by Grace Lin
“A hard journey, was it not?” a voice said. There was an old man speaking to the beast. He was a man with a long gray beard who my father insisted came from nowhere. “He just appeared,” my father said.
The miserable beast did nothing but give a low, pitiful moan.
“Do you wonder why I am here?” the old man said. “Or why you were finally able to free yourself from your prison of the well to this lake?”
The beast finally raised his head, and my father gasped. It was a tiger!
“Your son did a great service for us,” the man said, waving his hand toward the moon. “And his dying wish was to have you return. It is only now, after you have reached your fifth Year of the Tiger without creating harm, that we can fulfill his wish.”
My father watched, mesmerized, as the old man took a paper out of his sleeve. He dipped it in the water and bent over the trembling tiger.
“I fear I will regret this,” the man said. “You do not seem to learn from your past mistakes.”
And with that, he placed the wet paper on the animal’s face. The tiger shuddered, and my father watched as the old man stood up and turned toward the water. Strangely, as the old man stepped onto the lake, he did not sink but walked straight onto the path of moonlight reflected on the water.
When my father looked back at the tiger, the beast was reaching for the paper on his face… but the beast’s claws had transformed into fingers! And when the paper was finally peeled off, the tiger was a man!
The man who had been a beast stood, stared at the departing figure walking toward the moon, and then dropped the paper as if it were diseased. The paper floated in the air like a white butterfly and landed in my father’s lap. The man saw my father holding the paper and gave an inhuman roar and leaped in the opposite direction. “He ran on his hands and feet, as if he were still an animal,” my father said. “I knew who he was and what he had been. He had been the Green Tiger.”
“The Green Tiger!” Pinmei gasped. “The first king’s father turned back into a man? He could be the emperor!”
“No, no,” the king said. “That’s impossible. How could the first king’s father, be him man or beast, be alive for so long? The first king was generations before even my own father’s time. For the first king’s father to be alive, he would have to be an immortal, and we all know the emperor is not an immortal.”
“At least, not yet,” Yishan added darkly. He was no longer distracted by the sky and was, instead, staring intensely at the king.
“Then your father’s story…” Pinmei began.
“My father was very old and often mixed dreams with reality,” the king said. “Once he dreamed he was a butterfly, and when he awoke, he thought he was a butterfly dreaming he was man. There’s no doubt this story was confused as well.”
“But the Paper,” Pinmei insisted. “You have the Paper.”
“Part of his story was probably true,” the king agreed, “for it is the Paper of Answers. I spent many long years learning how to read it.”
“And now you use that knowledge to help the emperor?” Yishan said, and the anger in his tone surprised Pinmei. “Even if the emperor is not the Green Tiger, he is just as bad! He’s using whatever you tell him to gain more power, kill more people, and now live forever! How dare you use the Paper for him?”
“What would you have me do?” the king said. “I am a prisoner in my own palace, and spies surround me. How could I do anything else?”
Yishan glared and the king looked back defiantly, almost as if he were the small child and Yishan the adult. The wind whined, its cold breath freezing them into two scowling statues. Stroking Amah’s bracelet desperately, Pinmei glanced from one to the other. The smooth jade soothed her cold-cracked fingers, and she was surprised when she heard her own voice speaking.
“Your Majesty,” Pinmei said, her quiet words loud in the silence, “I did not finish my story. May I tell you the end?”
After the shock of his father’s transformation was over, the young king looked at the moonflower his father had prepared. It was, indeed, a beautiful plant. The king gazed at it and looked at his own pot, full of only black dirt, and shook his head.
On the day of the Moon Festival, the king of the City of Bright Moonlight arrived at the Imperial Palace with his bare pot. As he passed each gorgeous peony and peach blossom, every elegant chrysanthemum and lily, he heard horrified murmurs.
And the dismay was justified. For when the emperor saw the king’s pot, his face turned as black as iron.
“What is this?” demanded the emperor. “A bare pot? Whose is this?”
“It is mine,” the young king said as he prostrated himself on the floor.
“I will strip you of your kingdom for your insult!” the emperor bellowed. “How dare you!”
“I am sorry, Your Exalted Majesty,” the king said, flattening himself even lower to the ground. “I tried my best to grow your seed, but nothing grew.”
“You could not grow a simple seed? How incompetent are you?” the emperor barked.
He looked at the king before him and the vibrant flowers surrounding him. Orange and vermillion, magenta and gold—the colors blazed like flames.
“Tell me,” the emperor said in a slightly different tone, “do you not have a better excuse than that? Did not your unskilled gardener destroy the plant? Or perhaps one of your rival kings poisoned your soil?”
“No, Your Exalted Majesty,” the king said. “I was just unable to grow your seed.”
“Answer carefully, young king,” the emperor said in a menacing tone, “for your life may depend on your answer. Who is to blame for this empty pot?”
The king raised his head. His face was white, but he said without hesitation, “I am.”
The room gasped, and all expected the emperor to call his guards to drag the king away. But, instead, the emperor smiled and stood and motioned for the young king to stand.
“All bow to him!” the emperor ordered. “Bow to the greatest king in my empire!”
