The Dreamweavers Read online

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  一 CHAPTER ONE: The Dreamweaver

  二 CHAPTER TWO: The Duel

  三 CHAPTER THREE: The City of Blossoms

  四 CHAPTER FOUR: A Notable Festival

  五 CHAPTER FIVE: The Revenge

  六 CHAPTER SIX: Disappearing Act

  七 CHAPTER SEVEN: The Curse

  八 CHAPTER EIGHT: Before the Gates

  九 CHAPTER NINE: The Moon Children

  十 CHAPTER TEN: Ghosts and Rabbits

  十 一 CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Temple of Fire

  十 二 CHAPTER TWELVE: Voyage Through the Sky

  十三 CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Chefs and Chopsticks

  十四 CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Two’s Company, Three’s a Crowd

  十五 CHAPTER FIFTEEN: A Royal Act

  十六 CHAPTER SIXTEEN: The Phoenix Seal

  十七 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Magical Library

  十八 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Connections

  十九 CHAPTER NINETEEN: Dice of Destiny

  二十 CHAPTER TWENTY: The Dream World

  二十一 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Curse Reborn

  二十二 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Dreamfishing

  二十三 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Dream Dumplings

  二十四 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: The Final Test

  二十五 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Reunion

  二十六 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: The Dream Fishers

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2021 by G. Z. Schmidt

  All Rights Reserved

  HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  Printed and bound in July 2021 at Maple Press, York, PA, USA.

  www.holidayhouse.com

  First Edition

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Schmidt, G. Z. (Gail Zhuang), author.

  Title: The dreamweavers / G. Z. Schmidt.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Holiday House, [2021] | Audience:

  Ages 8-12. | Audience: Grades 4-6. | Summary: “Twin siblings journey through the City of Ashes and visit the Jade Rabbit to save their grandpa in this Chinese folklore-inspired fantasy adventure”—Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021002191 (print) | LCCN 2021002192 (ebook) | ISBN 9780823444236 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780823450251 (ebook)

  Subjects: CYAC: Folklore—China—Fiction. | Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. | Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Twins—Fiction. China—History—Ming dynasty, 1368-1644—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S33618 Dr 2021 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.S33618 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021002191

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021002192

  ISBN: 978-0-8234-4423-6 (hardcover)

  For Grandma

  CHAPTER ONE

  一

  The Dreamweaver

  Many moons ago, there was a small village in the mountains of southern China. During the day, the village was like any other scattered across the country. But sometimes at night, just past bedtime, a remarkable thing would happen there.

  It would happen after the firewood cooled beneath kitchen stoves, after oil lamps winked out behind windows, one by one; after conversations in each house dwindled to drowsy whispers and a breath of quiet swept across the sleepy village. It was a time when even the rowdiest children gave up their struggle to stay awake.

  In the sky above, soft clouds would nestle the bright moon as its white light smeared the glassy waters of the Pearl River nearby, where schools of colorful fish slept beneath the smooth surface.

  None of the villagers would be awake by the time a mysterious figure emerged on one of the drifting clouds.

  But if any of them happened to sit up and glance outside, they’d see the hunched figure carried what looked like a fishing rod.

  Yet this was no ordinary fisherman.

  The man would sit cross-legged on the edge of the cloud, his silhouette illuminated by the bloated moon behind him. He’d dangle the rod in the air and then cast a line, as easily as if he were fishing from a rowboat on the river.

  For the next few hours, he’d quietly reel in his invisible catches and place them carefully into a porcelain jar.

  Then, as silently as he had appeared, he’d vanish into the shadows.

  None of the villagers ever laid eyes on him, or on the mysterious things that he placed in his jar.

  But I have, from my quiet home on the moon above.

  And I’ve seen two children with him on those clouds. One boy and one girl.

  CHAPTER TWO

  二

  The Duel

  Ming Dynasty, 1500s A.D.

