“Thank you,” the beggar said, grabbing a pastry, “but tell me why you are so troubled.”
“It’s only that the New Year is over,” my grandfather said, “and no one wants my cakes anymore. I worry that I will not be able to take care of my poor mother.”
The beggar laughed. “Well, that is easily fixed,” he said. He pulled at a pigskin bag tied around his waist and pulled out a small jade jar. He handed it to my grandfather. “Sprinkle a little of this in your flour every time you cook,” he said, “and you’ll find everyone will want your cakes.”
My grandfather did as he was told. When he made his rice flour in the morning, he opened the jade jar and saw it contained a silvery-white powder. He took a pinch and sprinkled it in his flour. Then he made his cakes and put them in the baskets to steam. As they cooked, a magical, delicious aroma filled the air. It filled the house and caused his mother to waken. She rose out of bed, exclaiming, “What smells so good?”
And, just like the beggar said, my grandfather found that everyone wanted his cakes again. The fragrant scent enticed even the stingiest, and, as during the New Year, my grandfather sold all his cakes—all except two, of course. My grandfather made sure to save one for his mother and one for the beggar.
But on his way home, my grandfather did not see the beggar. Instead, he saw a fine gentleman, standing and waiting for him.
“Hello, Baker!” the man said. “Troubles over? Told you it was a problem easily fixed.”
My grandfather looked at the man carefully. This man was obviously wealthy and noble, but there was definitely a resemblance. “Are…were…you the beggar?” my grandfather gasped.
The man laughed. “You may call me Yan,” he said.
“And that was your uncle!” Li Jing finished. “He changed everything for us! After that, my grandfather never had any problems selling his cakes. He could stop selling door-to-door, and he opened this shop that my father runs now. People say he makes the best cakes on Green Island and beyond. I’ve always been taught to remember Master Yan as our great friend and benefactor.”
Mulan smiled, glad that Lu Ting-Pin was responsible for this family’s prosperity, as well as the divine quality of their cakes, though she suspected it was the latter that he had been most concerned with when he helped them.
“Can I ask you something?” Li Jing said. Mulan nodded and Li Jing continued in an eager, hushed voice, “Is your uncle an Immortal?”
Mulan stopped chewing, unsure how to answer. Lu Ting-Pin had once been one of the Eight Immortals—but what was he now that he was doing his penance? And would he want Li Jing’s family to know? Finally, Mulan answered honestly, “I don’t know.”
Li Jing sighed. “We don’t know either,” she confessed. “But he must be very old, right? He knew my grandfather and my father. He only shows up every ten to twenty years or so, and each time he looks the same. I’m so glad I finally got to meet him!”
“You never met him before?” Mulan asked. The pile of cakes was almost gone, and she was slightly appalled at the amount she had consumed. She was glad Ma was not there to see her improper behavior.
“No…” Li Jing said thoughtfully. “But he looks exactly like he’s been described to me. My father has told me everything about him, and once when I was a child he made a statue to show me.”
“A statue?” Mulan said, sipping her tea, enjoying the fullness in her belly. “Did your father make that statue on the far side of the island?”
“No!” Li Jing laughed. “My father is a baker! He made one out of dough. He didn’t make the Stone Statue!”
“Oh, of course,” Mulan said, also laughing. “Who made the Stone Statue, then?”
Immediately, all the laughter drained from Li Jing and she turned sober. “We try not to talk about the Stone Statue,” she said in a low voice. “It’s bad luck.”
“Why?” Mulan asked in an equally low tone.
“I don’t know,” Li Jing whispered, looking around. “The statue appeared before I was born—about twenty years ago. Some say it’s a man who fell in love with a wicked fairy who got bored with him and turned him into a statue.”
Mulan felt a strange excitement begin to bubble inside her. “How do—”
Li Jing stood up abruptly, biting her lip. “I should go check if my father needs me,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
As Li Jing walked away, Mulan felt as if fireworks were lighting inside her. A wicked fairy? Turning a man into a statue? Mulan looked down at the Rabbit, eager to see his reaction, only to be disappointed.
For the Rabbit, face in his bowl and nose covered with cake crumbs, was fast asleep.
LU Ting-Pin rushed to the table. “I found out more about the grass!” he said. Then he frowned and looked around. “Where’s Tuzi?”
Mulan pointed down.
Lu Ting-Pin shook his head at the sleeping rabbit, knelt down, and poked him. “Wake up, Tuzi!” he said.
The Rabbit snorted awake, crumbs blowing from his nose. Mulan picked him up and placed him on her lap.
“I found out more about the grass,” Lu Ting-Pin said again. “Li Jing’s father says that some sort of blight hit all the plants on the island about twenty years ago, and it has still not recovered.”
“Twenty years?” the Rabbit said, his ears cocking. “How can a blight last that long?”
“It seems the soil of the island has completely changed,” Lu Ting-Pin said. “It is no longer fertile, and very little grows on it. Luckily, this island has always relied mainly on fishing and trade, so they’ve managed.”
“But for all the soil to change…” the Rabbit said, shaking his head. “That means the heart of the island is in turmoil.”
Again, Mulan felt a strange excitement bubble in her as an unformed idea began to take root in her mind. About twenty years ago, the soil changed. About twenty years ago, the Stone Statue appeared. Was there a connection? What if…
“Then there’s no chance of finding the Dragon Beard Grass here at all,” the Rabbit said. Mulan’s attention raced back to the conversation in alarm, her emerging thoughts temporarily forgotten.
“No,” Lu Ting-Pin agreed, “we will not be able to find it here.”
“We won’t?” Mulan burst in, unable to keep quiet. “What will we do, then? Can we find it elsewhere?”
Lu Ting-Pin and the Rabbit looked at her gravely. Mulan looked at them, feeling as if all the cakes she had eaten had turned to stones. An image of Xiu lying in her bed as still as death swept over her.
She turned to the Rabbit almost accusingly. “You said we needed both plants for the cure.…You said…” Mulan broke off as the Rabbit’s serene eyes met hers, and she remembered that it was not just Xiu who needed the cure. She gulped. “We need to find the grass.”
The Rabbit did not answer but instead looked past Mulan out the window. Night had fallen and the sky was already black, the glowing lanterns lighting the streets. She followed his gaze upward and saw the sliver of the moon, like a worried eyebrow, hanging in the darkness.