16
Rendi walked down the shady side of a twisted street; even the scant protection of shadows was welcome in the searing sun. I’ll just get some water at the Half-Moon Well, and then I’ll pack up my things at the inn and leave, he thought. The swinging sound of his mended buckets on his new carrying stick echoed against the crumbling stones of the empty ruins.
However, the ruins were not completely empty. In front of him, Rendi saw a figure at the Half-Moon Well. As he drew closer, he recognized Mr. Shan. He was on his knees, gazing into the well.
“Mr. Shan?” Rendi said, putting his buckets down. “What are you doing here?”
Mr. Shan did not seem to hear him and continued to look into the well. Rendi saw the toad, also at the well’s edge, its bulging eyes gazing into the hole. Rendi kneeled by them and tried to see what they were looking at. All he saw was darkness and the slight shimmer of light on the deep water.
“Is something wrong with the Half-Moon Well?” Rendi asked.
“Half moon, it was not a half moon,” Mr. Shan mumbled, as if he hadn’t heard. “It was a full moon. I need a full moon to see.”
And still without looking at Rendi, Mr. Shan put his hands on the wall that split the well in half and pushed down with a surprising force. Crack! Crack! The remains of the dividing wall crumbled and fell. Dry dust misted up into the air like steam, and the splashing noises of rocks falling filled the air. When all was quiet, the well was a round circle.
Rendi’s mouth was also a round circle. He had struck that same wall with all his might, cracking his stick and breaking his buckets. All his efforts had not even loosened a single stone, yet Mr. Shan had knocked it down with a single push of his wrinkled, aged hands.
But Mr. Shan did not seem to be aware that he had done anything extraordinary. He peered again into the well. The reflections on the dark water sparkled up beams of light. The toad croaked a groan.
“Did you drop something down there?” Rendi asked after taking a deep breath and hiding his surprise.
“No, it’s not in this water,” Mr. Shan said, his eyes clouding over. “It’s in a different water.”
He’s confused again, Rendi thought, and before he could be annoyed, he remembered Madame Chang’s patient smile. “Mr. Shan,” Rendi said, more gently than he ever had before, “I don’t think there’s anything in there.”
Mr. Shan put the toad in his pocket and pushed himself up with his walking stick. “Yes, now there’s nothing,” he said, nodding in his absentminded way. “Don’t jump in.”
“Don’t worry,” Rendi said, amused. “I won’t.”
Mr. Shan’s eyes seemed to clear, and he peered at Rendi, the power of his gaze hitting Rendi like a falling stone. Rendi’s smile faded, and a strange, discomforting feeling came over him, as if he had walked into a gray, clammy mist.
“Good,” Mr. Shan said, nodding. He gently patted Rendi’s shoulder. “Make sure you do as you say.” And then Mr. Shan turned away.
Rendi stared at Mr. Shan slowly shuffling away, looking as ancient and as feeble as he always did. Rendi looked back at the well. A cold, icy wind seemed to blow through him. Suddenly, he had a vision of someone, something—a dark green blur—leaping into the gaping hole of the well, angry roars echoing upward. Rendi shivered.
Then he shook himself. The hot summer sun shone down, and its bright yellow light burned away any imaginings. He began to gather the water, which, now, with the partition gone, he was able to do faster than he ever had before.
However, when Rendi returned to his room at the inn, he still felt the weight of Mr. Shan’s words. Make sure you do as you say. Rendi had said that he would tell a story for Madame Chang. They had an agreement. If he left now, he would be a liar and a cheater. Like my father, Rendi thought, and the sinking sun cast a dark shadow on his face.
Finally, he opened his drawers and took out his belongings, carefully folding them into his plain cloth bag. His last item was a smooth, blue-and-white rice bowl. It was thin and delicate, with faint traces of gold paint and a fineness that stood out in the poorness of his surroundings. Cupping it in his hands, Rendi gazed silently for a long moment.
“Why not?” he said.