  Mei pointed her weapon upward like an umbrella. With her strong pose and steady concentration, the twelve-year-old could almost pass as a warrior from the Imperial City—that is, if the warriors wore tunics, used knobby branches as swords, and were forced to wait an eternity for their dueling partners to present themselves.

  “Hurry up, Yun,” she sighed.

  “Wait,” replied Mei’s twin brother, who approached slowly, holding a similar wooden branch. He fumbled with the stick, trying to find the best way to grip it between his fingers. “There’s a proper way to hold this in combat, in order to maximize the length of the blade. Well, the imaginary blade,” Yun corrected himself matter-of-factly. “This, of course, is merely a substitute for a real sword—”

  “Come on! I’ve been waiting for five minutes.”

  “All right, all right.”

  Yun took his place so that the pair stood opposite each other in the shade of a willow tree beside the Pearl River. They were identical in terms of age and most features—dark eyes, straight black hair, lightly toasted skin—but their personalities were as different as night and day. Mei was the impatient one—adults often said she was as restless as an ant on a frying pan. Yun was the careful, cautious one who adults said moved at an ant’s pace.

  Above the willow tree, the sky was a pale blue, the morning sun unusually warm. The calendar said late autumn, but the air felt like early summer. The yellowing grass tickled the twins’ bare feet. The siblings, however, didn’t have time to appreciate the weather. More important things were at stake that morning. They’d made a bet earlier that whoever lost the duel had to give the winner their share of desserts for a week. As the Mid-Autumn Festival was two days away, a loss meant missing out on their grandpa’s famous batch of mooncakes.

  And that was out of the question.

  “All right, on the count of three.” Mei readied her stance. “One...”

  “...two...” counted Yun.

  “Three!”

  They swung their sticks. Wood bounced off wood. Mei separated easily and jumped forward, her black braids swaying. Her branch sliced the air and hit Yun’s knee. With a yelp, Yun tumbled backward.

  “Well, that was easy,” said Mei.

  “That’s not fair,” protested Yun, rubbing his backside. “You know I’m nearsighted.”

  Like most of the other villagers, Mei and Yun’s family were too poor to afford eyeglasses. Yun had grown accustomed to navigating with blurry vision, and most of the time it wasn’t a big deal. But certain endeavors, like dueling, avoiding mud puddles, or counting approaching horses, proved tricky.

  Mei rolled her eyes. “We were standing inches apart, not miles!” She also noted it was odd that Yun claimed to be blind as a bat, yet was sharper than an owl whenever the bedsheets at home weren’t perfectly symmetrical, or when Mei’s dish had two more bean sprouts than Yun’s.


  “That’s different,” replied Yun, who prided himself on his precision and neatness. “It’s much easier to see what stands out when it shouldn’t. Anyway, let’s start over. This time, we’ll give me a three-second head start.”

  “Why?”

  “The extra three seconds make up for my lack of good eyesight, and subsequent reaction time. It’s only fair. No, wait. Actually, four seconds is better.”

  “Four? You’d have me beaten in four!”

  After several more minutes of arguing, the twins decided to call a temporary truce until they figured out a new way of determining a winner. Yun lay down in the shade, thinking, while Mei began climbing the willow tree.

  Mei was a good climber—the best in their village. She had a lightweight build and was quick on her feet. She could tell which branches were the sturdiest and identify invisible grooves for footholds. By the time Yun looked up, his sister was already high above the ground.

  From the tree’s canopy, Mei could see past the village. The Pearl River snaked around a bend and continued into the surrounding hills and mountains. The nearest place, the City of Ashes, was a day’s journey away by foot.

  Nobody in their right mind would go there. It was rumored to be a dreadful area, full of burnt buildings and empty houses. Haunted, too. Strange happenings had been reported by those who had passed the city’s outskirts: accounts of footprints appearing where no one had walked, and the sound of crowds sobbing where there wasn’t a single soul in sight. Travelers told of a gray fog that weighed down the city, casting the place in an eternal cloud of woe.

