But one by one, each woman rose to compare her work with the original, shook her head in defeat, and abandoned the hall.
The last one to leave was the woman with the fish tail. She, of course, was the Sea King’s daughter—the most beautiful as well as the most skilled. But as she held her embroidery up to the widow’s, she too shook her head. Hers, like the others, was a poor copy. No one could match the fineness or colors of the widow’s silver clouds, flaming flowers, or crystal lakes. The widow’s embroidery is so beautiful, the Sea King’s daughter thought with yearning. I love it so. I wish I could be a part of it.
And with that whim, she began to embroider a small image of herself in the garden of the widow’s embroidery. But I’ll give myself legs, she thought with an amused smile, because it’s a picture of a mortal land. When she finished, it was late and she was quite tired. She tucked her needle into the widow’s embroidery to retrieve in the morning and left for bed.
When the son woke up, it was still dark and the hall was empty. His mother’s embroidery still hung at the front of the room, glistening in the fading moonlight. What if the Sea Daughter and her ladies change their minds? he thought. I’d better go now.
So he took the embroidery as quietly as possible and jumped onto the waiting horse. The amazing horse took off at a gallop, racing up through the water, across the frozen sea, and back to the seaside.
When they reached the shore, the man dismounted. The horse waded into the water and an ocean wave washed over it. When the water withdrew, the horse was, again, a large white stone. Then, another large crest rose and scooped the stone back to the sea.
The young man gazed at the empty impression on the shore and at the rolled embroidery in his hand. Without another pause, he turned and ran home.
“Mother!” he called as he burst into the house. The widow was in bed, thin and pale, with her eyes closed, and he feared the worst. He rushed to her side and laid the embroidery on her. “Your embroidery is here. I have returned.”
Slowly, the widow’s fingers touched the smooth, delicate threads. Her eyes opened and she smiled, her second smile in over eight years.
“My son,” she said with one hand on the embroidery and the other clasping his, “help me bring this out in the light so I may see it better.”
Outside, they carefully spread the embroidery on the ground. As they unfolded it, the silk grew and grew. It covered their poor house and bare land, and in its place, the stately manor and a glorious garden formed. The widow’s embroidery was coming to life! The swimming fish in the sparkling water, the trees with the jade-green leaves, the courtyard with patterned walkways—all real!
Everything was exactly as the widow had sewed it, except for one thing. For standing among the brilliant flowers and fluttering butterflies was a beautiful woman dressed in blue. She held a silver needle in her fingers and was looking around in confusion, for it was the Sea King’s daughter who had sewn herself into the embroidery.
But when she saw the widow and the son, her expression cleared and was replaced with one of affection. She saw she could not love the embroidery so much without loving its creator and her son.
The delighted widow welcomed her to share in her incredible fortune. The son and the Sea King’s daughter soon married, and the widow lived the rest of her days in complete contentment.
“Is that the end?” the noblewoman asked in an almost-demanding tone. “What else happened to the son and the Sea King’s daughter?”
“I suppose,” Pinmei said, a little surprised, “after they were married, they lived happily as well.”
“Yes, but…” The woman stopped midsentence, and both Pinmei and Yishan looked toward where she was staring. A glimmer of scarlet was wavering in the white-and-gray sky. The red butterfly! Pinmei hadn’t imagined it!
The two children and the woman watched without moving. The butterfly flittered through the falling snowflakes. Back and forth, back and forth it went, an intricate, silent dance.
At last, the butterfly landed on the noblewoman’s lap, on top of the gorgeous embroidery. It gave one final tremble and vanished.
Pinmei blinked her eyes. Had the butterfly melted into the embroidery? Or had a gust of wind blown it away? Where did it go?
But then the woman gave a low cry of anguish, so full of sorrow and heartache all other thoughts disappeared.
“He is dead,” the woman whispered, and a single tear began to roll down her cheek.
CHAPTER
17
“Who is dead?” Yishan asked, handing her his handkerchief.
