The Dreamweavers Page 8

  “I suppose we can try going through the history scrolls at the palace library,” Yun said, his voice faltering. “Baba always talked about it being a treasure trove of every single thing recorded in China. They don’t just let anybody in, though.”

  “We’ll have to break in, then,” Mei said slowly. “If it’s a treasure trove of records, they’ll have records of executions along with everything else.”

  “But if we get caught, we’ll be jailed and executed ourselves.”

  “Or worse,” chimed in the Jade Rabbit conversationally. “It will indeed be dangerous, but I believe you children are uniquely equipped for this task.”

  The rabbit saw the looks on their faces and told them, “Throughout history, there have always been people who were not deterred by fear of punishment, because a greater purpose called. Follow the greater purpose.”

  It held up its paws and conjured a pool of bright white light—moonlight, it looked like. The glow surrounded the three of them. The next thing Mei and Yun knew, they felt weightless, and were being lifted slowly into the air like floating lanterns.

  Up and up they went, higher and higher, until their feet were in line with the city’s rooftops. Yun flailed his arms, muttering under his breath, “This is not good, this is not good.” Mei, meanwhile, laughed and shouted, “This is better than climbing trees!”

  They rose past a drifting cloud. The twins felt their weight return, and their bodies bounded downward. Before either of them could release a scream, the cloud moved beneath them, and their feet landed on the soft white puff. They stood in the sky, breathless and stunned.

  “This cloud will take you straight to the Imperial City,” the Jade Rabbit said. “You’ll arrive in a day. The cloud will protect you from the elements—heat, cold, rain, even snow, though I do not believe you’ll encounter any.”

  Yun and Mei patted the cloud. Its delicate white wisps brushed against their skin.

  “This isn’t a dream, right?” sputtered Yun, rubbing his eyes.

  “No, it is not a dreamcloud,” replied the Jade Rabbit. “It is simply a cloud of the sky, with a little additional magic from the moon.”

  “No, I meant, am I dreaming?”

  “You’re as awake as I am. And now, I wish you well. Remember, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” The Jade Rabbit suddenly extended its front paws and gently held Yun’s hand, then Mei’s. It pressed its tiny nose against their fingers. “It has been wonderful meeting you children.”

  The realization that the Jade Rabbit was leaving them jolted a series of questions from each twin.

  “Wait!” said Mei. “Can you tell us more about—about dreamweaving—”

  “—and Lotus’s husband’s crime—” added Yun.

  “—and our parents?”

  “Patience is a virtue. At the moment, all these questions are extra baggage. You shall discover the truth of all these matters soon enough, but for now, focus on your primary task.” The rabbit gave them a small nod. “Good luck. I sensed greatness in you the moment we met.”

  With that, the Jade Rabbit disappeared in a shimmer of white. The cloud began carrying the twins away from the City of Ashes.

  Most birds, if you ask them in a way that you both understand each other, will agree that flying is an exhilarating experience, and they cannot understand how humans and other creatures put up with moving about so slowly. As the cloud carried Mei and Yun across the sky with surprising speed, as the wind whipped their hair back and the stars twinkled overhead, the twins began wondering the same thing.

  “I’ll never walk again!” Mei shouted above the wind. There was something extraordinary about being on top of the world, and seeing the distant cities and hidden villages sprawled on all sides. A small part of her had always longed to travel to new places. Just like her parents had.

  She gripped the cloud and leaned over the edge to watch the trees, rivers, and mountains pass by. It was just like the tales of the fabled Monkey King and his magic cloud, which he used to traverse the skies. From the cloud’s height, only the highest mountain peaks loomed over them, large impressive cliffs of bare rock with sprouts of vegetation along the top. The cloud navigated around these hazards expertly.

  “You’ll still have to walk after this is over,” Yun replied. He sat in the very middle of the cloud, with his legs curled tightly under his arms. His face was somewhat green.

  “Just close your eyes and go to sleep,” Mei called back, exasperated. “I’ll let you know when we arrive.”