  When Mei and Yun were toddlers, Grandpa used to tell the children stories about what he knew of the City of Ashes in its olden days. He’d describe in his hushed voice the city’s once-magnificent buildings, how the sloped rooftops had been gilded with intricate designs, how the trees there would blossom into brilliant shades of pink in the spring. Grandpa used to tell these stories, back before Mei and Yun came to realize that their parents had disappeared behind the city’s walls. After that, it became a sore subject.

  Mei climbed back down the tree and plopped next to her brother. They observed a fat beetle in the grass for a few moments; the bug appeared to be sleeping in a wisp of a bright blue cloud.

  “Let’s go check on Grandpa,” suggested Mei, who grew bored quickly. “He probably has the first batch of mooncakes ready. We might as well eat while we think of a new contest.”

  They went back up to the village, which thrummed with life as the new day got underway. Farmers headed toward the fields with baskets balanced on their shoulders. Young adults bearing axes headed toward the mountains, from where they’d later return with freshly chopped firewood. Toddlers played with sticks and rag dolls on porches. Mei and Yun raced down the dirt road, greeting each villager by name. Everyone knew one another in the small community.

  “Hi Mao-Mao! Hi Po! Good morning, Madam Hu—sorry, we have to go, Grandpa is expecting us!” they added before the nosy woman could trap them in one of her hour-long gossip sessions.

  They hurried toward their small wooden house at the end of the lane. A familiar, sweet smell drifted out the open kitchen window. As the twins burst through the door, they saw their grandpa taking out a steaming hot pan from the stove. When he saw the two children, he grinned.

  “Impeccable timing,” he remarked.

  The mooncakes gleamed. Each one had a beautiful, swirling pattern etched on the crusty top. The twins’ mouths watered at the sight of the little golden pastries. Beneath the kitchen table, their fat gray cat, Smelly Tail, yowled hopefully. When Mei and Yun were four, their mother had brought Smelly Tail home from the fields, where she’d rescued the cat from a pack of angry dogs. The cat had distrusted the family at first, hissing at anyone who came close, but she hung around for Grandpa’s cooking. She’d been living in their kitchen for the last eight years, better fed than any other cat.

  It didn’t surprise the family that Smelly Tail stayed. Grandpa was the best cook in the village. It was said that anything and everything turned to magic on Grandpa’s earthen stove. Fishermen often dropped by with a bucket of freshly caught carp for the family in exchange for a piping-hot bowl of Grandpa’s soup. Same with farmers, who came to the door with extra baskets of vegetables and left with steaming plates of fried rice.

  But Grandpa’s mooncakes were the best of all. Every month on the full moon, he created a batch of mooncakes for the whole village to share. They were made from his secret recipe that not even Mei and Yun knew. Sometimes the cake filling would taste sweet, like honey. Other times it had the crisp, toasty taste of sesame. Whatever the filling, whenever anyone ate one, their day would visibly brighten. Whether someone was sad about the loss of a pet, or frustrated with a neighbor, or worried about the crops, every little problem seemed to vanish after eating Grandpa’s mooncakes. Grandpa claimed it was due to a special ingredient, which he never revealed.

  The twins plopped down at the rickety wooden table to the side of the hearth. The kitchen wasn’t large. Grandpa’s clay bowls and utensils cluttered what little space there was. Connected by a narrow entryway was the rest of the house—one bedroom for Grandpa, one bedroom for Mei and Yun to share, a small washroom, and the room that the twins’ parents had once occupied. This last room was now empty save for piles of old scrolls and forgotten belongings.

  “You two had breakfast less than an hour ago,” said Grandpa, wiping flour from his gray hair. “I’m starting to feed you as much as I feed Smelly Tail here. Yet you both are still as skinny as a pair of willow rods.”

  “Dueling is hard work,” answered Yun.

  “Yes, all three seconds of it,” chimed in Mei with a slight eye roll.

