by Grace Lin
Pinmei peeked through the clumps of people in front of her. Funeral banners swayed before her, and farther away stood two figures shrouded with the pale coarse clothes of mourning. Pinmei thought the broad-shouldered man looked more annoyed than sad, his head bowed only the smallest fraction in respect for the dead. Yishan nudged her and Pinmei nodded back. They both knew it was the emperor.
The drums stopped beating and the cymbals made their final bang. For a moment there was no sound; even the wind was as silent as the trapped water below. There was the low murmuring of a priest as the pallbearers began to lower the coffin from their shoulders. As the mourners turned their backs to the coffin to await its burial, Pinmei could not help stealing a look.
For, as she suspected, standing next to the emperor in white funeral robes was Lady Meng.
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Lady Meng was as beautiful as ever. Even in funeral clothing, she looked as if she had been carved of ivory, the flower-petal fineness of all her features undiminished by the rough hemp robes. Delicate snowflakes fell upon her, and as she heard the splash of the coffin falling into the sea, Lady Meng raised her head. She gave the sky a small, sad smile, the same smile she had given Pinmei as they said farewell.
The emperor had already turned back around, eager for the burial to be completed. When he saw the coffin’s absence, his back straightened and, saying something impossible for Pinmei to hear, took hold of Lady Meng’s arm as if to take possession of her. Lady Meng flinched and pulled away, walking to the edge of the pier to look down into the black water.
“It is done,” the emperor said, this time his voice loud enough for all to hear.
Lady Meng turned around and slowly lifted her head—her neck rising to a proud, defiant arch. The wind began to blow again, a low, angry howl.
“Come!” the emperor demanded, beckoning with his arm.
“I will not come,” Lady Meng said. Her voice was low, her words cutting into the air.
“I have done as you asked!” the emperor said. “Do you not remember?”
“I said I could only marry after my husband was buried,” Lady Meng said.
“And now he is buried,” the emperor said, “and you are to be my wife.”
“Marry you?” Lady Meng said, her eyes glittering. “A ruthless tyrant who does not care who suffers for him? Never!”
“You will marry me!” the emperor said, his voice dangerous. He began to stalk toward her, snowflakes whipping around him in a mad frenzy.
“You may try,” Lady Meng said, speaking the words as if spitting poison, “to marry my corpse.”
Then, in a single, swift motion, she jumped into the black water.
“No!” Pinmei’s scream was lost in the gasps of horror from the crowd. Everyone pushed forward, the people to gape and the guards to act as the emperor bellowed, “Get her! She is not to get away!”
But those at the edge of the pier halted, bewildered at what they saw below. As those unable to see clamored with questions, agitated shouts and murmurs of wonder resounded. “The water has frozen over!” someone screeched. “The hole has closed!”
“Break the ice!” the emperor ordered. “I want her found!”
Confusion shook the pier, but in mere seconds, pickaxes and men were lowering onto the refrozen ice. The throngs of people, all in an uproar, pressed forward for a better view. Pinmei, at the rear, saw only a forest of legs and backs of coats and robes. As she jumped and leaned, the cries and shouts of the crowd echoing around her, Yishan grabbed her arm.
“Look,” he said quietly, pulling her back.
He pointed at the ice below. Pinmei peered below and gasped, the sound swallowed by the roar of the spectacle behind them. As everyone else was facing the opposite direction, no one noticed what they saw.
Under the surface of the ice was the translucent figure of someone swimming. Even though scarcely a shadow, the silhouette was graceful and lithe, her hair streaming behind her like ripples in the water. But what made Pinmei gape was that as the woman turned to swim away, she distinctly flipped the tail of a fish.
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He only shrieked now when he woke. The ache of his lost dreams would pierce him, and the dazzling gold mocked him.
How he longed for his serene blackness! How he longed for his clean, clear waves of water! The weight on his back was nothing compared with the weight of his longing.
When he was finally free, how he would race back! He would trample anything in his way, toss aside anyone in his path. Nothing would slow him—no mountain or immortal, no building or beast.