The other kings were confused, but they all lowered their heads.
“Only the bravest and most virtuous of men would dare to bring me a bare pot,” the emperor said, “as well as refuse to blame another. You are a man of great honor.”
“I do not understand,” the king said.
“No one could have grown a flower from the seeds I gave,” the emperor said. “I boiled them.”
When Pinmei finished her story, the silence returned, but it was a gentle quiet, without resentment. For a long moment, the king looked out, past the stone sculpture to the frozen lake. Then he bowed his head to Yishan.
“You are right,” he said in a low voice. “If my ancestors knew how I have helped the emperor, they would be ashamed.”
As he raised his head, Pinmei glimpsed his haunted eyes and saw how broken he was by worry and regret. She forgot he was king and touched his arm gently. He looked at her, and his anguished eyes softened. He patted her hand with gratitude, the soft snowflakes landing on them like resting stars.
A strange twittering filled the air. Pinmei’s face yanked skyward. It was Lady Meng’s swallow! And running in the distance, Lady Meng!
They rushed to her as she clutched at them. “Yanna sent me!” she gasped. “Told me… the emperor… soldiers… guards…”
There was a twang! in the air and a high-pitched shriek. Thud! Something fell from the sky. Pinmei looked down. At Yishan’s feet was a mussel with the tip of a soldier’s arrow in it.
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Yishan grabbed the fallen mussel and tossed away the arrow. “We need to leave now!” he said, looking at the king.
“Come with me,” the king said, nodding. “Quickly!”
He led them off the curving path deeper into the garden. In the distance, they could hear the guards shouting, their feet stomping on the snow-covered walkway. The king pulled them behind a giant, rough-hewn statue, and they all stopped. The stone wall of t
he garden lay in front of them.
“What…” Yishan began.
“Shh,” the king said. He’d taken off his gloves and was running his bare palms over the stones. “Here it is,” he said in triumph. In the light of his lantern, Pinmei could see he had been looking for an indentation in the wall that was like a… handle? The king pushed with both hands on one of the stones.
They all stared as part of the wall moved! It was a secret door!
The king urged them out. “You must run,” he said to them all. “You must leave the city at once. They may not follow you outside the gates of the Outer City.”
“KaiJae,” Lady Meng said, grabbing his hands, “will you be all right?”
“It is all of you I am worried about,” he said, his face shadowed with a darkness beyond that of the night. “Here I am, casting you out of the Inner City, and I have nothing to help protect you except…”
He let go of Lady Meng’s hands and reached into his robe. He turned to Pinmei. “Take this,” he said, handing her the Paper of Answers.
“That’s the… the…” Pinmei said, alarm overwhelming her.
“Yes,” the king said. “Perhaps its power will protect you.”
“But what about you?” Pinmei sputtered. “When the emperor comes…”
“When he comes, I will have no answers to give him,” the king said, looking at Yishan, “and I will no longer dishonor my ancestors by helping such a villain.”
“But… the emperor! Without the Paper…” Pinmei said again.
“I have nothing I need to cling to,” the king said with surprising calmness. He raised his head and straightened, letting the moon bathe him with silver light.
“Except your life!” Pinmei said. Did the king realize what he was doing? “The emperor might kill you!”
The king put his hands on Pinmei’s shoulders. “Thank you, my small friend,” he said to her, “for reminding me there are worse things than death.”
There were loud shouts and the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer.
“Go!” the king said, pushing Pinmei and the others. And with a vicious yank, he closed the door.
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Pinmei shoved the Paper in her sleeve and looked at Lady Meng and Yishan, their blank faces mirroring her own. They needed to go, but which way? Without the swallow, how would they know? Behind the wall, a loud shout rang out. Without a word, Yishan grabbed Pinmei’s hand and ran.
Lady Meng followed, and they skidded and stumbled in panic on the snow-covered streets. Up a twisting alley, down a narrow lane—where was the gate out? Were they even going in the right direction? As they kept running, the night grew colder and colder and the wind bit their faces. How many roads were there in the Outer City? It was a cruel maze, with every corner taunting them.
Pinmei did not know how long they wandered, half running and half staggering through the piles of snow and frozen stone streets. Pinmei’s feet lost all feeling, and her legs threatened to go limp with each step. As they turned a corner, she grabbed Lady Meng’s hand and felt it shiver with cold and exhaustion. Where was the gate?
The blackness of the sky began to lighten and an old peddler came out of a doorway, the creaking of his cart echoing in the silence of the upcoming dawn. Yishan bounded toward him, almost grabbing him.
“The gate out of the city!” Yishan demanded. “Where is it?”
The peddler stared at him, openmouthed, but before he could even make a movement with his hand, there was another noise that made them all turn around.
“Halt!” a voice in the distance yelled. A soldier! He was alone, but he wouldn’t be for long, for he turned his head and shouted, “They’re here! I found them!”
Yishan yelped and leaped over the peddler’s cart, Pinmei and Lady Meng close behind him. They turned down one alleyway and then another. The winding roads hid them from view, but they could hear the loud stomping of soldiers in the streets.
Lady Meng pounded on the door of the nearest house.
“Please,” she said. “Let us in!”
