, their dignity belied by the distinctive noise of snoring. Yanna marched forward and pushed open the carved doors of the main structure. Inside, a lone servant blinked up at them.
“Fishing in empty water, are you?” Yanna scolded. “How dare you sleep when you should be working!”
The servant, a graying woman, threw herself on the floor keening with apologies.
Yanna shook her head and sighed. “These are the king’s guests,” she said with a tone of authority. “They’ll be staying for at least a couple of days. Start the coal heaters, and make sure their rooms are comfortable.”
The servant nodded and bowed. As Yanna waved her hand in dismissal, the servan
t snatched up her fallen broom and scurried away.
“I probably saved her life,” Yanna said with a hint of her crooked smile. “This place has been empty for months. You could freeze to death sleeping here.”
But Pinmei only looked at Yanna curiously. She was scarcely half a head taller than Yishan, but she ordered servants about as if she had been at the palace for decades.
As if hearing her thoughts, Lady Meng spoke.
“Have you been here a long time?” she asked Yanna. “It’s unusual for someone so young to have so much responsibility.”
Yanna’s impish grin returned. “That’s your nice way of saying I’m not old enough to be the head of the king’s servants,” she said. “I’m not. I worked in the kitchen, at first.”
“From the kitchen to the king’s attendant?” Yishan said. “That’s quite a jump! Why were you working in the kitchen?”
“My father got into some trouble—a long time ago—before the Tiger King became emperor.” Yanna was starting to stammer, but she took a deep breath and continued. “I was just happy to find a place where I could stay.”
“Where did you come from?” Lady Meng asked kindly.
“Oh,” Yanna said vaguely, “just a village by the sea.”
“The sea is far away,” Lady Meng said. “You traveled quite a distance.”
“I rode a horse,” Yanna said, and her eyes softened with the memory.
“It must be quite a horse,” Yishan said, watching Yanna’s face closely. It had taken on a wistful, dreamy expression.
“Oh, it was,” Yanna said. “The most beautiful white… But it’s gone now. It was never mine anyway… though it didn’t belong to the king either…”
A beautiful white horse? Pinmei thought. That sounds like BaiMa! Could he have… But Lady Meng was talking.
“The king took your horse?” Lady Meng said, slightly shocked. “I can’t believe KaeJae…”
“No, no!” Yanna said, shaking her head rapidly. “I meant the Tiger Emperor, not the king of Bright Moonlight. It was the Tiger Emperor when he was king who wanted the horse but…” She looked at their confused faces and quickly continued. “Anyway, when I got here, I was able to get a job in the palace kitchen, just scrubbing floors, washing dishes—that sort of thing.”
“So how did you get to be the king’s attendant?” Yishan asked.
“I volunteered. The Tiger Emperor took all the men to work on the wall,” Yanna said, “so that left only old women and girls here at the palace.”
“There are some guards,” Yishan protested.
“The king can’t trust them,” Yanna snorted. “They’re all spies for the emperor!”
“The emperor is spying on the king? Why?” Yishan said. “He could just kill the king, like he did all the others.”
“No, he can’t, because he needs him,” Yanna said.
“Why?” they all, even Pinmei, asked in unison.
“The king said you were friends,” she said, and Pinmei was surprised to see Yanna looking directly at her. “I think I can trust you.”
Yishan said, “Of course,” but it was only when Pinmei nodded that Yanna continued.
“Well,” Yanna said, dropping her voice to a whisper and looking around hastily. “Remember what I said about the western side of the walkway?” She waited until they all nodded at her. “When the emperor comes, he and the king go out to the western side of the garden—and all his guards have to camp on the eastern side of the Long Walkway.”
“Even his guards don’t go to the western side?” Yishan asked.
Yanna shook her head. “No one crosses over to the western side when the emperor is here,” she said. “Not a servant or a guard—they wouldn’t even dare shoot an arrow. Like I said, you’d be killed if you did. I bet even a bird would be killed if it were there at the same time as the emperor.”
“Does the emperor come often?” Lady Meng asked.
Yanna nodded. “But only for one night, when the moon is full,” she said. “He leaves right after, as fast as he can.”
“And the emperor is here now?” Yishan said, disbelief creeping into his voice.
“Well, it’s a full moon tonight,” Yanna said, shrugging. “That’s when he and the king go out to the garden, alone, at night, when the moon rises.”
“But why?” Lady Meng said. “What do he and the king do?”
Yanna shrugged and began leading them through the empty hall to a chamber door. “I asked the king once, and he told me it was safer if I didn’t know,” she said. “But whatever it is, only the king can do it and the emperor needs him. That’s why no one is allowed to harm the king, but the king isn’t allowed to do anything either.”