Not even the human who had captured him.
For he found he did not care about his power, his strength, or his greatness. He did not care about finding his captor, repaying insults, or inflicting eternal punishments.
Vindication, vengeance, revenge. He no longer wished for those things.
He wished for tranquil darkness patterned with gentle ripples and delicate lights. He wished for his limbs to swim in cold, deep wetness. He wished for the sound of clear wind, free and boundless.
His only wish was to return home.
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“So we’ll save Amah when we find the Iron Rod,” Yishan said, “and free the tortoise.”
“We wouldn’t have to do anything with the tortoise if you hadn’t pretended we were the people the Sea King had called!” Pinmei said, scowling, her anger returning. “Were you even pretending? Why did you act that way?”
They were at an inn, the steam from the warm tea in their hands drifting with the drafts from the window. They had gotten a room as well as dinner, though the innkeeper had raised his eyebrows as the children had entered. However, his face settled back into businesslike detachment when Yishan reached into his bag and waved a gold coin. “Just a present from the House of Wu,” Yishan had told Pinmei when she looked at him, her own eyebrows lifted.
“Listen,” Yishan said, ignoring Pinmei’s questions, “we know that the emperor has captured the tortoise with the Iron Rod…”
“So that he can be invincible,” Pinmei put in, “which usually means impossible to beat.”
“He’d want to keep the tortoise close to him,” continued Yishan, as if Pinmei hadn’t spoken. “I can’t imagine anything being able to hold in the tortoise forever. Even with the Iron Rod, the emperor must know that the tortoise might be able to break free at any time. What kind of cage could hold the Black Tortoise of Winter, though?”
“Maybe it’s made of mountains,” Pinmei said with bitterness. “The emperor probably had some built in his throne room.”
Yishan’s eyes widened, and he stared out the window at the dimming sky as if suddenly seeing the sun.
“Of course,” he said. “That’s why he’s building the wall! It’s to keep the tortoise in, if he should ever break free. He’s probably reinforcing it with…”
“Yishan!” Pinmei almost screamed, her frustration finally bursting. “Just tell me what’s really going on! You’re hiding things from me.”
“I’m not!” Yishan said, smiling innocently. “At least not anything important.”
Pinmei looked at him with narrowed eyes, suspicious as well as angry. How could he smile like that? Couldn’t he see how impossible he had made things? Find the Iron Rod! Free the Black Tortoise! Was it for a secret reason of his own that he went to Sea Bottom? And he and Lady Meng had always acted a bit strange with each other. Maybe there had been hidden reasons for him to find the stone too! Had he even wanted to save Amah in the first place? Pinmei’s eyes burned with tears, and the wind shrieked as the night darkened the sky, the paper of the window flapping.
“Pinmei,” Yishan said again, but this time his voice was no longer pleading, but deep and clear with unexpected gravity. “Trust me.”
Remember, you can always trust Yishan, Amah had said. Pinmei bowed her head, remembering Amah’s gentle but firm voice. Her frustrated tears t
ransformed into tears of yearning as she pictured Amah’s face looking at her steadily, like the light of the clear moon. Would she ever see her again? Pinmei let the tears fall down her cheeks before opening her eyes. She looked at Yishan and saw the boy who had pulled her out of a fiery hut and away from the hands of a cruel soldier. No matter what, he was her true friend. She let out a slow breath and nodded. He could keep his secrets if he wanted.
“So, the Iron Rod, the tortoise, Amah,” Pinmei said slowly, wiping her face with her hand. “The emperor has them all. They must all be in the palace. That means we have to get in there. How are we going to do that?”
Yishan grinned and took his handkerchief out of his sleeve, holding it out to her as he had to Lady Meng so long ago. “We’ll think of something,” he said. “You always—”
“Yishan!” Pinmei gasped. “Your handkerchief… Look!”