No answer.
Yishan banged on the door of the next house, and Pinmei the next. They ran down the street, knocking and pleading. Scared eyes peeked through curtains that were quickly drawn, and each door stayed silent and shut.
Pinmei felt herself sobbing. Every part of her was trembling with cold, exhaustion, and despair. Lady Meng drooped like a dying flower, and even Yishan’s pace had slowed. Yet the sounds of soldiers were getting louder. Closer. Closer. “Please help us,” Pinmei begged in a whisper to the wind. “Please!”
A faint voice called out. “Here,” it said. “Over here!”
As if clouds had uncovered the moon, a soft light streamed toward them from a gate down the lane. The large figure of a woman beckoned to them. Pinmei felt relief flood through her, the waves of gratitude carrying her in reckless abandon, as they crashed through the open door.
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“Thank you!” Pinmei gasped.
“Shh!” the woman said, shutting the door. Broad and strong, she was obviously a servant, but when she raised the lantern, Pinmei gasped again, this time in surprise. For while the woman’s eyes were kind, her face was horribly scarred—the skin as rough as the outside of an oyster shell. But the woman blew out the flame, and she was just a shadow in the thin darkness of early dawn.
Pinmei looked around and saw they were in the outer courtyard of a rich mansion. The high walls hid them from view, but there were few places to hide. She gulped. The soldiers were almost there. She could hear echoing noises coming closer—the stomping boots, the bangs as the soldiers forced open doors not opened quickly enough, the shouted questions. Lady Meng and Yishan crouched next to her, and when the soldiers struck at the door of the gate, they all clutched one another.
“Open, by order of the emperor!” the soldier barked.
“Shh,” the woman said again to them. She pushed them out of sight of the door and, with an unhurried pace, went to the gate.
“The children!” the soldier growled. “Are they here?”
“Who? What children?” the woman asked. Her tone was placid and calm, but Pinmei saw that her hand gripped the door tightly.
“The spying children! Are they here?” the man spat impatiently. He made as if to force his way through the door, but the woman stood firm and blocked his entry, her hulking figure as large as his.
“Sir, this is the House of Wu,” she said, as if talking to a small child. “Surely you know my masters are highly favored by the emperor.”
The soldier froze.
“If my masters were to complain about the annoyance caused by his soldier…” the woman said, drawing herself up to her fullest height to gaze directly into his eyes.
“Uh, yes,” the soldier said, lowering his arm as well as his tone. “Of course, the honorable House of Wu is above any suspicion. I was just checking to make sure the household was not bothered by these, uh, young nuisances.”
“How kind,” the woman said. “We have not been bothered, except by the wind that is now coming through this door.”
“Uh, yes,” the soldier said again, bowing as he retreated from the doorway. The woman shut the door before he even raised his head. Then she stood against the door like a propped tree, and they all waited for the heavy steps of the soldier to fade.
“There,” the woman said, finally looking at them. “That takes care of them. Now, how should we take care of you?”
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“I think food first,” the woman said with a smile. “Come.”
She led them through another gate to the inner courtyard and past the side hall, her finger pressed to her lips for silence. Despite her size, she walked noiselessly, and they followed her to the kitchen. The warmth of the room made them stumble as if they were wading in honey. She led them to the stove and began to spoon rice porridge into bowls, its steam issuing like a sighing brea
th.
“Eat,” the woman said, holding out a bowl, her large fingers almost completely hiding the design of a painted monkey.
“Thank you,” Lady Meng said, taking it. “We…”
“It matters not,” said the woman, pressing another bowl toward Yishan.
“But…” Pinmei said as the woman held out a third bowl. The rich smell of the porridge was intoxicating, and its hot mist made a translucent cloud around the woman, softening her many scars. “Who are you?”
The woman laughed. “I am just a servant in the House of Wu,” she said. “Of no importance, I assure you.”
“Your masters must be very kind,” Lady Meng said.
The woman laughed again. “Oh no,” she said. “They are quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Then…” Pinmei said. “Won’t you get in trouble?”
“Most probably,” the woman said, nodding.
“But…” Pinmei hesitated as Yishan gave her a pointed look. She didn’t want to be cast out, but she needed to understand. “Why are you helping us?”
The woman looked at Pinmei, smiled sadly, and lifted the lantern up to her face.
“Do you know what kind of scars these are?” the woman asked her.
With the light on them, Pinmei could see they were all shaped like small, sharp slivers.
“Are they…” Pinmei said slowly, almost in disbelief, “Scars of Stingy Rice?”
“Yes,” the old woman said, nodding. “You know the story.”
“What is the story?” Lady Meng said, looking from Pinmei to the woman.
“Ah, I’m no good at storytelling,” the old woman said. She looked at Pinmei. “You tell it.”
There was once a rich lord who had always been wealthy. Perhaps one reason he had so much money was because he never gave to the poor. During times of famine or drought, he never gave one spoonful of rice to a starving child, even though his jars were overflowing with grains. In fact, he flaunted his fortune. Every day, equally wealthy friends were invited to dine on Jade Tree Chicken and Silk Squash Noodles while the hungry stood outside on the street by his house.