In tones of sympathy and interest, the Guardian offers more Jade Sap. It is accepted.
The former Undersecretary places the sky-coloured pearl in a position that completes the encirclement of three of the Guardian’s black ones; he removes them from the board and piles them with the others he has won. ‘I needn’t bore you with the details of all the rest of it, but in short the mother gets worried and Lady Guan-yin gives the necklace back to her as a sign of comfort, but the mother takes it into her head to send it to the human realm by that vermilion dragon, who somehow gets it to a companion of the daughter, a runaway who returns it to the foolish girl at last. Still with me?’
The Guardian nods. He finds the story’s convolutions, its criss- and double-crossings, as bizarre as those of the lives that humans lead. For that very reason, it is curiously fascinating to this dweller in the clouds.
‘You’d think by now the sprite-girl would figure out the necklace is important,’ the former Undersecretary goes on. ‘But no, she’d practically forgotten she had it, last time I checked. The silly female seems to think she wants to spend her life in one courtyard, spinning and weaving. How’s she ever going to finish doing what she sets out to do that way?’ He shakes his head and grunts again.
The Guardian selects a fine black pearl and holds it closer to the lamp’s alpen-glow light. ‘But what does the whole thing mean?’ he inquires pettishly.
The former Undersecretary is developing a headache. He stares at the forkings and the conjugations of the chains of pearls upon the Go board. His eyes begin to lose their focus. In truth, he prefers the straightforward look of the empty board’s neat grid to these twisting fragments of a web. ‘You wanted the story,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’
Beneath the Waters
When the last word of the poem is written, the lake opens wide to take the two young women in. A dry path appears between the waves, leading from the island’s shore towards unknown depths. Greenpearl and Second Daughter run downhill from the shrine and stand at lake’s edge, bemused.
Let Cavegarden spread its watery gates for you as well. Don’t be afraid of that pull to go beneath the waters, where the mother waits. Suspend your disbelief and enter in.
A thunderworker swims up, gestures towards the pathway along the lake bottom, and indicates to Greenpearl and Second Daughter that they must close their eyes and step forward. The humans obey. Their feet seem to float from the unseen path, yet the two breathe easily. Soon, they find themselves in a light-dappled garden of waterweeds outside a glimmering mother-of-peari villa. The thunderworker waves them inside and bows farewell.
They enter a great audience hall, raftered with sea amber and walled with brilliant living corals. Upon a throne of nacre, the Dragon Monarch sits, scales a-glitter in the light of paired moon-pearl lamps. A few carp-courtiers linger in an alcove, and a brace of eel dancers awaits the Monarch’s pleasure. The mortal women kowtow. The Monarch greets them with a courteous nod.
‘Second Daughter, someone will come with news for you,’ the Monarch says. And then: ‘Greenpearl, you should know I gave that pearl you wear now to your mother, Seagem, who passed it on to you. You may as well address me as Grand-mama.’
For yes, the Dragon Monarch is a queen, you know. But a mistake – if indeed you made one – is understandable. Even the good people of the Tang lost sight of the gender of many of the ancient womanly deities of the watery deeps, letting it be leached out, or covered over in fatherly Confucian guise. And yet, archaic truths remain; here, you have read a history of what has been submerged.
As for Greenpearl, she is pleased at the Monarch’s kindliness. But she will no longer be distracted from her goal; she has learned the danger of falling into the old traps of self-doubt and despair. ‘With all due respect. Your Majesty,’ she begins in formal tones, ‘I’ve come to set my mother free.’ She stands like a proper swords woman, balance easy, legs firm. And though Second Daughter feels a great reluctance to quarrel with the Monarch, she is loyal to her sworn sister and takes a solid stance beside her.
‘Ahh.’ The Dragon Monarch responds with what later generations will call mandarin irony. ‘That’s well enough. If she chooses to be freed.’ Before Greenpearl can respond to that last, puzzling comment, the Monarch adds, ‘First, however, I fear I must inform you of one rule. Uninvited humans are welcome here for a night, but then you must return to your own realm.’
Greenpearl finds the prohibition pointless. She is not one to lose her sense of courtesy, however, despite her newly strengthened purpose. She makes a silent bow to indicate compliance, relieved to learn that she will not be captured. Why would she want to stay?