“What?” Yishan stared at Pinmei. Her face had turned white and her black eyes burned. Both her eyes and her hand, frozen in pointing, were fixed on Yishan’s outstretched handkerchief.
“What is it?” Yishan started, but stopped as he followed Pinmei’s gaze. In his humble handkerchief lay a small, round stone. Exquisite in its size, perfect in its shape, the stone was lovelier than the finest pearl and more gorgeous than the costliest jewel.
“You let Lady Meng use that handkerchief,” Pinmei whispered, “when she cried…”
Yishan continued to stare, his mouth and eyes as round as the object in his hand. For once, he was completely silent.
“It’s her tear!” Pinmei stuttered. “She… she’s the Sea King’s daughter… a goddess with a fish tail… and this is… it’s… it’s…”
As she stammered, the last of the sun died away and night took its place, the flame of their lantern flickering. But the light in the room was steady and bright. For the precious stone had begun to glow a soft, serene radiance just like the moon.
“A Luminous Stone That Lights the Night!” Pinmei breathed.
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“Stonecutter!” a voice boomed.
Amah and the stonecutter flinched. The voice had roared out of the shadows, giving both the unsettling feeling they were about to be pounced upon. And when the guards emerged from the darkness, Amah felt her throat tighten. She recognized one of them as the soldier in green from so long ago—the same soldier she knew was not a soldier, any more than he was a guard now.
“I have come to see your work!” he bellowed.
The stonecutter jumped up, carrying an armful of stones to the guard. But as he brought them closer, he froze, staring at the face of the guard. The stones in his arms began to clink together as his arms trembled.
Amah quickly took some stones from the stonecutter and brought them to the guard.
“There are still many more to cut,” Amah said.
The man took one of the stones. As he inspected it, Amah wondered: Why did the emperor disguise himself as a lowly guard? Was it the only way to come to the dungeon without causing attention? But why would the emperor even wish to come to the dungeon? Was it for the stonecutter? Or was it for her?
Suddenly, he glowered at Amah. “Why do you look at me like that?” the emperor barked.
Amah lowered her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You reminded me of someone.”
“Who?” he demanded.
“Just someone in a story,” Amah said.
“A story, of course,” the emperor said with irritation. “Very well. Tell it.”
Once there was a man named Haiyi who was as strong as a dragon and bigger than an ox. But he was also as wild and as unpredictable as a tiger. When he walked down the street, villagers fled and quickly shut their doors. For Haiyi caused chaos wherever he went. Because of his great strength, he just took what he wished, and none dared oppose him. He spent his time drinking and gambling.
One night, he stumbled out of the village in a drunken daze, lifting his wine bottle to the moon.
“Am I not the greatest man who has ever lived?” he called out. “Is this not the happiest village, for I am in it?”
“If it were not for three things,” a calm, clear voice said at his knee, “this village would indeed be happy.”
Haiyi looked down, slightly dizzy, and saw an old man sitting in the light of the moon, a large book in his lap.
“It’s the Old Man of the Moon!” Haiyi boomed. “Have you come to see Haiyi, the great hero?”
“You would have to rid the village of its three evils,” the Old Man of the Moon said, “before you could be called a great hero.”
Haiyi felt his drunkenness fade as he stared into the steady black eyes of the Old Man of the Moon. “Three evils?” Haiyi asked as he sat.
“Yes,” the Old Man replied. “As I said, if it were not for the three evils plaguing the village, this village would indeed be happy.”
“What are they?” Haiyi asked.
“The first evil,” the Old Man said, “is the Bashe snake. It lives underneath the Black Bridge. When a man or beast passes him, he swallows it whole.”
Haiyi rose. “I will slay this beast,” he declared. “And then you may tell me the second evil.”
