by Grace Lin
So the next morning, I followed her instructions and it was as she’d said. I walked all day and when the sun finally withdrew from the sky, there was a vast mountain in front of me whose tip seemed to touch the moon. Sitting cross-legged at the bottom was an old man, reading a giant book. The light from the moon seemed to make him glow silver. I opened the bottle of wine and box of sweets and quietly laid them next to him. Then I sat and waited.
The old man didn’t notice me and continued to read. My mouth watered as the smell of the sweets drifted in the air, but I didn’t move. And even though the old man was engrossed in his book, he must have smelled them as well because, without lifting his eyes from the page, he began to eat.
It was only when the bottle of wine was empty and he was eating the last cake that the old man lifted his head. He seemed surprised to see a half-eaten cake in his hand.
“I’ve been eating someone’s food,” he said to himself. He looked up and saw me sitting nearby. “You, boy, was this your food?”
“Yes,” I said, and I came closer as he beckoned.
“Well,” he said to me, “what are you doing here?”
I told the old man my story while he rubbed his beard. When I finished, he said nothing but began to turn pages in his book. Finally, he nodded.
“Yes, it’s true,” the old man said. “You are to live only nineteen years.”
And he turned the book toward me and in the moonlight, I read my name on the page. Next to my name was the number nineteen.
“Please,” I couldn’t help asking, “isn’t there any way to change it?”
“Change it?” the old man asked, surprised at the thought. “Change the Book of Fortune?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Well,” the old man said, stroking his beard, “I am indebted to you for having eaten your food.”
He took a paintbrush from his robe and studied the page. “Hmm,” he said to himself, “maybe if… no… perhaps… Ah! Yes, this is how it can be done!”
And with a simple flick from his brush, he changed the nineteen to ninety-nine. “Good,” he said to me. “You now have many more years of life. Live them well.”
Then, he closed his book, stood up, and began to walk up the mountain, leaving me staring behind him. I sat there until he disappeared from sight and then turned around and went home.
The next week, on my birthday, there was a terrible typhoon. The wind howled as it never had before and a tree fell right on top of the roof of our house and crashed into my room, narrowly missing me. If it had fallen just a bit more to one side, I would have been easily killed. But as I climbed out of ruins of my room, I saw my grandmother’s eyes staring into mine. Silently, she nodded. She did not need words to tell me what had happened. I knew my fortune had been changed.
“But for Minli to try to do that is different,” Ba started. “She’s trying to find Never-Ending Mountain… ask a question… she’s just a small girl…”
“Perhaps,” the goldfish man said, “you need to trust her.”
“But,” Ma said, “but what she wants is impossible.”
“Impossible?” the goldfish man said. “Don’t you see? Even fates written in the Book of Fortune can be changed. How can anything be impossible?”
Ma and Ba could find no words. His eyes and the hundreds of eyes of the goldfish behind him seemed to silently scold them. As they looked at the ground, the goldfish man shifted back his bag and turned toward his cart.
“Here, a gift,” the goldfish man said, placing a bowl into Ba’s shaking hands. The fish, the pale silver color of the moon, circled in the bowl. “Perhaps if you cannot trust that your daughter will find Never-Ending Mountain, you should trust that she will return home to you. Because that is not impossible. So, whether Minli brings it to you or not, I wish you good fortune.”
And with a bow, the goldfish man walked away; his bowls of goldfish cast pieces of rainbows in the air, making him sparkle in the sun. Ma and Ba stood and watched him until he looked like a twinkling star in the distance.
CHAPTER
13
After cutting the dragon free, Minli’s knife was dull and the skin on her fingers and toes was wrinkled from having in the dragon’s lake of tears for so long. She was also very thirsty.
The dragon offered to carry her to the freshwater stream. He knew the forest well. “You’ll get there much faster,” he said.
Minli was a little doubtful about riding the dragon. It was one thing to climb on top of him while he was half covered by water, but now on dry land she realized how large he really was. The dragon was long, as long as the street in front of Minli’s house. If he stretched himself up on his arms and legs, he was as tall as a bird’s nest in a tree, she realized. Even now, bending down for her, he was higher than her house.
But he bent his elbow for her like a step and with two hands, she boosted herself up and then climbed onto his back. The round ball on the dragon’s head was the size of a small melon, just big enough for her to wrap two hands around, and she clutched it as the dragon began to move.
It was faster, but not much. The dragon was nimble, but his large body had to constantly maneuver around trees and rocks, so it was awkward going. The constant jerking made Minli feel like she was riding a huge water buffalo. As the dragon ducked underneath branches and swerved through trees, Minli understood why most dragons flew.
“Dragon,” Minli asked suddenly, “how old are you?”
“Old?” the dragon said, and again it seemed a question he had never been asked. “I do not know.”
“Well,” Minli said, “how long have you been in this forest?”
The dragon thought hard. “A long time,” he told her. “I remember when a bird flew from the sky and dropped a peach pit onto the ground. I watched that pit grow into a tree and the peaches fell from the tree and more trees grew from the pits of those peaches until it became the grove of peach trees that the monkeys have now taken over.”