To send one’s soul soaring among the Kun-lun mountains to the Western Motherqueen is no easy thing, even for a spiritually advanced Lady of the Tao. Far more difficult to send one’s body, too, and to choose some other destination. But aided by White Aureole’s teachings. Jade Clarity has arrived at Sparker’s cave on Flower Mountain. The tousle-haired hermit sees her exquisite form descending through the morning fog, breaks into a belly laugh, and runs to greet her.
The two converse in tones that are not quite the dispassionate ones you might expect of holy recluses. She thanks him for his assistance; he expresses his gratitude for all she taught him when he came to Darkdazzle Vista. Then Sparker winks at her and jerks his head.
‘Back there,’ he says, ‘beyond that bend in the cave, I recently discovered a tunnel leading downwards. I’ve never stepped inside it – seems to me my place is here. But perhaps you ought to have a look at it.’
Jade Clarity’s eyes widen, but she says nothing. This reunion has been pleasant, but Flower Mountain is not the place she was trying to get to. What, she wonders, is the meaning behind Sparker’s teasing smile?
He guides her to the tunnel’s mouth. A dim, silvery light seeps out, spilling itself in an irregular pool at their feet. A soft roaring sound trickles into their ears. Jade Clarity cocks an eyebrow. Sparker grins and nods his head.
From the depths of Cavegarden Lake, such tunnels branch throughout the porous earth, linking sites of spiritual power, providing access for a few lucky mortals to immortal realms. Jade Clarity’s pale hands clasp each other. She bids farewell to Sparker and begins her descent. At the first bend, she looks back. Sparker ducks his head and grins again. Farewell.
There she sits, the longed-for mother. Her brow is smooth, her bearing proud. Her eyes shine, moist with love. ‘First Daughter!’ Seagem cries, choosing from all the young woman’s many names the one she herself gave her.
For long moments Seagem embraces this child she has cherished from afar. Without the daughter’s difficult journey, without the mother’s painful lessons, this union could not have been the joyful thing it is: could the Seagem who kept to her father-in-law’s house in Chang-an have loved a concubine’s child in this same unfettered way? And how would that spoiled, uncultured hoyden have turned out, suddenly confined to the women’s quarters of a good family’s house? But here, and now, such happiness is possible.
Seagem has kind words too for Second Daughter; the farmer’s runaway child soon curls beside Greenpearl at the mother’s feet. Then looking up, Greenpearl finally notices who sits on the dais with Seagem. She backs away, surprised and shocked.
Seagem’s right hand tenderly holds that of her dear husband, the Hsiao River Princeling, while her left palm presses lovingly against the inner thigh of a vermilion-clad gentleman, her new Second Consort, on her other side. For just as the nameless mother who gave Greenpearl birth – her father’s Iranian concubine, dead in Khotan when the daughter first drew breath – was reborn to a new life as a peasant girl, was captured, and became first a mute dancer and finally a shamanka (yes!), just as Greenpearl’s second mother, who gave mild and loving scoldings and praise for childish songs, was finally redeemed from her attachment to the flesh, redeemed by the blissful oceanic union of ghost and medium, of Nanny and Baby (yes); so this third mother, the mother of Green
pearl’s heart, having cast off the old restraints, has been released into her own desires. Yes.
Hasty introductions are made. Uncle and nephew beam agreeably at their stepdaughter: the Hsiao River Princeling has learned to be less possessive; the vermilion dragon, more genteel. The Princeling sends a serving fish to fetch hot towels with which the weary travellers may refresh themselves. The vermilion dragon calls for wine all round.
Greenpearl forces herself to review her own past, struggles to accept the dragon-realm’s free and easy ways. That is not so difficult, in fact; but there is another, harder thing. She has come so far to rescue her mother, and now Seagem. seems quite happy. Is it possible that she will not want to leave?
Soon, mother and daughter sit together, alone in the little study where Seagem’s writing-desk now stands. Greenpearl bites her lower lip.
‘…But all that’s got better now,’ Seagem concludes. There are moments, of course, when he feels neglected, or when my Second Consort gets too boisterous,’ She shrugs. Faced with the child she dreamed of – no, not child, but nearly grown-up woman – she feels the old constraints. What would they think of her in Chang-an, not just twice married but with a lover at her side?