With that, he rushed to the Black Bridge. The bridge had long been abandoned, and when he finally reached it, the Bashe immediately rose from the water. It reared against the dark sky, its hideous, gaping mouth wide enough to swallow an entire elephant. Haiyi dodged the swooping jaws and dove into the river. For a moment, all was still, but then the river began to churn, bubbling with a foul odor. Finally, one enormous wave flew into the sky and crashed down again—the water scattering like shattered pieces of stone. When at last the water calmed, a bright red stain floated to the surface—growing larger until the entire river was red. And then Haiyi burst through the water, gasping. In one hand, he held his sword, and in the other, the head of the Bashe snake.
That night, Haiyi returned to the Old Man of the Moon.
“I have slain the Bashe snake,” Haiyi said. “Now there are only two evils plaguing the village.”
“The second evil,” the Old Man of the Moon said, “is the Noxious Zhen bird that lives on Northern Mountain. It drinks the venom of vipers, so its feathers are pure poison. Its blood can melt stone, and its saliva dissolves steel.”
“I will be back tomorrow to hear the third evil,” Haiyi said, and he turned toward Northern Mountain. On his way, he stopped and changed into robes of thick leather. He also took a large hide of rhinoceros, some raw meat, and a strong rope.
He climbed to the top of the mountain and waved the piece of raw meat. The Zhen bird, smelling the meat, dove at Haiyi, who quickly placed a noose around its neck. The bird screeched and flew upward, carrying Haiyi into the sky. But he refused to let go and instead pulled the noose tighter until the Zhen, unable to breathe, fell to the ground.
Haiyi, after landing on the ground himself, ran to the fallen bird. He gave the noose a final pull, breaking the bird’s neck. He then took out the rhinoceros hide, wrapped the bird inside it and burned the whole thing.
The Old Man of the Moon was waiting for him when Haiyi returned at night.
“I have destroyed the Zhen bird,” Haiyi said, “so the villagers no longer need to fear its poison.”
“Yes,” the Old Man said.
“And I killed the Bashe snake,” Haiyi said, “so the villagers can now travel on the Black Bridge safely.”
“Yes,” the Old Man said.
“So the first two evils are no longer,” Haiyi said.
“Yes,” the Old Man said. “Now there is only one evil left that plagues the village.”
“What is it?” Haiyi said. “I shall end it as I did the others.”
The Old Man of the Moon looked at Haiyi, his black eyes piercing.
“The third and last evil plaguing the village,” the Old Man of the Moon said, “is you.”
“Nonsense!” the emperor snorted. “What a ridiculous story!”
> “Is it?” Amah said. “Haiyi did not think so. When he was told that he himself was the final evil, he bowed his head in shame, and tears began to flow from his eyes.”
“Weak fool,” the emperor spat.
“He left the village to rid it of its last evil,” Amah continued, “and reformed, lived a life of peace, and then, at last, was a great hero.”
“He killed the snake and the poison-feather bird!” the emperor said. “His deeds were great! He was already a great hero!”
“His deeds were great,” Amah said. “But, no, he was not a hero. Not then.”
The emperor stared at Amah, his expression slowly transforming into a glare. He dropped the stone and turned, the other guard quickly moving to follow.
“That woman is never to speak in my presence again!” the emperor snarled. He stormed away, the echo of his roar locked in the dungeon with Amah and the stonecutter.
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Even with the Luminous Stone, it was not easy to see the emperor. At first, the guards at the gate ignored them, and when they finally acknowledged Yishan’s persistent requests, they did little more than pass the message on to a servant. To the guards’ amusement, the children camped out by the gate, waiting for a response.
“Go home,” one of them said. “Do you really think you are going to be let into the Imperial Palace?”
“When the emperor hears we have the Luminous Stone,” Yishan said, “he’ll let us in. He’ll want to see us.”
“See you! The emperor?” the other soldier said, laughing coarsely. “Even I have never met with the emperor! How would two little beggars like you meet with him?”
Yishan said no more, but as the morning turned to afternoon and started toward evening, Pinmei felt her hopes dip with the sun. But just as the sky began to darken, an imperial servant arrived.
“The children who say they have the Luminous Stone That Lights the Night,” he said, looking at Yishan and Pinmei huddled in the corner, “is that you two?”