CHAPTER
17
Rendi set down the chopsticks and the rice bowl, the thick, dark pottery of the bowl making a dull thud. While he waited for everyone else to finish dinner, he tried to look unconcerned and relaxed, even though he felt unexpectedly eager. He was pleased with himself. Tomorrow he would leave. But today he would do as he said he would and tell a story. It was better, anyway, Rendi thought. He wouldn’t want to walk at night with the wind crying and moaning above him.
“Hmm,” Peiyi said, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. “Rendi, it almost seems like you want to tell a story.”
Rendi looked away as if he’d been caught stealing. He quickly sipped his empty teacup, trying to look nonchalant.
“If you are ready,” Madame Chang said, smiling, “we are willing to listen.”
Mr. Shan and the toad seemed to nod in unison, and even Master Chao, giving up on his feigned indifference, looked up with interest. Rendi put down his cup and smiled in spite of himself. Then he took a deep breath and began his story.
THE STORY OF THE THREE QUESTIONS
Duke Zhe did as he promised. He spoke of Magistrate Tiger to the imperial family with glowing words, and before long, Magistrate Tiger’s dreams began to come true. As the summer was ending, he received an invitation that was awe-inspiring. It was from the Imperial Palace and invited him to come to the emperor’s Mid-Autumn Moon Festivities.
From that moment, Magistrate Tiger’s home became a hectic typhoon. Magistrate Tiger’s demanding roars echoed without stop as a new green robe was made and embroidered; costly gifts, sculptures of jade and gold, were inspected; and fine horses were groomed. Everyone and everything was so full of activity that it was with great surprise to the children when one day their father called them.
“Children are supposed to be good at riddles,” he said as they bowed at his feet. “If you have any intelligence at all, you will know the answers to these.”
The children stared silently at their father and gulped. Magistrate Tiger looked at their fearful faces and made an expression of disdain, as if he had just eaten an unripe plum.
“Here is the first question,” Magistrate Tiger said. “A thief steals a purse and a man chases and catches him. However, when the authorities arrive, both men accuse the other of being the thief. Both men are of the same build and height, and bystanders cannot say for certain which is the thief and which is the pursuer. How can you tell?”
After a moment, just as Magistrate Tiger was about to sigh with impatience, the boy stepped forward.
“I would have the two men race,” the boy said, trying to keep his voice from quavering, “and the loser is the thief. For if the pursuer was able to catch the thief, he must be the faster runner of the two.”
Magistrate Tiger looked at his son keenly and then nodded. “Good,” he said, and before the children could feel relief or pride, he continued.
“This is the second question,” Magistrate Tiger said. “A single almond is given to a family of ninety-nine members. How can you share the almond evenly?”
The boy gave his sister a furtive glance, but she was already stepping forward with bright eyes.
“I would boil the almond in water and make it into almond tea,” she said, “and then all can have a cup.”
Magistrate Tiger sniffed in a satisfied manner. “The last question,” he announced. “A pestilence of snails has come to a village. One man decides that the best way to get rid of the snails in his garden is to throw the snails into his neighbor’s garden. Unfortunately, the neighbor has had the same idea, and snails begin to multiply in both gardens. Before long, the two families are fighting. How do you settle the dispute fairly?”
There was a long silence. Both children looked helplessly at each other. Neither h
ad any idea of an answer. Finally, their father looked at them with disgust. “I see you are as feebleminded as I feared,” he said with a scorn that stung more than a blow. His voice began to rise as his customary roar emerged. He threw up his arms, the green silk of his sleeves whipping at them. “You are a disgrace to our ancestry! The blood of the greatest ruler and hero pumps in us, and you cannot answer a simple question? Out! Out of my sight!”
The children fled and soon found themselves, as they often did, clinging to their mother for comfort.
“Why is he angry all the time?” the boy asked. Even though his sister was a year older than he, she was smaller and he often felt protective of her. He could feel her trembling like a baby rabbit, and he put his hand on her arm.
“He is not angry,” their mother said unconvincingly. “It is just the way he must act to accomplish things.”
“Why?” the boy asked, scowling. “For what?”
Their mother was quiet for a moment. “For you,” she said finally. “He does all this for you.”
