When the Sea Turned to Silver: Chapters 1–10

The villagers used to climb up to the mountain hut regularly, requesting that Amah embroider peonies or five-colored clouds onto silks for weddings and birthdays.

“But a new emperor is supposed to pay tribute to the mountain!” Amah said. “He must get the blessing of the Mountain Spirit at the top! We have not seen anyone.”

“Do we ever see any rulers?” Yishan said in a scoffing tone only a young boy such as himself could have.

“When anyone—a wife, a child, a mother—begs for a man’s freedom, the soldiers always say the same. ‘Bring the emperor a Luminous Stone That Lights the Night and you can have your wish.’”

“You know that bowl is only for special occasions,” Amah said. “My grandfather—”
“Received it from the king of the City of Bright Moonlight,” Pinmei finished, an impish smile curving.

“You only tease your poor grandmother when we are alone.” Amah pretended to sigh. “When I tell people how you taunt an old woman, they don’t believe me. ‘Little Pinmei?’ they say. ‘She’s just a shy little mouse.’”

Long ago, the four pillars of the sky collapsed. Without their support, the sky burst apart, and the Starry River crashed down, flooding the entire earth. Countless people and animals perished in the deluge, and sea demons emerged and began devouring those still alive.

But with the heavens also in turmoil, all the immortals were too concerned with their own affairs to attend to the ones on earth.

The water dislodged every rock she tried to place in the gash, each failure creating more death.

Fuxi bellowed a sound of grief, a thunder that shook the heavens and four new mountains of the earth.

“The turtle that Nuwa slew,” Amah finished, “was the younger brother of the Black Tortoise of Winter. His little brother’s feet turned into mountains strong enough to hold up the sky. Imagine how powerful the Black Tortoise must be! So when you ask if anyone could make him go home...well, if one could make the Black Tortoise do anything, that person would be invincible.”

In the unlit rooms, the night was as solid as lacquered wood.

She silently stumbled as Amah dragged her to the hut’s storage room, the freezing drafts biting her feet.

"In here!" Amah said, pushing Pinmei toward a huge vat.

Through the crack, Pinmei saw the worn knot of Amah’s sash. The frayed threads, like delicate hairs of a newborn child, caught the dim light from the doorway.

Amah’s silhouette was still and calm against the flickering light of the flames.

The soldiers overturned the tables and chairs, and Amah’s carefully organized box of threads and sewing tools were strewn on the floor, red silk lying on the ground like a pool of blood.

“There’s not enough room in this hovel for more than two of us!” said one man, his elaborate armor and demeanor marking him as the commander.

“There’s not enough room in this hovel for more than two of us!” said one man, his elaborate armor and demeanor marking him as the commander.

“Your Exalted Majesty,” the commander said, bowing his head. “We have the Storyteller. Was there another purpose for your honorable presence on this excursion?”

“Your Exalted Majesty,” the commander said, bowing his head. “We have the Storyteller. Was there another purpose for your honorable presence on this excursion?”

She also saw that his uniform was slightly ill fitting, his girth stretching the scales of his armor.

He held it as if it were made of eggshells, and Pinmei could see it took great effort for the commander not to prostrate himself on the floor.

At that moment, a loud clamor sounded outside the hut.

Yishan’s face flushed, but he still did not bow his head.

The emperor’s eyes scanned Yishan intently, from his muck-covered robes to his grubby face and matted hair.

The icy thatched roof made a sizzling sound, and she realized it was already beginning to flame.

Torches flew into the front room, crashing against the walls. As one rolled into the pile of fallen silk, Pinmei stared as the fabric smoldered and curled, the flames sputtering as if gasping.

When the new king first surveyed the land that was soon to be his, he must have felt resentment to be ruler of such a place.

Even though most nobles were not known for their strength, the king lifted the heavy buckets of water with ease.

The king bowed goodbye and returned to his sedan chair.

So that evening, when his father offered a wedding gift, the young king asked for the paper inside the mouth of the tiger statue. His father was taken aback, for not only had he forgotten about the paper, but he also considered it completely worthless.

And the old king, afraid the desperation would lead the people into disorder, had imposed strict laws with harsh punishments.

Instead, he began plans for ditches and outlets for the river. The water became irrigation for farmland around the city. The floods subsided.

I guess he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, Pinmei had thought with a wry smile.

The stones of the hut walls were charred, while the remains of the burned chairs and tables lay strewn on the floor.

The colors were so vivid in the bleakness of the ruins that the jacket seemed to glow.

The glaring color poured around him.

All he saw was the color gold. A garish, dazzling gold that gleamed and flashed.

He winced and tried to move away, but his arms and legs shoved only silken air.