by Grace Lin
“Are you still there?” the voice asked plaintively. “Please help me!”
“I’m coming!” Minli called again. She took a deep breath and dove toward the voice. The salt water stung her eyes so she closed them tightly until she broke through the surface. When she finally opened her eyes, Minli almost sank back underwater with shock. Because there in front of her was… a DRAGON!
CHAPTER
9
Underneath the moon shadows of the trees, Ma stumbled with weariness. Ba did not know how long they had been walking. With every step he peered at the ground, the light flickering as the lantern swayed in his hand. The forest was full of shapes and shadows and only barely could he see the faint footprints on the ground—it was like searching for a wrinkle in a flower petal. As Ma tripped, he steadied her with his arm.
“We should rest,” Ba said.
Ma shook her head and pulled away angrily. “We must keep going. We have to find Minli.”
“But you are tired,” Ba said, “and I am too. We can rest and afterward we will be able to continue faster.”
“I am not tired,” Ma said fiercely. Her irritation seemed to give her energy. “If you are tired, you can rest. But I will continue to look for our daughter.”
“We should stay together,” Ba said quietly.
“If you wish to stay with me,” Ma said, “then you will have to keep going.”
Ba sighed and took out another candle for the lantern. The light from the lamp kept away the forest animals but it could do nothing for Ma’s fury. Her resentment seemed to darken with the fading moon.
But as they walked, the morning bloomed in the distance, its light slowly filtered over Ma and Ba through the veil of tree branches so he could finally blow out the candle in his lantern. He looked at Ma and could see that her bitterness was only sharper in the softening sky.
“If Minli stopped to rest,” Ba said, “we may catch up with her soon.”
“When we find her,” Ma said, “she must know that she is never to do this again. Never!”
“Now, Wife,” Ba said, “Minli did not leave to cause us harm.”
“No,” Ma said, her words cracking the air around her, “she left to find a fairy tale. Never-Ending Mountain and the Old Man of the Moon! Of all the foolish things.”
“Stories are not foolish,” Ba said again, in his quiet way.
“Says you!” Ma said. “Because you are the one who filled her with them. Making her believe she could change our miserable fortune with an impossible story! Ridiculous!”
“Yes,” Ba said sadly, “it is impossible. But it is not ridiculous.”
Ma opened her mouth again, but stopped. For up ahead there was a noise of breaking branches. It was the sound of someone pushing through the forest. Ma and Ba looked at each other. “Minli!” Ma said.
Forgetting their fatigue and frustration, Ma and Ba began to run through the woods. Ma ignored the branches that scratched her and Ba let his hat fall to the ground as they rushed toward the unseen person. “Minli!” they called, “Minli!”
But as they burst upon the figure ahead, they stopped in shock. It was not Minli. Instead, Ma and Ba stared openmouthed at the goldfish man.
CHAPTER
10
Minli gaped at the dragon in front of her. He was brilliant red, the color of a lucky lantern, with emerald-green whiskers, horns, and a dull stone-colored ball like the moon on his head. At least what Minli could see of him looked like that. Because he was also half-covered by ropes of twine that had been tied tightly around him so he couldn’t move and by the silvery lake of water his tears had formed all around him.
Minli had always thought it would be thrilling but scary to meet a dragon. Her father’s stories always made them sound so wise and powerful and grand. But here was a dragon before her, tied up and crying! Minli didn’t feel awed by it at all. In fact, she felt rather sorry for it.
“Can you help me?” the dragon sniffled. “I am trapped.”
Minli shook herself and started swimming toward the dragon. “What happened to you?” she asked.
“The monkeys tied me up while I was sleeping,” the dragon said, “I have been here for days.”
Minli swam over to the dragon and climbed onto his back to get out of the water. There, she opened her pack, took out the small, sharp knife she had brought with her, and started cutting the twine.
“Why did the monkeys tie you up?” Minli asked.