The boy did not understand this either. But both children were glad that their father soon seemed to forget about them. Indeed, as the days came closer to the Mid-Autumn Moon Festivities, Magistrate Tiger seemed like a powerful storm that was best kept away from. When he finally left for the Imperial Palace, his children sighed with relief.
But the children were curious when Magistrate Tiger returned with an extra litter carried by strong men. The sedan they dragged did not hold a person, but a giant, well-wrapped package. Magistrate Tiger himself was carrying a silk box as if it were a dragon’s pearl. The children looked at each other, then ran so they could peek in through the window of their father’s formal chamber.
As the men carefully unloaded the package, Duke Zhe arrived.
“Ah, friend,” Duke Zhe said warmly. “How happy I am for you! The emperor was much impressed by your wisdom and intelligence. Are these your prizes?”
“Yes, yes,” Magistrate Tiger purred. “This is what the emperor gave me for answering the first question correctly.”
And he opened the silk box and took out a blue, white, and gold rice bowl on a gold stand. He held it with an air of awe, and Duke Zhe gave a sigh of appreciation.
“Ah, the finest porcelain in the land, brought out especially for the emperor’s Moon Festivities,” Duke Zhe said. “Made by perhaps the best potter in history as well—see the ancient rabbit motif? It’s the same bowl that the first emperors ate from! A priceless, amazing prize!”
By then, the men had unwrapped the other package. It was an enormous gang. The giant porcelain bowl was really a tub, almost as high as Magistrate Tiger’s shoulders and twice as wide. Painted on its surface, graceful blue fish and lotus flowers seemed to weave together in a silent dance.
Magistrate Tiger carefully placed the bowl on the shelf behind him and then stroked the gang gently.
“And the gang! Made to be an indoor fishpond!” Duke Zhe said. “I was so pleased when you answered the second question and won this. It is perfect for you! Now you will be able to entertain the fish during the winter months as well.”
“Also the finest porcelain,” Magistrate Tiger said in a gratified voice. “Have you ever seen a gang this size, yet so exquisite and thin? They are both truly wondrous gifts.”
“But no more than you deserve,” Duke Zhe said. “You answered those questions magnificently! Determine the thief by running a race! Share the almond by making it into tea! You answered the emperor’s questions so quickly and brilliantly that it was almost as if you knew what the questions were going to be ahead of time.”
“Ah,” Magistrate Tiger said darkly. “If I had known the questions ahead of time, I would have been able to answer the emperor’s last question.”
“My dear friend,” Duke Zhe said, “the emperor has asked the question of the snail dispute every year at the Moon Festivities. No one has ever answered it. Neighbors throwing snails in each other’s gardens! How could anyone solve that fairly? I think it’s an impossible question.”
“Perhaps,” Magistrate Tiger conceded.
The boy began to sputter. Determine the thief? Sharing an almond? Fighting over snails? His sister quickly pulled him away from the window before he exploded.
“Those were our answers!” he cried as soon as they were out of earshot. “He found out the questions ahead of time and used our answers!”
“Shhh,” his sister said, glancing over her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” the boy said, still outraged. “It was my answer!”
“Well, if everything he does is for you,” she said, “then it’s okay that he took your answer, right?”
The boy was silent. Did his father roar and trick and lie for him? He felt a mixture of confusion and resentment.
“It doesn’t seem like he does it for me,” the boy said sullenly.
“He does,” his sister said.
But she sounded more hopeful than sure.
“Another very interesting story, Rendi,” Madame Chang said as she nodded slowly.
“Yes!” Peiyi almost shouted. “Too bad the third question was impossible. We could really use the answer. It would solve everything!”
“What do you mean?” Rendi asked.
Master Chao coughed. “Peiyi…” he began.
“It’s the whole reason why we hate the Yans and the Yans hate us,” Peiyi said, ignoring her father. “Because our ancestors threw snails into each other’s gardens.”
“The fight between you and Widow Yan is over snails?” Rendi said incredulously.
Master Chao coughed again. “It’s not exactly that…” he said.
“Yes, it is!” Peiyi interrupted, her bitterness giving her the courage to speak before her father in a way Rendi had never seen before. “If it wasn’t for the snails, then we could be friends with Widow Yan, you and Jiming wouldn’t have argued over him marrying MeiLan, and he wouldn’t have run away! It’s all because no one can answer that silly snail question!”