“What do you mean?” Lady Meng asked.
“Well, the palace might as well be a prison,” Yanna said. “The king can’t leave, and no one is ever allowed to see him.”
“We did,” Yishan said.
“That’s true,” Yanna said, frowning. She stopped at the door and opened it. “I hope you don’t get in trouble for it.”
CHAPTER
26
Pinmei and Yishan had been treated to a dinner of new enjoyments. In a lacquered box brought by the gray-haired and grim servant, there had been tea-stained eggs, pickled plums, and cold slices of aromatic roast chicken that made Pinmei afraid she would embarrass herself by drooling over it all. But even while they ate, Pinmei’s thoughts nibbled at her. How could they find out if Amah was here? As the servant refilled their cups with golden tea, Pinmei longed to speak to Yishan alone. So when Lady Meng soon retired to her bed, taking the servant with her, Pinmei looked at Yishan eagerly.
“Yishan,” Pinmei said, “if the emperor is here, I think…”
“Amah?” Yishan said, nodding. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“She might be here!” Pinmei said, her words bubbling like heated porridge. “The emperor could have come here from our mountain…”
“Stopping at a couple of villages to collect men on the way,” Yishan said, agreeing. “But there’s a good chance he just came here with a small troop of soldiers and sent the rest of them, with Amah, off to… wherever.”
The wind gave a piercing scream, and both Pinmei and Yishan were silent. Was Amah in a dungeon, in the dark and alone? Or out in the freezing snow, shivering? Pinmei placed her hand over the cold jade bracelet on her wrist, her fingers curling around it.
“Yanna said the soldiers camp out on the eastern side of the Long Walkway,” Pinmei said. “So if we just follow the walkway, we could find the camp easily.”
“But to find Amah, we’d have to sneak among the soldiers,” Yishan said. “And Yanna also said the emperor is out there too.”
Pinmei looked out the window. The branches on the trees were being flung about by the wind, swaying toward her like bony fingers clawing at a small animal. She shivered, pulling the bracelet on and off her wrist.
“The emperor and his men are only here for one night,” she said. “That means we only have tonight to look for Amah.”
Yishan rubbed his chin. “So when everyone is sleeping,” he said, “we’ll have to creep out of here to the soldiers’ camp and sneak around to look for Amah.”
Pinmei nodded. Her hands cupped Amah’s bracelet like a nest and the stone began to warm.
“We’ll have to be very careful,” Yishan warned, “and very, very quiet.”
Pinmei turned to look at Yishan, putting the bracelet on her arm. Then she tossed her braid, which had always reminded her of a long mouse tail.
“I can do that,” Pinmei said.
Yishan looked back at her and grinned.
CHAPTER
27
“Ah, they feed me much better since you arrived,” the stonecutter said as the dungeon door slammed closed. He picked up a bowl of rice and pushed it toward Amah.
“A small bowl of rice every other day,” Amah said, taking the bowl, “does not seem like good feeding to me.”
/> “They used to forget for three, four days—sometimes a week,” the stonecutter said. “And now, they leave a light. It is because of you, of course.”
“Me?” Amah said, scooping the rice with her cold fingers.
“Yes,” the stonecutter said. “You misjudge those who honor you. They do not think you can predict the future or save them from catastrophe. They honor you because you are the Storyteller.”
“It does not seem like something that would earn the respect of men such as these,” Amah said.
“Almost all men respect the Storyteller,” the stonecutter said. “You can make time disappear. You can bring us to places we have never dreamed of. You can make us feel sorrow and joy and peace. You have great magic.”
“You flatter me,” Amah said. “I do not think I am what you say.”
The stonecutter laughed. “How can you not be?” he said. “Don’t the soldiers treat you as kindly as they can? Are you not covered by a guard’s own coat right now?”
“How selfish I am,” Amah said. “You have been cold much longer than me. You should have this coat.”
“The guard gave it to you, Storyteller,” the stonecutter said. “Keep it. Instead, give me another story.”
“Very well,” Amah said. “What kind of story would you like?”
“Tell me a story about eating something delicious,” the stonecutter said, “so I can imagine I am eating something other than plain rice.”
Emperor Zu was called the Son of the Heavens because he was indeed somehow related to the immortal Queen Mother of the Heavens. And even though the relation must have been distant, the Queen Mother still looked upon him with great favor. For his sixtieth birthday celebration, the Queen Mother came. A full chariot pulled by unicorns burst from a cloud and descended. The thousands of acrobats, singers, dancers, and guests froze at a shocked standstill. However, while the light of the stars on the Queen Mother’s crown was brighter than all the lanterns combined, it was the peach she held in her hands that everyone stared at.