“Because I want to go farther into the forest to the peach grove,” the dragon said, “and the monkeys will not let anyone through. I have been trying to make them let me pass peacefully for days, but they are so unreasonable. Finally I told them if they did not let me through, I would just force my way. They know I am big and strong enough to go through without their permission, so when I went to sleep, they tied me up.”
“Why won’t the monkeys let anyone pass?” Minli asked.
“Because they are greedy things,” the dragon said. “They have just discovered the peach trees that make up the next part of the forest. The monkeys do not want to let anyone through because they do not want to share the peaches. Even when I promised not to touch any of the fruit, they would not let me through. They do not even want to share the sight of those peaches.”
“Why do you have to go through the forest?” Minli asked. “Can’t you just fly over?”
More tears, the size of lychee nuts, rolled down the dragon’s face.
“I cannot fly,” he sobbed. “I do not know why. All other dragons can fly. But I cannot. I wish I knew why.”
“Don’t cry,” Minli said, patting the dragon, feeling more sorry for it than ever. “I’m going to Never-Ending Mountain to see the Old Man of the Moon and ask him how to change my family’s fortune. You can come too and ask him how to fly.”
“You know where Never-Ending Mountain is?” the dragon asked. “I thought to see the Old Man of the Moon was impossible. You must be very wise to know how to find him.”
“Not really,” Minli said. “I got the directions from a goldfish.”
CHAPTER
11
It took a long time for Minli to cut all the twine that bound the dragon. For some knots she had to swim underwater and cut through the waving grasses. As she popped in and out of the water, cutting, she told the dragon all about her village, the goldfish, and how she had just started her journey.
“I’m Minli,” she said to the dragon, “What’s your name?”
“Name?” the dragon asked slowly. “I do not think I have a name.”
“Everyone has a name,” Minli said. “When you were born, didn’t someone give you a name?”
“When I was born?” the dragon asked, thinking hard.
“Yes,” Minli said, again thinking that this dragon was very different from any dragon she had ever heard about. “What did they call you when you were born?”
THE STORY OF THE DRAGON
When I was born, I remember two voices speaking.
“Master!” one voice said. “This is magnificent—the dragon is almost alive!”
“Add more water to the inkstone,” another voice said. This voice was near my head, I felt the warm air of his breath. “And speak quietly. You will wake the dragon.”
“I am sorry, Master,” the first voice said in a more subdued tone. “It is only that this painting is most amazing, even for such a skilled artist as you. This dragon painting will bring great honor to the village when we present it to the magistrate.”
“Wasted on the magistrate,” the master said under his breath, so softly that only I could hear. “A conceited, self-important man, who, when only the imperial family is allowed to use the image of a dragon, commissions one. Now that his son has married the king’s daughter, Magistrate Tiger will do anything to flaunt his power and overstretch his authority. But this painting will buy his favor and free the village from his unfair taxes.”
“What, Master?” the apprentice said.
“Nothing,�
� the master said, “only that I have painted this dragon on the ground, not flying in the sky like all other dragons. Perhaps the magistrate will see how his wealth weighs him down.”
“I doubt the magistrate will understand that meaning, Master,” the apprentice said.
“True,” the master said, “but the dragon should still please him. I will prepare for his visit. The painting is finished. Clean the brushes and take great care with my special inkstone. It is one of a kind, the only inkstone that was able to be made from a rock my master cut from a mountain far from here. He never told anyone which mountain, so we can never make another.”
“Yes, Master,” the apprentice said. “But the dragon…”
“Yes?” the master said.
“Is it finished?” the apprentice asked. “You have not painted the eyes.”
“As a painting, it is finished,” the master said. “Young apprentice, I still have much to teach you.”
And I heard the voices and footsteps fade away. It was a strange feeling. I felt the warm light of the sun running over my skin, but my arms and legs were frozen. I could hear the wind rustling leaves in the trees and birds hopping on the ground but I saw nothing.