  As the cloud flew through the night, dawn broke on the horizon. The sky grew pink, then orange, then pale blue. The trees, waters, and mountains slowly regained their colors. Because the Imperial City lay to the north, the already cold air got even colder the farther they went. But the Jade Rabbit had been correct in that the cloud offered ample protection. It stayed toasty warm beneath the twins’ bodies, as if it had soaked up all the sun’s rays, and the two siblings could stretch parts of it over themselves like a heavy blanket. They sat against the cloud, drifting past large, green fields of rice paddies, watching the red-and-orange tinged trees of the north roll into view, floating past the occasional flock of geese heading south for the winter.

  By noon, their exhilaration wore off. They ate a quick lunch of leftover buns, then finally dozed for several hours (they’d only slept a wink the night before, after all). Around mid-afternoon, as they were flying over a seemingly endless range of brown mountains with snow-capped peaks that extended even higher than the mountains back home, they began discussing Grandpa’s mysterious jar.

  “Do you think Grandpa was a dreamweaver, then?” Mei guessed.

  Yun looked down at his bag, which still held their grandfather’s prized possession. He nodded.

  “So I was right about him using magic,” Mei said triumphantly. “It wasn’t just a metaphor.”

  “Okay, yes, you were right,” said Yun. “But it raises a plethora of questions.” He squinted, shielding his eyes from the sunlight that gleamed off the snowcaps. “Question one: Why did Grandpa keep this secret from us? Question two: Why was he collecting nightmares? Question three: Did our parents have this ability?”

  Mei rummaged in Yun’s bag and took out the porcelain jar. Most the contents inside had leaked out in the City of Ashes, but there was still a puff of flashing green-and-black clouds left at the very bottom. She thought of the colored mists they saw growing up in the village—mists that their mother had seen, too. That explained one thing, at least.

  “Mama saw the dreams like we did,” she said quietly. “Maybe that’s one of the reasons she and Baba were drawn to the City of Ashes. Maybe she was attracted by its ‘essence,’ as the Jade Rabbit said.”

  “Maybe,” Yun repeated doubtfully. He liked to avoid jumping to conclusions until he had every piece of factual evidence assembled in front of him. “Dreamweaving aside, that’s odd the curse spilled over to our village, isn’t it? Lotus seems to think it’s confined within the premises.”

  “Lotus seems to have no clue what’s happening outside her city,” Mei snorted derisively. “All she knows is her grudge against the Noble General.”

  Yun, deep in concentration, didn’t respond for a few moments. “The Jade Rabbit asked if anyone unusual visited our village,” he said finally, with his eyes closed.

  “Yes, I know,” said Mei. “And we said the emperor’s son had.”

  “Don’t you see, Mei?” Yun said, his eyes now open and widening in excitement. “Anyone traveling from the Imperial City to our village would have to pass by the City of Ashes on their way!”

  “You’re saying the emperor’s son set off the curse?”

  “Yes, or someone in his entourage! That must be why the Jade Rabbit asked us about it. Somehow, his passing by must have brought the curse to our village, like water spilling from an overflowing pot.”

  Mei raised her eyebrow. “I thought he was kind of weird,” she remarked. “Remember how he was speaking in riddles
toward the end of the night?”

  “That might’ve been because of Lotus’s magic, too,” answered Yun. “I don’t know.”

  “Great, so we know Lotus hates him for some reason, too,” said Mei flatly. “Who else does she hate? Our parents? They didn’t even do anything to her.”

  “Well...” Yun tried to keep his voice steady. “At least now we know why they never returned.”

  After a somber silence, they decided to focus on the task at hand. They began to plan out what they’d do once they reached the palace. Somehow, they would need to navigate the imperial court undetected. The twins tried to rack their memories of all the things their father had told them about life in the Imperial City. They thought of his anecdotes about stern officials and joking guards, about royal children who sometimes got up to mischief. He’d told them how at the palace, poor scholars were afforded privileges that they could never have dreamed of elsewhere.