“I know someone who can answer it,” Madame Chang said before Master Chao could erupt with indignation and Rendi could show even more surprise. Everyone stared at her.
“Who?” Rendi asked.
“Mr. Shan,” Madame Chang said.
They all turned to Mr. Shan, open-mouthed. Mr. Shan seemed oblivious to the conversation, playing with the toad again. Madame Chang gently touched his shoulder and looked straight into his eyes.
“Mr. Shan,” she said, “do you know how to settle the problem of the snails?”
He looked at her, and, again, his eyes seemed to clear like a sky after a storm.
“Of course,” Mr. Shan said.
CHAPTER
18
Master Chao, full of skepticism and embarrassment, snorted and left the room before even hearing Mr. Shan’s answer. “Good,” Mr. Shan said. “If we do it, it’s better he doesn’t know.”
“We are going to do it, right?” Peiyi said, hopping up and down in excitement.
Rendi was surprised to see Madame Chang looking at him. “Are we, Rendi?” she asked him.
Night had come, and already the moans were echoing in Rendi’s ears. The sounds were pleading and begging, and Rendi could feel Peiyi’s hopeful eyes upon him. Madame Chang’s steady gaze refused to release him, and Rendi could not say no. With a silent sigh, he nodded. He would stay until they settled the problem of the snails. What was a few more days?
“Yes,” Rendi said. “We’ll do it.”
Madame Chang smiled, and a look—was it relief?—flashed through her. Did she know? Rendi thought. Did she know he was planning to leave? And why did it matter if he stayed? The sky groaned in answer, and Rendi wrinkled his brow.
However, for the next few days, Rendi had no time to wonder. Although his nights were still full of restless cries, he quickly forgot about them during the day as he, Peiyi, Madame Chang, and Mr. Shan rushed in the hot sun like busy ants.
So
when Rendi walked around the wall and to Widow Yan’s door, he was full of anticipation. The withered yellow grass crunched like paper offerings under his feet, and Rendi realized that this was the first time he had ever knocked on Widow Yan’s door.
Widow Yan, with MeiLan behind her, looked at Rendi in surprise. The sun cast harsh shadows upon Widow Yan’s tired face, and the worried wrinkle between her eyebrows seemed a deep, dark scar. Suddenly, Rendi saw that life had not been easy for Widow Yan and MeiLan, two women living alone in a poor village.
“If he sent you to complain,” Widow Yan began, “you tell him—”
“Please,” Rendi interrupted, “would you come for tea?”
“Over to the inn?” Widow Yan said. “I wouldn’t go to Chao’s inn if—”
“No,” Rendi interrupted again. “Just to over there.” And he beckoned with his arm.
A table straddled the lowest part of the crumbling wall, and the light of the sun directly overhead burned its bare top. A chair rested near the half of the table in Widow Yan’s yard, and another chair waited with the other half in Master Chao’s yard. The figure of Master Chao, being pulled by Peiyi, was walking toward it.
Widow Yan gave Rendi a questioning look and an amused sniff, but she took his arm as he led her to the table. MeiLan followed, shooting Peiyi curious looks as they came closer. Peiyi, having gotten her father to sit down, grinned at her.
“What is this?” Widow Yan demanded as she let herself be seated. The sharp lines of her face seemed to cut the air as much as her words.
“How should I know?” Master Chao retorted, wiping the dampness from his face, as red as the cinnabar decoration of his belt. “My daughter just dragged me out here. For tea, she says!”
Before Widow Yan could respond, Madame Chang appeared, flanked by Mr. Shan, who was carrying a full tray.
“Welcome,” Madame Chang said, as if they were sitting at a banquet table in the emperor’s palace instead of their dry, dusty yards in the scorching sun. “Thank you both for honoring us with your presence.”
Her gracious words and manner shamed both Widow Yan and Master Chao, and an awkward truce was silently agreed on. Rendi couldn’t help smiling to himself as he watched them refrain from making insults to each other for the first time. Madame Chang quickly set down teacups, plates, and chopsticks before them.