Greenpearl tries to display a look of understanding, remembering how Baby’s jealousy set the two of them apart. And with that tolerance, she gives her mother the greatest gift she could. Yet she is still troubled. ‘You truly want to stay here, don’t you?’ Greenpearl asks.
When Greenpearl first asked that question, handing her empty wine cup to a serving fish, the gentleman in vermilion roared – literally – with laughter. The Princeling smiled a smile of wan delight. Even Seagem shook her head, as if afraid that she too would shame her daughter with an escaped laugh, then hushed her with the promise of this private talk. Now the mother looks at Greenpearl, heartsick at what she knows she has to do. ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I do.’
The old Greenpearl would have retreated into depression, or at best into dreams. But she has gripped a stars word and has left the safety of a weaver’s life. ‘It’s really what you want?’ she asks; then, reading Seagem’s face, says, ‘So. At least I know you’re happy. When morning comes, I’ll go.’
Thus, quietly, she makes the break. The mother can do nothing, only nod when Greenpearl adds, ‘Of course, I have to. The Dragon Monarch made that clear.’ Both fall silent, brooding on the one word not spoken: where?
A carp-courtier summons mother and daughter to an impromptu banquet arranged by the Dragon Monarch. At first, they feel rather stiff, each determined in her course, each regretting that those courses will carry them apart. Greenpearl sits close to Second Daughter, and they start to tell the tale of their adventures. The atmosphere eases a little.
Seagem breaks an awkward silence with a question. ‘That scroll the Western Motherqueen sent you, daughter, years ago. The Amah gave me her word that it was what you needed. Whatever happened to it?’
The scroll! Greenpearl has not looked at it for almost a year. Perhaps the meaning is finally to be revealed. Second Daughter meets her glance, eyes alight with anticipation.
Greenpearl draws the little roll of cloth from the folded pocket of her sash. She loosens the strings that hold the scroll closed and unwinds a length. Alas, a greyish ink wash stains her fingers: the water here in the dragon realm cannot be distinguished from the purest air, but during the raft ride to the island mundane waves on the surface of Cavegarden Lake rinsed away the writing. Only a few faint signs can still be discerned.
And Greenpearl sees that she can read them now. ‘Look, I sister!’ she cries. ‘It’s in the women’s script. See? This one’s “mother” and, look, here’s “jade”, and “pearl” I think, and…’ Her voice trails off. Whatever words once made their way along that road of silk, Greenpearl decides, they’re gone forever now. Seagem is aghast. She looks over towards the Monarch’s throne.
‘I think,’ the Dragon Monarch says, her voice brisk and sensible, ‘we’d best do something about that dripping mess.’ She picks up a mallet of silver and strikes a limestone gong. ‘His Excellency, my Minister of Fictive Histories, will help us out.’
An instant later, the Minister, a huge river tortoise, enters. He bears an ornate basin on his back. ‘Rinse the scroll in that,’ the Monarch says. Greenpearl obeys. Then she and Second Daughter stretch the blank length of heavy silk between them, as they did so many times at Widow Chian’s. They shake it, hard, and snap it smooth. No one in the Mother-of-Pearl Villa objects to a few flying drops of dense water from the terrestrial realm; indeed, one of the eel dancers come to entertain them titters sybaritically at a cool splash on his skin.
The Monarch strikes the gong again, and two carp-courtiers bring in a drying frame. The human women drape the cloth upon it. Finally, Greenpearl collects herself and turns to the Minister of Fictive Histories to offer thanks.
‘So, Parrot,’ the Minister says, stretching out his long leathery neck and fixing his beadlike eyes upon her. ‘Is that all you have to say to your old friend? I thought you’d be happy to see I have an official position at last.’
‘Feng!’ cries Greenpearl, recognizing the light, cultivated voice if not the face. She throws her arms around that long neck, and in an instant Second Daughter is there beside her. Tears of joy fall from six eyes.
‘I have your lady mother, Seagem, to thank for my rescue,’ Feng says. ‘Her magic mirror showed me helpless on the Yangzi’s floor. She pitied me and ran to beseech her gracious mother-in-law to save me with a spell. After my transformation, the Monarch was pleased to grant me office in her court.’ He pauses to bow towards the throne as only a stately river tortoise can, then turns back to the two women.
