Some we do not even get to look down at, for they never even reach halfway. But even though we do not see them, we hear about them. Perhaps the Mountain Spirit whispers in our dreams, or maybe the moon cannot help showing us when we close our eyes.

Such is the story of the last ruler who tried to visit our mountain. This ruler began his trip after the start of the winter, a winter that came early and harshly with winds that whipped and screamed at the mountain peak. When his ministers timidly suggested waiting until spring, he refused.

“I want everyone to see I am the destined ruler,” he said, lifting his head above them, his gaze toward the sky. “Even the Old Man of the Moon.”

So, in his best-built sedan chair and with his strongest servants and warmest furs, the new ruler traveled to the mountain. By the time they arrived at the village at the foot of the mountain, all the horses were spent and the servants exhausted. They were all grateful that tradition called for the ruler to mount the cliff alone, for the mountain can only use its powers for one person at a time.

And so he began to climb. But as soon as he was out of sight, gusts of wind and snow, as if kicked from the stone beneath, flew up at him. He was struck and slapped with small, sharp pebbles, and the snow blinded him. He tried to continue, stumbling and thrashing, but a large rock tripped him and he found himself sprawled on the ground. As he sat himself up, he heard laughing. He glanced around quickly, his hand on his sword, but saw only rock and snow.

“You dare laugh at me?” the man shouted. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do,” a mocking voice said in his ear. The man whirled around but again saw nothing. “But do you know who you are?”

“Of course!” the man retorted, drawing his sword.

“Do you?” the voice teased. “Were you a man transformed into a green tiger or were you a green tiger that was transformed into a man? Will you ever know?”

The man bellowed his fury and swung his sword into swirling snow, only to hear laughter again in his ear.

“Trying to fight the snow?” the voice mocked him. “You best get used to it! You are stuck with winter until you let go of the Black Tortoise.”

The ruler swung his sword in the other direction, squinting through the threads of snow.

“You poor mortal,” the voice said with contempt.

“Poor!” the man shouted, outraged. “I am not poor!”

“You are so poor you had to steal a bite of a long-life peach,” the voice said in scorn. “And even that was not enough for you. The Iron Rod, the power of the Black Tortoise… what else have you stolen?”

“Everything is mine!” the man shouted. “I am ruler!”

“You are a thief,” the voice said in disdain. “Poor mortal.”

“I am ruler!” the man bellowed. “That is who I am!”

But his words were thrown away by the wind. “Poor mortal,” the voice whispered, and the stone under his feet jerked and jolted, flinging him down again. The mountain seemed to swell and break, tossing the man so he reeled and rolled. “Poor mortal,” the mountain murmured. The words repeated again and again, twisting inside his head as he fell. Finally, the ground stopped moving, and the mountain gave one last faded whisper. “Poor mortal.”

The ruler sat up. He was at the foot of the mountain. His servants and a crowd of villagers surrounded him, staring. He glared and ordered that they return him to his palace immediately.

He was soon in his sedan chair, his servants carrying him again on the arduous road. “The tortoise must never escape,” they heard him mutter to himself as they panted. “I can surround it with stone, just in case it slips the Iron Rod… reinforce it with great deeds… I will not be a poor mortal!”

And when they reached the palace, even before he had stepped out from behind the curtains of the sedan, the ruler was already calling out orders.

“I want a wall built,” he said. “A stone wall around the entire kingdom, with special reinforcements I will oversee.”

“A wall of that size…” one of the ministers began, and stopped in nervousness.

“It’s for protection,” the ruler said, his eyes dangerous. “Begin at once.”

And so it was done. Work began on the wall, a wall so vast it could span the sea. Mountain villagers, as if being punished for the ruler’s humiliation, were forced to work on it—many dying in the harsh cold. But no one dared to complain or protest. For after the ruler had returned from the mountain, all finally saw the madness in him. It was a cruel, ruthless madness, and it made them shiver more than a bitter, endless winter.

The emperor stood, shoving aside his bowl and chopsticks. The small table fell, the crashing and shattering of dishes making Pinmei jump. Everyone except Yishan fell to their knees as the emperor pushed his way off the sedan chair, his eyes glittering.

“That was quite an interesting story,” the emperor said, his voice dangerous.

Pinmei felt her words disappear. The emperor was moving closer, like a stalking animal. His eyes pierced hers, and Pinmei began to tremble.

“Tell me,” the emperor said, “is that the end?”

Pinmei opened her mouth, but instead of speaking, she stared. For in the falling light, she could see what had glinted from the emperor’s collar. She had seen it before, under the emperor’s green soldier’s uniform. That metal pin! Now Pinmei could see it was sticking out of some sort of dark embroidered image. Was it a…

“Because,” the emperor said with the beginning of an ominous roar, “I think you…”

But he stopped, for a silver light began to shine upon him. The emperor switched his gaze to Yishan, or rather to Yishan’s upheld hands. Just as if he were cupping the moon, a clear, soft brightness spilled from his hands and poured into the sky. The Luminous Stone was lighting the night.

“It glows!” the emperor said, his eyes widening. “It is the stone!”

The crowd gasped and, as the guards loosened their hold, Amah yanked off the gag. “Yishan! Pinmei!” she cried out. “He doesn’t want the stone! It’s a trap!”

CHAPTER

71

The guards growled, and one of them struck Amah a brutal blow. She crumpled to the ground. Pinmei screamed, and her scream froze in the air, along with her legs.