The woman wiped her tear and closed her eyes as if she could not bear to see land around her. After a moment, she raised her head.
“My husband,” she said softly. “I am Lady Meng, and my husband has been away on the king’s business for more than a year. Four days ago, I had an overwhelming feeling something terrible had happened, and finally, I could not stand it. I was on my way to the City of Bright Moonlight to find out when BaiMa threw me.”
Snowflakes dropped onto the embroidery, but Lady Meng did not bother to brush them away. Instead, her fingers stroked the smooth threads of a crimson butterfly Pinmei hadn’t noticed before.
“I knew when he left he was in danger,” the woman continued. She was looking out into the empty sky, and Pinmei knew she had forgotten about them. “I sewed him a dragon shirt to protect him, leaving in my needle, but even then I knew it would not be enough. He laughed and said he would return to me with the flight of the first butterfly…”
Her words dripped into the cold air, and while she seemed awash in sadness, she did not shed another tear. Instead, as if suddenly waking, she looked at them.
“Well, my young friends, Pinmei and…” Lady Meng looked sharply at Yishan as if trying to remember him. He gazed back at her, his face as blank as uncarved stone.
“Yishan,” Pinmei said, slightly confused.
Lady Meng smiled and returned the handkerchief. “Where are you going and why?” she asked.
“We’re going to the City of Bright Moonlight too,” Yishan said, and told Lady Meng the reason for their travels.
“For the dragon’s pearl,” Lady Meng said after Yishan had finished, “you’ll have to see King KaeJae. He is the king of the City of Bright Moonlight. It was he who asked my husband for help.”
“What did he need help with?” Yishan asked.
“King KaeJae knew the old emperor would soon be overthrown,” Lady Meng said, “and a new emperor would come to power. New emperors usually execute all the old kings and replace them. King KaeJae wanted my husband’s advice so he and the city could survive.”
“The king must have trusted your husband a lot,” Yishan said.
“Yes, they were good friends,” Lady Meng said. “That is why I have questions for him.”
“What will you ask him?” Yishan said. Pinmei continued to marvel at his boldness. He could be talking to a farmer or an emperor, Pinmei thought, remembering Yishan’s unbowed head the night the hut burned, and it wouldn’t matter.
However, while Lady Meng’s eyes flashed with sudden anger, it was not from Yishan’s impertinence. “I want to know how my husband died,” she said.
“Will it make a difference?” Yishan asked with surprising gentleness.
Lady Meng flushed and bowed her head. “Perhaps not,” she said softly. “But I still need to know.”
Pinmei looked at Lady Meng, shimmering with finery like a queen. To get the dragon’s pearl, they would have to ask to see the king, which, Pinmei suspected, would result in mocking laughter. Lady Meng, however, would be invited in immediately. Maybe Lady Meng could bring them! Should she ask? No, she wouldn’t dare! But Amah’s bracelet gently pressed on Pinmei’s wrist with the weight of a loving hand. Pinmei took a deep breath.
“Um, maybe, since we all, um, need to see the king,” Pinmei said hesitantly, “maybe we could all go together…”
Pinmei’s face flushed to the
same color as Yishan’s hat.
“That is a good idea,” Lady Meng said. “BaiMa can bring us.”
“Your horse?” Yishan said. “But he ran—”
A nicker sounded, and Yishan and Pinmei swung around. There, like a white jade statue in the snow mist, was BaiMa, Lady Meng’s horse.
CHAPTER
18
“But don’t you want to go ahead to the city on BaiMa?” asked Yishan. “We will just slow you down.”
“There is no rush for me now,” Lady Meng said, sorrow splashing across her face again. “We will travel together. BaiMa can carry us.”
“All three of us?” Yishan asked. “That is a lot for a horse.”
“Pinmei is little more than a mouse,” Lady Meng said with a smile, “and BaiMa is a special horse.”