Time passed; I only knew because the air grew colder. I heard footsteps coming toward me, many of them, so I knew it was a whole procession of people.
“As you requested, Your Magnificence,” a voice said—I recognized it as the master’s, “may I present this, which I humbly painted in tribute to the great magistrate’s rule.”
There was a silence as all gazed, I supposed, at me.
“Painter Chen,” another voice said, in great awe, “this is indeed a great work.”
“Thank you, Magistrate,” the master said, “I am glad it pleases you. Then our agreement will be fulfilled?”
“Yes,” said the voice, “the village will be free from taxation for the next year. And I will take the painting.”
Even though I did not know exactly what was going on, I knew I did not want to belong to Magistrate Tiger. His voice had an undertone of cruelty and greed, even while he was expressing his pleasure. I tried to protest but my still lips uttered no sound. Then I was rolled up and all sound and feeling disappeared.
I do not know how long I was rolled up. It might have been a day or a month or a year. All I could do was wait. But finally I was unrolled and I felt a cold gust of air all over me. If I could have, I would have shivered.
“This painting is a masterpiece!” a voice said in surprise. Then it quickly turned oily and flattering. “As only fitting for your greatness.”
“Yes,” Magistrate Tiger said, “have it hung behind my chair.”
“Yes, Magistrate,” the voice said, and then hesitated and said, “How strange.”
“What’s strange?” the magistrate asked.
“Well,” the voice said, “there are no eyes on this dragon. The painter must have forgotten.”
“No eyes!” the magistrate boomed. “Painter Chen dared give me an unfinished painting! I will double tax his village for the next ten years!”
“Magistrate,” a third voice said, one that seemed a little kinder, “it is only a minor flaw. If we just dotted in the eyes, the dragon would be finished.”
“Hmm, yes,” the magistrate said, obviously considering. “Bring me a paintbrush and ink.”
I heard the servants shuffling and bringing the paintbrush and ink. I felt the magistrate’s hot, dry breath on my nose as he came close to me and felt the cold ink touch my eye and, suddenly, I could see! I saw the magistrate’s fat face leering over me as he reached over and dotted in my other eye.
As sight came into both my eyes, a warm feeling filled me—like drinking hot tea on a cold day. I felt strength come into my arms and hands and legs and feet and my neck and head stretched for the first time. All the loud yells I had wanted to make now came rushing out of my mouth and I gave a huge roar that made the magistrate fall over.
“It has come alive!” I heard him gasp and I heard the servants screaming, “Dragon! It has come alive! Dragon!”
I knew this was my chance to free myself from Magistrate Tiger. I jumped from where I was and rushed over everyone, knocking down desks and chairs and columns. I saw the blue sky and green leaves through a window, went toward it, and simply crashed through the wall to get through. As I left, the building was falling down and all the people were yelling. “Dragon!” they screamed. “Dragon!”
I knew I had to leave as soon as possible, so I ran as fast as I could into the forest and left them far, far away. I have lived in the forest since then.
“So I think,” the dragon said, “my name is Dragon. Because that is what everyone called me.”
“Dragon,” Minli repeated, and she tried not to smile. “Well, I guess it’s a good enough name. It will be easy for me to remember.”
The dragon nodded, pleased to have found himself a name.
“So you were born from a painting!” Minli said. “That explains why you are so different from the dragons my father told me about.”
“Your father knew other dragons?” the dragon asked eagerly. “I have never seen another dragon. I always thought if I could fly, I would finally see another like me.”
“Um, well,” Minli said, “I don’t think my father ever knew any dragons. He just told stories about them. Most people think dragons are just in stories. You are the only dragon I’ve ever met.”
“Oh,” the dragon said sadly, “and I am not even a real dragon.”