‘And look!’ He wriggles and shimmers and stands before them, handsome, smiling, a man again. ‘I can return to human form when I want to, but I’m fond of both.’ At that, the two nearby eel dancers break out in chuckles – one high-pitched, one low – and Feng tilts an eyebrow in their direction as ironically as any courtier in Chang-an. Then he rests one hand lightly on Greenpearl’s shoulder. ‘I hope, dear Parrot, you’ll be staying on? I think you’ll find life better here than in the human realm.’
Poor Greenpearl feels a decided pang. She remembers, as clearly as if she smelled the sweet spice of clove daphne blooming along the upper Yangzi, the afternoon when she lay down with Feng. She breathes out slowly and looks at her feet.
A dainty cough: Nephrite’s slender figure steps out from behind a cockleshell screen. Greenpearl gasps, and the two embrace. All those around them murmur happily, though Feng looks a bit put out. But perhaps he thinks of his frolics with the eel dancers, for he puts that look aside.
Nephrite’s tale tumbles out, interrupted now and then by introductions and questions and explanations from the others. Feng beams when he hears of Sparker’s new freedom as a hermit. ‘Without the request the Flower Mountain Hermit made to that moonmaid,’ Nephrite says, facing Parrot, eyes aglow, ‘I might never have seen you again!’
‘Ah, loyal Sparker.’ Feng sighs like a sage, or nearly so.
Amid sounds of general agreement. Nephrite gestures towards Second Daughter with a cool white hand. ‘And for you, the Moon Lady’s message is this: you will obtain your heart’s desire.’
The face of the farmer’s runaway daughter is faintly hopeful, guarded. The Lady of the Tao smiles a delicate smile. In exchange for the goddess’s aid to Greenpearl, Nephrite explains, Seagem promised to select and train a human to take the place of the seventh moonmaid when White Aureole moved on to her new position. ‘The Moon Lady felt a human woman should make the choice, you see – a matter of perspective, I suppose. At any rate, one night Seagem’s mirror showed her your face. So she found out all she could about you, and sent you the pearl necklace that started you off adventuring as companion to her daughter.’
Second Daughter fixes her gaze upon the mother, willing what she thinks Nephrite is about to tell her to be so. Seagem nods.
As the two w
atched over one another on their travels. Nephrite continues. Second Daughter learned the skills – the perseverance, the faith in her own strengths, the love of what the writing-brush can do upon the page – that she needs to become a pupil of the Lady on the moon. ‘I believe you’d find that pleasant?’ Nephrite concludes, and smiles again.
Second Daughter’s face is beautiful in this moment, with a beauty beyond that of the smooth complexion she doesn’t have, or the high-arched brows she does. In her audience with the Moon Lady, she asked only to be allowed to learn to read and write. Later she told herself to be content with what she’d been taught at Widow Chian’s. Now, she knows, a great library lies open to her, reams of the finest paper, and all the time she needs. She nods her quick assent.
Only Greenpearl fails to feel unmitigated delight at this turn of events. ‘I’ll miss you, sister,’ she says, and wonders how she’ll manage alone.
In her gleaming fastness, upon a throne of purple ice, the Western Motherqueen strokes the brilliant feathers of a blue-black raven. The bird croaks, hopping up and down the Amah’s arm. It cocks its head and fixes one beady eye upon a slip of paper lying on the silver table at the goddess’s side, beside a plate of beautifully rounded, blush-pink peaches.
The paper holds birthday greetings sent by the Dragon Monarch to the Western Motherqueen this very morning. Ten thousand natal felicitations to the Metal Mother, embodiment of the occult nebulae of the western enigma, origin of the ultimate yin!’ it begins.
Now, her celebrations having abated with the fall of evening, the goddess has prepared a return message for the Dragon Monarch. She ties to the bird’s leg an even smaller slip of paper, rolled to the fineness of a straw. It bears merely six lines, piled on one another: one yielding, two firm, another yielding, two more firm. This ancient hexagram will help the ruler of the dragon realm understand the proper course of action in the present situation.
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