And she was right. BaiMa was even more majestic and larger than Pinmei remembered. His sinewy, broad back was more like a dragon’s than a horse’s, and he had enough strength to carry a legion of men. As they rode, the empty sky and snow melted into each other, making Pinmei feel as if they were sailing on a vast white sea. When they finally reached the Jade River, the road broke off in four directions. Both Yishan and Lady Meng looked at the roads with dismay.
“Do you know which road to take?” Lady Meng said. “They all look the same in the winter.”
“There should be a marker,” Yishan said, jumping off BaiMa to dig through a pile of snow.
After some searching, they found the stone marker—or what remained of it—buried in snow. It had fallen to the ground, because of either the wind or vandals, and broken to pieces. What to do? The barren landscape made all the snow-covered roads look the same. In fact, if it were not for the Jade River in front of her, Pinmei would not even know which road they had already traveled on.
And it was the frozen Jade River that Lady Meng was staring at. Instead of looking from road to road, like Pinmei and Yishan were, Lady Meng’s eyes were fixed on the ice stretching before them like a silver brocade.
Finally, Lady Meng turned around and reached into the saddlebags. “Yishan,” she said, “come with me to break the ice.”
Pinmei threw Yishan a questioning glance, but he only reached down to grab a shard of broken stone and they both followed Lady Meng toward the river.
The ice was solid under their feet, but as they walked farther, Pinmei could hear the faint whispers of water growing louder. Just as Pinmei was starting to worry that the ice might be thinning, Lady Meng stopped.
“Break the ice here, Yishan,” she directed.
Yishan grinned, knelt down, and struck the ice with his stone. Whack! Immediately, the ice cracked, and a gash of dark water, like black ink, trembled in anxious waves.
From her sleeve, Lady Meng pulled out a set of gold chopsticks and dipped them into the water as if fishing for a dumpling in soup.
“Ah!” Lady Meng said with triumph. She waved her chopsticks. They were holding a smooth dark stone.
No, it wasn’t a stone, Pinmei realized as she looked closer. It was a shell. Lady Meng was holding a mussel.
“Show us the way to the City of Bright Moonlight,” Lady Meng commanded the mussel.
Pinmei sneaked a look at Yishan. What was Lady Meng trying to do?
“Show us the way to the City of Bright Moonlight,” she said again, louder and slower.
The mussel did nothing.
“Lazy thing,” Lady Meng sighed. She flung the shell into the air. “Wake up! Show us the way to the City of Bright Moonlight!”
And as the mussel spun into the sky, it burst into feathers. It was a bird! It hung above them, its chest a stitch of red thread in the white silk sky.
“A swallow!” Pinmei breathed. “The mussel turned into a swallow!”
Lady Meng had already turned back toward the road and Yishan trailed comically behind, his mouth open and head angled upward. But Pinmei stood still, curiously studying Lady Meng, who, against the whiteness of snow and ice, looked like a painting come to life.
CHAPTER
19
The dungeon was cold, but not bitterly so. The thick earthen walls protected the prisoners from freezing, but the only light was the single torch left by the guard. Amah was not sure if days or weeks had passed.
“I have heard many stories about you, you know,” the stonecutter said. He gave a restrained chuckle. “Stories about the Storyteller! Strange, is it not?”
“What have you heard?” Amah asked.
“Many things,” the stonecutter said, “and each more marvelous than the other. They say you carried a dragon’s pearl to your parents in your youth and later predicted the destruction of the first Capital City. They say you know immortals and dragons!”
“Every time a story is told, it changes,” Amah said. “Stories about myself are no different.”
“I was told you were honored by kings, and even invited to reside at the Imperial Palace, but you refused,” the stonecutter continued. “Instead you chose to live in complete seclusion on Never-Ending Mountain.”
“Not in seclusion,” Amah objected. “I have a granddaughter.”
“Ah,” the stonecutter said, a glint of mischief flashing through his lopsided smile. “Then all the rest is true?”
Amah laughed, suddenly appreciating the character of her companion.
