When the Sea Turned to Silver
Page 45
The judge, after the fury of losing the chicken subsided, comforted himself with his roomful of golden eggs. But soon after, a terrible smell came from the judge’s residence. The servants finally traced it to the judge’s locked room. When he opened the door, all almost fainted from the foul odor. The room was full of rotten eggs.
Even more enraged, the judge called for Liang to be brought to him. But Liang had left the village long ago. On the day he had painted the chicken, he had hurried home, said goodbye, and, after painting a giant crane, jumped on its back, and flown away.
Liang changed his name to Chen, hid his brush, and found a great master artist to study under. When he grew to manhood, he finally took out his magic brush again. But he made sure he never finished any of his paintings so they would not come to life. His horses’ eyes were never dotted, his fish’s scales were incomplete, and his figures were missing a shoe. However, even with these flaws, his artistry became renowned. All acknowledged Painter Chen as the master of all masters.
And it was as such that he was approached for a painting by a powerful magistrate. The magistrate did not recognize Painter Chen, but Liang recognized him as the young judge, now much older.
“Painter Chen,” the magistrate said, “I commend you on your work on my son’s project. The paintings in the Long Walkway are beautiful to behold.”
“Thank you,” Painter Chen said. “I still have much to do. I plan to paint every beam and ceiling placard.”
The magistrate frowned as he watched the painter.
“You are painting that beam with water!” the magistrate said. “No one can see what you are painting if you paint with water!”
“They will see this painting when it is ready to be seen,” Painter Chen said. “Was there something you wished to speak to me about?”
“Ah, yes,” the magistrate said. “I would like to commission you to create a painting for my own palace.”
Even though Painter Chen had misgivings, he made an agreement. The magistrate would forgo taxing Painter Chen’s old hometown village for a year and Painter Chen would paint the magistrate a dragon.
And his painting was magnificent. Per his custom, Painter Chen did not dot the eyes of the dragon and gave the unfinished painting to the magistrate. Unfortunately, back at his palace, the magistrate saw this error and attempted to fix the painting himself—which caused the dragon to come to life!
The dragon destroyed the magistrate’s palace, causing chaos and calamity before disappearing. But the dragon’s appearance made the magistrate realize Painter Chen’s real identity. With his guards, he hastened to capture the artist.
In the meantime, Painter Chen was finishing the last painting on the Long Walkway. His apprentices ran to him with warnings, urging him to flee, but Painter Chen continued to calmly paint. When the Painter finally glanced away from his work, he saw the magistrate and his men rushing toward him, their swords drawn.
Without a word, Painter Chen turned back to his painting. It was a landscape scene, a calm blue sea and a distant land. With a few quick, sure strokes, he painted a boat in the water. Just as the tip of one of the men’s swords was about to touch him, Painter Chen jumped right into the painting! All stared openmouthed and shocked as Painter Chen sailed away in the painted boat to the painted land, taking his magic paintbrush with him.
“Ah, good story,” said the stonecutter. “It’s interesting how all the magistrates and king’s fathers in your stories seem to have the same personality. It’s as if they could all be the same person.”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Amah agreed.
“Though I suppose the powerful all seem the same to us,” the stonecutter said, laughing, “All those characters could even be Our Exalted Majesty himself.”
“Yes,” Amah said. “They could.”
CHAPTER
62
“Look!” Yishan said, pointing. “Something is happening!”
They had been walking toward the Capital City, the frozen sea looking exactly as before, even though the Sea King warned them that some time had passed, perhaps as much as three moon cycles. He had left them on the outskirts of the city after an incredible flight, not up to the surface of the sea as Pinmei had expected, but over the edge of the bridge and downward to the Heavenly Lake. The water had parted before them as they dove and the moon had grown bigger and bigger, becoming a giant hole in the star-spattered curtain of water that they burst through to arrive in the sky above the Capital City.
They had been walking in silence, for Pinmei was sulking—while she agreed about the tortoise, she was still angry at Yishan. He could have told her he was going to ask about the tortoise first! And the whole time he was at Sea Bottom, he had acted strangely. She was sure he was hiding something from her, and her irritation was just as visible as the clouds of steam from their warm breaths. Yishan, however, pretended not to notice, and was just about to suggest changing direction when an outpouring of people began to cluster into view. Great crowds were forming—women, children, men.
“Men!” Pinmei said, forgetting her annoyance. “There are men in the Capital City.”
“Obviously,” Yishan said, “the emperor only uses the men from the mountain villages for his slaves. Let’s go see what the fuss is about.”
Together, they ran toward the crowd. As they reached it, Pinmei tugged on the arm of an elderly woman. “What is happening?” she asked.
“It’s the funeral, child!” the woman said, as if she should know.
“Whose funeral?” Yishan asked.
“Her husband’s!” the woman replied, distracted. “They are starting the procession to the Grand Pier!”
“I heard the emperor himself will follow the coffin,” another woman said, “wearing mourning robes!”
“Strange that they are burying him in the sea,” another said. “I’d be afraid of the bad luck.”
“She insisted,” someone else said. “It was one of her conditions.”
“How can they even put it in the sea?” a girl asked. “It’s frozen!”