  Out of all of Baba’s tales, their favorite was actually the story of how he left the palace life: of the spring he’d traveled south to research the villages around the Pearl River, and how he’d met Mama one night by the river, under the moonlight. He had known right then and there that he wouldn’t be returning to the Imperial City.

  “We’ll have to disguise ourselves as servants,” decided Mei, recalling Baba’s descriptions of the hundreds upon hundreds of attendants and laborers who kept the palace running and the emperor happy. “Blend in with the people at the palace, maybe pick up some information that way. We’ll have to avoid any sharp-looking officials, though.”

  “Agreed,” said Yun. “And like I said before, we should try the Imperial Library. It’s our best bet for finding more information about Lotus’s husband and his trial.”

  “It might actually be doable,” said Mei, lying back on the cloud.

  “Yes,” Yun agreed, in spite of himself.

  The twins felt calm. Their earlier worries had evaporated. Now that they’d been exposed to the exhilarating ride, now that they knew the Jade Rabbit was on their side (even if the creature didn’t officially say so), now that they had a plan, they felt a renewed surge of confidence.

  That’s the funny thing about confidence. Your situation, if you look at it, is oftentimes the exact same as before. The only things that have really changed are your own thoughts on the matter.

  By dusk, the capital came into view.

  The large rectangular palace complex within the city looked impressive even from a distance, enclosed by four red walls and a moat. It was at least five times larger than their village, and appeared bigger even than the City of Ashes. The cloud slowed and lowered. The twins peeked over the edge at the neat rows of yellow roofs and numerous complexes outlined inside the walls. They floated past the main southern gate, which was flanked by guards.

  “That’s a lot of space for the emperor to live in,” called Mei above the wind.

  “But it’s not just the emperor who lives there,” Yun called back. “He’s got officials, guards, servants, and his entire family.”

  “I know that, but even so, there’s probably more space than is needed by all those people. This could fit our village ten times over.”

  “If you ruled the land, you’d want to live in an enormous fortress, too. To stay safe from your enemies and all.” Yun pointed to a cluster of buildings near the entrance that had black rooftops. “There’s the Imperial Library!” Even with his poor eyesight, he could see how the structure stood out in the midst of yellow-gold roofs. “Baba said it’s the only building whose roof is painted black. Fireproof, so it protects the scrolls and books inside against flames.”

  Two giant bronze statues stood on either side of the marble stairs to the pavilion: a dragon and a phoenix, both mid-flight. Yun said he’d once read about art symbolism in some of Baba’s scrolls. “The emperor is usually represented by a dragon,” he explained, “and the empress is represented by a phoenix.”

  “We can admire the art some other time, Yun,” Mei said. “Right now we have a job to do. Okay, cloud. Stop!”

  The cloud kept drifting.

  “Stop!” repeated Mei, stamping on the cloud.

  The twins took turns shouting instructions at the cloud. It stopped moving just above a large slanted rooftop in the middle of the city. It lowered itself toward the roof, farther and farther, until Mei and Yun were just a jump away. This must be their cue.

  Clutching their bags, they hoisted themselves over the cloud and landed on the golden rooftop. As soon as their feet touched the log-like tiles, they found themselves sliding dangerously down the slanted edge. Even Mei, who had climbed numerous trees with ease, had trouble keeping her footing on the slippery slope. Yun yelled as he lost his balance.

  Mei’s lightning-fast reflexes kicked in, and she grabbed a carved golden phoenix that adorned the ridge with one hand and gripped her brother’s hand with the other. They climbed back onto the tiles and tried to regain their stability.

  “This is impossible to climb,” gasped Mei.

  “Probably to prevent infiltrators like us from getting up here,” answered Yun. “Clever architecture, if you think about it.”

  They carefully slid from the top roof to a secondary one below. Once there, they leapt toward the smooth platform and landed with a thump. After stopping to catch their breath, they looked back at the enormous building they’d jumped from.