“Let me tell you a story,” she said.
There was a girl who had a dragon for a friend. They loved each other dearly, so it was with great sadness when, one day, the dragon told her they must part.
“I’ve been given a mandate from heaven,” he told her. “I will be helping the Blue Dragon bring in spring. It is a great honor. But once I begin, I cannot be seen by mortal eyes. We will never meet again.”
The girl tried to smile at her friend’s good fortune, but she could not hide her dismay.
“I always meant to watch over you,” the dragon said sadly, “but now I cannot. So I looked at your future in the Book of Fortune.”
“You should not have done that,” the girl gasped.
“I had to,” the dragon said. “I could not leave without knowing your future.”
“Don’t tell me!” the girl said, raising her hands to cover her ears. “I should not know!”
The dragon gently lowered the girl’s hands with his claw.
“I must tell you this,” the dragon said. “There will be a day when you will experience the greatest joy and the greatest sadness of your life at the same time. When that happens, you must watch the stone lions of your city. When the eyes of the stone lions turn red, you must take a boat to the closest island. There, you will find the Iron Rod.”
“The Iron Rod?” the girl said. “But it’s at Sea Bottom! To help keep the waters steady.”
“Don’t worry,” the dragon said. “I have already obtained permission to borrow it for you.”
“For me?” the girl asked.
“Yes,” the dragon replied. “For, once you have found the Iron Rod, you must grab hold of it and not let go until the destruction is over.”
“The destruction?” the girl said.
“The city will be destroyed. It has nothing to do with you, but you must not be there when it happens,” the dragon said. “When it is over, throw the Iron Rod back into the sea.”
“Throw the Iron Rod…” the girl said. “But it must be enormous! How could I even lift it?”
“The Iron Rod changes according to what is needed,” the dragon said. “The Sea King’s daughter even uses it as a needle sometimes. But that matters not. Do you understand all else I have said?”
The girl nodded.
“Do not forget,” the dragon said. The forest fragrances of pine trees drifted around them. The dragon looked at her once more.
“I will always remember you,” he said. Then he leaped into the air and flew away, the girl’s tears blurring her last sight of him.
Many years passed, and, while she never forgot the dragon, his warning faded in significanc
e. The girl grew to be a woman, married, had a child, and was quite happy. The woman was bestowed many honors and accolades throughout her life, but her daughter brought her greater joy than any of them. So, even though it was not tradition, after her husband died, the woman went to live with her newly married daughter in the city.
The woman, who was now old, did not enjoy city life. The city seemed coldhearted to her—merchants were ruthless in their dealings and masters callous to their servants, and all called her naive when she objected. However, she was content enough, and they lived in harmony together.
Then the old woman’s daughter had a baby of her own. But, alas, she did not live through childbirth. So, as the old woman held the new baby tenderly, she rained tears of sorrow and joy upon it, and the baby’s first bath was the unusual mixture of love and loss. For the birth of her beloved grandchild was just as the dragon had told her, the greatest joy and sadness at the same time.
And remembering this, the old woman began to watch the eyes of the stone lions of the city. She worried for others, warning any who would listen to her: “When the lions’ eyes turn red,” she told people, “the city will be destroyed.” But no one believed her. As time went on, she became the laughingstock of the city. Embarrassed, her son-in-law pleaded and yelled by turns for her to stop her warnings, but the old woman did not.
Finally, an unkind man decided to taunt her with more than words. When she arrived at the statues, he took out a jar of red paint and began to splash it upon the eyes of the lions. “They’re red now!” he mocked. “Should we be scared? Will the city be destroyed now?”
The old woman stood silently for a long moment, then she ran back to her home, grabbed her prepared bag of possessions, and begged her son-in-law to flee with her. Her son-in-law, who had heard what had happened, felt he had borne enough disgrace. He stormed out, telling her he regretted ever marrying her daughter and that she and the baby were not welcome in his house. So, tying the baby to her chest, the old woman left for the seashore.