“Did you not hear them with the pickaxes this morning?” the first woman said. “Chop, chop, chopping for hours through the ice! Just so they can throw in the coffin! The emperor will do anything to get her to marry him.”
Even more enraged, the judge called for Liang to be brought to him. But Liang had left the village long ago. On the day he had painted the chicken, he had hurried home, said goodbye, and, after painting a giant crane, jumped on its back, and flown away.
Liang changed his name to Chen, hid his brush, and found a great master artist to study under. When he grew to manhood, he finally took out his magic brush again. But he made sure he never finished any of his paintings so they would not come to life. His horses’ eyes were never dotted, his fish’s scales were incomplete, and his figures were missing a shoe. However, even with these flaws, his artistry became renowned. All acknowledged Painter Chen as the master of all masters.
And it was as such that he was approached for a painting by a powerful magistrate. The magistrate did not recognize Painter Chen, but Liang recognized him as the young judge, now much older.
“Painter Chen,” the magistrate said, “I commend you on your work on my son’s project. The paintings in the Long Walkway are beautiful to behold.”
“Thank you,” Painter Chen said. “I still have much to do. I plan to paint every beam and ceiling placard.”
The magistrate frowned as he watched the painter.
“You are painting that beam with water!” the magistrate said. “No one can see what you are painting if you paint with water!”
“They will see this painting when it is ready to be seen,” Painter Chen said. “Was there something you wished to speak to me about?”
“Ah, yes,” the magistrate said. “I would like to commission you to create a painting for my own palace.”
Even though Painter Chen had misgivings, he made an agreement. The magistrate would forgo taxing Painter Chen’s old hometown village for a year and Painter Chen would paint the magistrate a dragon.
And his painting was magnificent. Per his custom, Painter Chen did not dot the eyes of the dragon and gave the unfinished painting to the magistrate. Unfortunately, back at his palace, the magistrate saw this error and attempted to fix the painting himself—which caused the dragon to come to life!
The dragon destroyed the magistrate’s palace, causing chaos and calamity before disappearing. But the dragon’s appearance made the magistrate realize Painter Chen’s real identity. With his guards, he hastened to capture the artist.
In the meantime, Painter Chen was finishing the last painting on the Long Walkway. His apprentices ran to him with warnings, urging him to flee, but Painter Chen continued to calmly paint. When the Painter finally glanced away from his work, he saw the magistrate and his men rushing toward him, their swords drawn.
Without a word, Painter Chen turned back to his painting. It was a landscape scene, a calm blue sea and a distant land. With a few quick, sure strokes, he painted a boat in the water. Just as the tip of one of the men’s swords was about to touch him, Painter Chen jumped right into the painting! All stared openmouthed and shocked as Painter Chen sailed away in the painted boat to the painted land, taking his magic paintbrush with him.
“Ah, good story,” said the stonecutter. “It’s interesting how all the magistrates and king’s fathers in your stories seem to have the same personality. It’s as if they could all be the same person.”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Amah agreed.
“Though I suppose the powerful all seem the same to us,” the stonecutter said, laughing, “All those characters could even be Our Exalted Majesty himself.”
“Yes,” Amah said. “They could.”
CHAPTER
62
“Look!” Yishan said, pointing. “Something is happening!”
They had been walking toward the Capital City, the frozen sea looking exactly as before, even though the Sea King warned them that some time had passed, perhaps as much as three moon cycles. He had left them on the outskirts of the city after an incredible flight, not up to the surface of the sea as Pinmei had expected, but over the edge of the bridge and downward to the Heavenly Lake. The water had parted before them as they dove and the moon had grown bigger and bigger, becoming a giant hole in the star-spattered curtain of water that they burst through to arrive in the sky above the Capital City.
They had been walking in silence, for Pinmei was sulking—while she agreed about the tortoise, she was still angry at Yishan. He could have told her he was going to ask about the tortoise first! And the whole time he was at Sea Bottom, he had acted strangely. She was sure he was hiding something from her, and her irritation was just as visible as the clouds of steam from their warm breaths. Yishan, however, pretended not to notice, and was just about to suggest changing direction when an outpouring of people began to cluster into view. Great crowds were forming—women, children, men.
“Men!” Pinmei said, forgetting her annoyance. “There are men in the Capital City.”
“Obviously,” Yishan said, “the emperor only uses the men from the mountain villages for his slaves. Let’s go see what the fuss is about.”
Together, they ran toward the crowd. As they reached it, Pinmei tugged on the arm of an elderly woman. “What is happening?” she asked.
“It’s the funeral, child!” the woman said, as if she should know.
“Whose funeral?” Yishan asked.
“Her husband’s!” the woman replied, distracted. “They are starting the procession to the Grand Pier!”
“I heard the emperor himself will follow the coffin,” another woman said, “wearing mourning robes!”
“Strange that they are burying him in the sea,” another said. “I’d be afraid of the bad luck.”
“She insisted,” someone else said. “It was one of her conditions.”
“How can they even put it in the sea?” a girl asked. “It’s frozen!”
“Did you not hear them with the pickaxes this morning?” the first woman said. “Chop, chop, chopping for hours through the ice! Just so they can throw in the coffin! The emperor will do anything to get her to marry him.”