  Grandpa chuckled lightly. “Well, I’m afraid these mooncakes have to sit for two nights before they’re fully ready. Right now they’re all flaky.” His eyes swept over the twins’ eager faces. “But I suppose you can have a taste.”

  He took a pair of chopsticks and carefully cut off a small chunk from one of the crumbly cakes. The inside oozed black sesame paste. Grandpa made a wait motion with his finger. He carefully put the piece of mooncake into his mouth and closed his eyes.

  “Not bad,” he said after a moment. “Of course, I haven’t added the secret ingredient yet. Saving that for the final batch. But I trust they will impress the emperor’s son.”

  “The emperor’s son?” repeated Mei and Yun.

  Grandpa nodded. It was clear he was trying to act nonchalant, but his crinkled smile gave him away. He pulled up the last chair and sat beside the twins. “Yes, it seems word of my mooncakes has reached the Imperial City. Several envoys arrived a month ago to let me know the emperor’s favorite son is attending our Mid-Autumn celebration to personally sample them.”

  Mei and Yun exchanged a startled glance. This was huge news. Their small village was one of those insignificant places that mapmakers could barely trace, and rarely got visits from high government officials.

  “And you kept this a secret from us the whole time?” exclaimed Mei.

  “I don’t remember the envoys,” added Yun.

  “They came by one morning when you were in the orchards—spending more time eating plums than picking them, I might add,” said Grandpa with a grin. “The whole village knows.”

  “What if the emperor’s son likes your mooncakes so much that he asks you to work as the emperor’s personal cook?” asked Mei excitedly. “At the palace headquarters?”

  “The Imperial City,” murmured Yun, chewing his fingernails—a habit he did whenever he was nervous or excited, or both. The twins had heard many fantastical stories about the Imperial City, where all the high officials and the emperor lived. Their father, who had been a scholar before his disappearance, had briefly lived there in his younger days. He was the only person in their village who had done so.

  “Baba once told me the palace has tens of thousands of valuable scrolls,” Yun said dreamily.

  “And plenty of people I could
properly duel, I bet,” said Mei. “You’d move there if they asked you, right, Grandpa?” she added.

  Grandpa chuckled again. “That’s a lofty goal for some, but not for me. I have no intention of moving from my village, my home.”

  No one really knew how long Grandpa had lived in the village. He claimed to have been there when the village had only three houses and the surrounding trees had been mere saplings. He was certainly old (though not as old as their neighbor Elder Liu, whose skin was so wrinkly it resembled a prune). Whenever Mei or Yun tried to guess Grandpa’s real age, he’d smile and say he was “just old enough to keep going.”

  Grandpa carefully cut two more chunks off the mooncake for Mei and Yun. “Eat up, and once you’re done, Madam Hu told me she needs help preparing the festival lanterns,” he said. As the twins groaned in unison, he reminded them gently, “It’s important we all play a part in the community.”

  Each year, the Mid-Autumn Festival caused a great stir of excitement among the villagers. Families would cook large meals from the season’s harvest, and Farmer Jao would roast his fattest pig for the occasion. It was a time of gratitude. The entire village would celebrate together under the moon and stars, laughing and eating and dancing to music, until they finished off the night with Grandpa’s famous mooncakes. The moon that night was always the brightest and roundest of the year.

  Mei and Yun went outside. There were even more people milling about than before, preparing for the festival. The village had already started to put up decorations two days in advance. A group of small children were carrying baskets of chrysanthemum petals they’d gathered from the riverbed. Several teenage boys lugged wooden pillars to the entrance to hold the golden banners.

  They saw Yun and sneered, as they usually did, “Get lost, runt. This isn’t a task for wimpy, fog-brained scholar boys.”

  Yun felt his face heat up. Before he could say anything, Mei tugged him along. She didn’t want her brother to launch another one of his embarrassing, longwinded retorts that never worked to stop the bullies, who would also turn on her soon enough if they didn’t get moving. “Ignore them,” she whispered, throwing the teenagers a dirty look. “They’re just insecure. Come on, let’s go find Madam Hu.”