All this time, Minli had been cutting the twine ropes. At that very moment, Minli cut the last rope and rubbed the dragon’s arm. “You’re the only dragon I’ve ever met in real life,” she said, “and you feel real to me. So, I think you’re a real dragon. Or, at least, real enough. Anyway, if we’re going to Never-Ending Mountain together, let’s at least be real friends.”
“Yes,” Dragon agreed, and they both smiled.
CHAPTER
12
The goldfish man turned around and smiled questioningly at Ma and Ba, who could do nothing but continue to stare. He was slender and small, which was perhaps why it was easy to mistake his footprints for Minli’s. The dragging lines Ma had thought were from Minli’s walking stick led to his cart, and the bowls of goldfish caught the sifting beams from the sun, slivering it into flashing sparkles of light. The goldfish man’s eyes also flashed, as he looked at Ma and Ba and their dust-covered clothes and haggard, tired faces.
“Can I help you?” he asked them.
“We were looking for our daughter,” Ba stammered. “We are from the Village of Fruitless Mountain.”
“You sold her a goldfish, and then,” Ma sputtered, “and then she ran away to change our fortune.”
“I see,” the goldfish man said, and again, he looked at them—at Ma’s tight, angry frown and Ba’s careworn, worried face. “And you are going after her, to stop her?”
“Of course,” Ba said. “We need to bring her home.”
“Yes,” Ma said. “She is acting crazy. Who knows what could happen to her?”
“She could succeed,” the goldfish man said steadily. “She could find a way to change your fortune.”
“She’s trying to find Never-Ending Mountain!” Ma said. “Ask questions to the Old Man of the Moon! There is no way for her to succeed.”
“Yes,” Ba said, “it’s impossible.”
The goldfish man looked a third time at Ma and Ba, and this time they felt it. Under his gaze, Ma and Ba suddenly felt like freshly peeled oranges, and their words fell away from them. Inexplicably, they felt ashamed.
“Let me tell you a story,” the goldfish man said.
THE STORY OF THE GOLDFISH MAN
My grandmother, Lao Lao, was a famous fortune teller. People from faraway villages would line up at our home, asking for lucky dates for weddings and predictions for their children. If she was ever wrong, we never heard of it.
But a week before my nineteenth birthday, we heard her moaning i
n her room. When we rushed to her, we found her sitting on the floor with her fortune-telling sticks spread around her. To my surprise, as soon as I entered the room, her piercing eyes fixed upon me.
“You,” she said, “you will die next week on your birthday.”
It was as if she had exploded a firecracker in the room. My parents and aunts and cousins burst into exclamations and wails. “It is true, it is true,” my grandmother insisted, “I have checked and rechecked over and over again. And the sticks always say the same. Next week, on his nineteenth birthday, he will die. That is his fortune.”
I could not believe it. How could this be? But my belief in my grandmother was unshakable; if she said so, it must be true. I stood staring as my family created a storm around me. Finally I said with a mouth as dry as sand, “Lao Lao, isn’t there anything I can do?”
“There is only one thing you can do,” she said, “but it is doubtful it will work.”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
“First,” Lao Lao said, “we must get a bottle of the finest wine and make a box of sweets.”
So Lao Lao went to the rich magistrate of the town and persuaded him to give her a bottle of his best wine. My mother and aunts hurried to the kitchen and prepared cakes, cookies, and sweetmeats with more care than ever before. Before the aromas of the delicacies were captured in our most ornate box, they floated in the air, causing all the neighborhood animals to whine at our door.
And then Lao Lao went to her room and began to read her fortune sticks. When she came out, she gave me the box of sweets and bottle of wine and sat me down.
“Listen to me carefully,” she said, “you must do exactly as I say. Tomorrow morning, you must walk north of the village. Do not stop until the moon begins to appear in the sky. When it does, you will see a mountain before you, and at the foot of the mountain you will see an old man reading a book. Open the box of sweets and bottle of wine and set them by him, but do not say a word unless he speaks to you first. This is the only chance we have to change your fortune.”