He is very old, Minli thought to herself, imagining the growth of the trees. Dragon must have been in this forest for a hundred years. And she felt a pang of pity as she imagined the dragon, alone, unable to fly, endlessly struggling between trees and branches.
After picking up her things and drinking at the fresh-water stream, Minli climbed back onto the dragon’s back. She soon fell asleep, her head on the dragon’s ball and her hand holding her rice bowl. Noticing she was asleep, the dragon moved slowly and quietly, even when the water from Minli’s compass splashed and trickled down his nose.
It was only when a loud shrieking filled the forest that Minli woke. It was such a wild and harsh noise that she bolted up, her eyes wide open in fear.
“Do not worry,” the dragon told her, “it is just the monkeys.”
And it was the monkeys—even though the sun was dimming, Minli could still see the monkeys clamoring in the trees. Even though Minli could not count that many of them, their screaming made it sound as if there were thousands.
“We are getting close to the peach trees,” the dragon told Minli, “and they are getting angry.”
“Stop here,” Minli said. She climbed off the dragon’s back and she could still see the monkeys through leaves and branches, their bared teeth flashing.
“Those peach trees are exactly the direction we want to go,” Minli said. “We have to get past the monkeys.”
“I could still force my way through, but the monkeys would attack you,” Dragon said. “I am not sure if we could get you through unharmed. Listen to them.”
And the monkeys continued to scream. Minli covered her ears with her hands, but she could still hear them. It seemed like they were screeching, “Get away from here!! Ours! Ours! All ours!”
“You’re right,” Minli told the dragon. “They are not going to let us through.”
“But you said that is the way to the Old Man of the Moon,” said the dragon. “Correct?”
Minli nodded. The monkeys’ shrieks were starting to sound li
ke hysterical laughter, getting louder and louder like a volcano about to erupt. She looked from side to side but the monkeys seemed to be everywhere. There was no way around them.
“Then,” the dragon asked, “what are we going to do?”
CHAPTER
14
Minli and the dragon had sat in the clearing and made camp for the night. As the sun fell and the moon rose, the dragon showed her how he could make sparks by scratching his claws against a stone, and they built a small campfire. As Minli and the dragon made no moves to go farther into the forest, the monkeys had quieted down. But they still watched.
“There are plenty of peaches for all,” Dragon said. “Those monkeys do not have to be so greedy.”
“Really?” Minli asked.
“Yes,” Dragon said, “the monkeys are so foolish. They just want more and more even when they do not need it. I have seen them refuse to let go of rotten mushrooms and fight over piles of mud.”
At those words, Minli sat up and her eyes flashed with quick thinking. Piles of mud. Suddenly, Minli remembered the two children fighting over their piles of mud as she had left her village. Instead of going inside for dinner, the children had clung to their pretend dishes of dirt. They were so foolish. Could the monkeys be that foolish? They were too selfish for trading or bribes. But maybe they were so greedy that they could be foolish enough to be tricked? Maybe if she… “I’m going to make rice,” Minli said abruptly.
“Oh,” the dragon said, “you must be hungry. Too bad we cannot get you some peaches.”
“It’s not for me,” Minli said, and she smiled mysteriously. “It’s for the monkeys.”
“The monkeys?” the dragon said. “Why? If you mean it as a gift or as a way to bribe them, it will not work. They will take it and eat it, but they still will not let you through.”
“That is what I am expecting,” Minli said as she filled her pot with water and uncooked rice. She was bursting to tell Dragon her idea, but wasn’t sure how much the monkeys understood of their words. She looked at him with sparkling eyes, but he only stared back blankly.
“You are?” the dragon said. “I do not understand.”
“Don’t worry,” Minli said, and with her eagerness she felt like the water she was boiling. “I think I know how we can pass the monkeys.”
The dragon watched as Minli stirred the big pot of rice. Through the rising steam, he could see the beady eyes of all the monkeys glittering through the branches like hundreds of diamonds as they watched as well. “The monkeys are watching,” he whispered to Minli.
“Good,” she whispered back, “I hope they are.”
When the rice was done, the pot was overflowing with snowy white rice. It was so heavy that to take it off the fire to cool she had to ask the dragon to move it for her. Minli had the dragon place it very close to the trees where the monkeys were watching. Then, Minli tied her fishnet over the rice and pot.
As Minli and the dragon turned away, they could hear the monkeys chattering.
“That fishnet will not stop the monkeys from taking the rice,” the dragon said. “It is tightly woven, but their hands will probably fit through.”
“I know,” Minli said as she put out the fire. “Let’s pretend that we think the rice is safe and we are letting it cool.”
Though puzzled, the dragon nodded. They placed themselves a far distance from the rice, yet still within sight, put out the fire, and pretended to go to sleep.
But Minli could not help peeking. Though she tried to lie still, she was filled with excitement. Would her plan work? Would the monkeys take the rice?
In the bright light of the moon, the monkeys glanced slyly at them and stole over to the rice. The dragon was right; just as he’d said, the fishnet could not keep the monkeys from the rice. Their slender hands slid through the holes of the fishnet and each grabbed two big fistfuls of rice. But as the monkeys tried to carry the rice away, the net caught them. The holes in the net were large enough for their empty hands to fit through, but not large enough for their full fists!