  They stood before a regal red structure, with columns as big as trees stretching in both directions. The twins were reminded of the Temple of Fire, except this building did not have an austere, abandoned appearance. Rather, it looked warm and inviting, though there was no doubt it served an important purpose. Soft light shone from behind the checkered-patterned windows. Running parallel underneath the slippery roof were wooden beams decorated with sweeping paintings of gold and teal dragons. The twins glanced at each other. A gleaming place such as this must be reserved for none other than...

  “The emperor is waiting!” called a pair of voices behind them.

  The twins turned to see two harried men in long gray robes and blue jackets running up the staircase. Mei and Yun jumped behind one of the columns just in time. With racing pulses, they watched the men disappear inside through the open doors.

  “Now what?” Yun whispered. Now that the siblings were off the magic cloud and actually in the midst of things, they felt their fears about their task returning. “Blending in is all well and good, but how—”

  Before Yun could continue, another voice spoke. A kid’s voice. The twins slowly turned to the source and found themselves staring at a small boy hanging from the top of the pillar. The boy wore expensive-looking silk robes and a smug grin. He dangled both their bags in his hand.

  “Well, well,” he called down. “You’re either thieves or beggars. Whom should I alert?”

  The boy jumped to the ground with effortless nimbleness. He was no larger than Mei or Yun. His hair was knotted in a small bun on top of his head. In his left hand he carried a pointy bamboo stick, the tip of which was sharp enough to impale someone. He held up the weapon menacingly while proudly telling the twins that he’d whittled it himself.

  “That’s great,” Mei said with forced enthusiasm. She figured the longer she and Yun stalled the boy, the likelier it was that they could escape. “My brother and I—we love dueling with swords.”

  “With real swords?” said the boy with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh, yes. We’ve been dueling since we were little.”

  The boy narrowed his eyes. “Prove it. You look like nothing more than a pair of peasants.”

  “We’re expert sword fighters,” Mei said, trying not to feel the sting of the boy’s comment. “We left our weapons at home, unfortunately. We’ll go get them, then meet you back here, okay? Can we get our bags back?”

  The boy sliced the air with the bamboo stick several times. “What do you take me for, a baby with an ox’s brain?” he mocked.

  “Oxen are quite clever, and their br
ains would be too big to fit inside an infant’s head,” Yun said matter-of-factly.

  The boy stabbed the stick into one of the bags, ripping the fabric. Yun lunged for the bag. Whoosh! The bamboo stick swung dangerously close to his face, and he jumped back in alarm.

  “Look, we’ll prove who we are,” pleaded Mei. “Just give us back our stuff, and—”

  Rapid footsteps sounded behind them. Another man in a gray robe and blue jacket was there. The twins realized the outfit must have been the dress code of the palace servants and made a mental note for later. The man ran up to the boy and said urgently, “Move along, we need to get you dressed for the banquet.”

  “Shuffle off and choke on a fishbone,” the boy snapped. “I’m busy.”

  Mei and Yun were speechless. Never had they ever spoken to an adult like that, not even to Madam Hu. If a child talked like that to an elder back at the village, he or she would get whacked with a cane.

  The man, however, didn’t seem fazed. “Forgive me, Master Fu-Fu,” he replied with a slight bow. (Mei and Yun gawked at each other—master?) “But the banquet starts in an hour. The emperor requires your presence.”

  “I don’t want to see Uncle. He has plenty of other people to keep him company.”

  The servant seemed exasperated. His head bobbed from side to side, as if searching for a solution to pop out of the air. That was when he noticed Mei and Yun more closely.

  “Are you two new?” he said suspiciously. “You’re not from the maids’ quarters, are you?”

  “Yes!” Mei said, just as Yun sputtered, “No.”

  Fu-Fu smirked. “They’re with me.” He pointed the sharp bamboo stick at Yun. “The boy is supposed to clean my chamber pot later. The girl can clean my room.”

  Before either Mei or Yun could protest this arrangement, one of the men who had passed by earlier joined them. He had a pointy face and a mustache and beard, and was a head taller than the other man, though that partly may have been due to his unusually long neck. His demeanor reminded the twins of an angry crane.