The monkeys screamed and pulled; and Minli and the dragon no longer pretended to be asleep. They couldn’t help laughing as they watched the monkeys struggling to punch the air and each other with their trapped fists.
Minli quickly packed her things and the monkeys screeched and shrieked as they passed. The heavy pot of rice shook as the monkeys fought violently to get free. But the fishnet was strong and well woven, and since the monkeys were too greedy to let go of the rice, Minli and the dragon entered the peach grove and continued through the forest.
CHAPTER
15
Ma and Ba sat in front of a small fire that Ba had built. Their disappointment at not having found Minli forced them to admit their exhaustion, and they had slept under the canopy of tree branches during the day, leaving their silver goldfish as a guardian.
By the time they’d awakened, it was late afternoon, but neither of them made any attempt to move. Neither spoke, but both knew they were unsure whether to go forward or go back.
While the sun burst into multicolored flames on the horizon, its last wave goodbye before surrendering to the night, Ma handed Ba a bowl of rice porridge. Neither of them spoke as they ate, both thinking about the goldfish man’s words. Should they let Minli try to change their fortune? Should they stop looking and, like the goldfish man said, trust her? Ba sighed.
“Trying to find Minli is like trying to find the paper of happiness,” Ba said aloud to himself.
“What paper of happiness?” a voice said. Ba looked sharply around. Who had said that? He looked at Ma, but she continued to stir her porridge, obviously unaware. Ba shook his head. Perhaps his weariness was making him imagine things.
“Tell the story, old man. She’s listening,” the voice spoke again. “She won’t admit it, but she wants to hear it too.”
Ba looked around again. It seemed like the voice was coming from… the goldfish? He looked closely at the bowl. Was it the firelight that made it glow like that? The fish stared back at him calmly, as if waiting. So Ba took a deep breath and began the story.
THE STORY OF THE PAPER OF HAPPINESS
Once, a long, long time ago, a family grew famous for their happiness. It seemed odd that this would happen, but they were truly an unusual household. Even though aunts and uncles, cousins and grandchildren lived together, there was never a cross word or unhappy noise. All were polite and thoughtful to each other; even the chickens did not fight each other for feed. It was said even the babies were born smiling.
Stories of their happiness spread like seeds in the wind, sprouting and blooming everywhere, until finally even young Magistrate Tiger heard of them. Even though he had just begun his position (this was before his son was born), the bellowing, roaring magistrate was already called Magistrate Tiger. “Impossible,” he scoffed. “The stories are exaggerated. No family can be that happy.” But even so, he was curious and sent an emissary to the family to observe.
The emissary returned, awed. “Your Magnificence, it is just as the stories say,” he said. “I observed the family for a full moon and not one sad or angry word was even whispered. The adults are loving and faithful, the children are gracious and respectful, and all honor the grandfather with an esteem that rivals the gods. Even the dogs do not bark, but wait patiently to be fed. The family circle is one of complete harmony.”
“That’s impossible,” the magistrate said, astonished. But as he thought about it, the more he began to wonder. What was the secret that the family had? They must have some magical charm or hidden knowledge. And this began to irritate him. He began to covet the family’s happiness. I am the magistrate, he thought. If there is a secret to happiness, I should have it.
So he called his emissary to him and presented him with an empty, heavily encrusted chest and a company of soldiers.
“Return to the family,” Magistrate Tiger ordered, “and tell them that I want the secret of their happiness put in this box. If they do n
ot do so, have the soldiers destroy their home.”
The emissary did as he was told. When the troop of soldiers surrounded the house, the family looked fearful. But when the magistrate’s demand was announced, the grandfather smiled.
“That is easy enough,” he said, and he had the trunk brought into the house and returned in moments. “It is done. I’ve put the secret of our happiness inside the box,” he said, “and you may take it. We hope it serves our magistrate well.”
The emissary was slightly surprised at the ease of his task, but could find no objection, so turned the soldiers and the box around and began to travel back to the palace.
The emissary knew the magistrate would be impatient for his return, so the soldiers marched through the night, with only the light of the moon to guide them. The treasure box, lying on a platform carried by four men, seemed to glow.
However, as the ground grew rocky and steep, a sudden wind blew—like the mountain itself was yawning. One of the soldiers stumbled in the rising dust, and the box crashed to the ground. The lid of the box flew off and, like a freed butterfly, a single sheet of paper fluttered out.
“Get it!” the emissary shouted at the soldiers. “Don’t lose the secret!”
But despite his yells, the paper seemed to be able to escape the soldiers’ flailing arms. One soldier almost caught it, his very fingertips touching the page, but another sudden wind burst through the air and stole it away. Silently, the emissary and the soldiers watched the paper lift higher and higher in the night sky, until it overlapped the moon and disappeared.
The emissary had no choice but to return to the palace with an empty box. As he relayed the story, Magistrate Tiger, not surprisingly, was enraged.
“You lost it! It was a paper?” the magistrate roared. “What was on it?”
