Pinmei made a face as Amah grinned at her. It was true that now, alone with Amah, her words did not freeze in her throat. She didn’t know why, at the sight of anyone unfamiliar, she felt like a fish trapped in a bowl of ice, unable to even gasp for air.

“An old grandmother is not enough company for a child,” Amah said, her smile fading. “Maybe trying to keep you safe by living up on this high mountain is selfish.”

“Yishan lives even higher,” Pinmei said. “You can even see the sea from where he lives. And above him, at the very top, is the Mountain Spirit. But we never see him.”

Pinmei looked at her grandmother. “Why don’t we ever see the Mountain Spirit?” Pinmei asked. “You’d think we would because we live on the mountain.”

“We do see him,” Amah said. “You know, the Mountain Spirit is also called the Old Man of the Moon. So you see him every time you look at the moon.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Pinmei said. “I meant seeing him the way emperors are supposed to when they pay tribute to the mountain—as an old man talking to them.”

“And what would you say to him?” Amah teased. “My quiet girl who just squeaks and hides?”

Pinmei flushed. She often wished she were like Yishan, who spoke as if each of his words were carved in stone. Or like Amah, who seemed to weave silk threads with her voice.

“Do you wish I were different?” Pinmei asked.

“Different?” Amah asked. “How?”

Pinmei shrugged, embarrassed. “Maybe if I talked more or did things,” Pinmei said. “Like Yishan.”

“I never wish for you to be anyone except yourself,” Amah said, looking into Pinmei’s eyes. “I know that when it is time for you to do something, you will do it.”

Pinmei looked at the rice Amah had washed, a drop of water rolling down the side of the bowl like a single tear.

“Besides,” Amah said, “you shouldn’t compare yourself to Yishan. He…”

“ ‘He’ what?” Pinmei asked, raising her head.

“Oh, he doesn’t remember everything he knows—that’s all,” Amah said. “He forgets a lot. Like now, he forgets he’s only a young boy.”

“Why doesn’t Yishan just live with us?” Pinmei asked. “He comes here all the time.”

“He doesn’t want to,” Amah asked. “I asked him right after Auntie Meiya died.”

The wind began to wail, filling the hut with a mournful sound. Pinmei felt the stinging feeling of the rice jar return, its numbness spreading over her. It had been right after Auntie Meiya’s death that winter had come. And ever since, Yishan had lived alone in his hut.

“Amah,” Pinmei said slowly, “it has been winter for a long time.”

“Yes.” Amah nodded. “I’ve never known the Black Tortoise of Winter to stay so long before.”

“The Black Tortoise will leave though, right?” Pinmei asked. “It can’t stay winter forever.”

“He will leave,” Amah said confidently. “The Black Tortoise will wish to go home eventually.”

Will he leave before the rice jar is completely empty? Pinmei thought. The wind was howling now, and Pinmei could see the tree branches clawing at the darkening sky. She swallowed and said, “Couldn’t someone get the Black Tortoise to go home now?”

“The Black Tortoise is very strong and very mighty,” Amah said. “It is his little brother’s feet that hold up the sky.”

“Hold up the sky?” Pinmei asked.

“What? You know this story!” Amah smiled, and, for the moment, winter was forgotten.

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

All the immortals, that is, except one. Nuwa, the goddess who instead of legs had a tail like a fish, heard the cries from earth. She looked below and gasped in horror.

When she saw a monstrous turtle destroy a hundred villages with each step of his foot, she flew down in a fury and slew it with her sword. Then, just as quickly, she sliced its legs off and used each limb to replace the broken pillars. The legs turned to stone and became the four great mountains of the land.

However, even though the sky was now supported, it was still broken. The Starry River gushed through the holes, flooding the earth. Nuwa gathered stones of five colors and shoved them into each opening. But she could not find a stone to fill the largest gap. The water dislodged every rock she tried to place in the gash, each failure creating more death.

Nuwa saw the devastation and knew what she must do. She looked at her husband, Fuxi, in the distance, and a single tear fell from her eye.

“Goodbye,” Nuwa whispered.

At that moment, Fuxi realized what was happening. “Nuwa!” he shouted, his hands grabbing.

It was too late. Nuwa slipped from his grasp and thrust herself into the hole in the sky. In an instant, her body turned to stone.

Fuxi stared. Clasped in his fingers was only a single strand of Nuwa’s hair, a tiny drop of blood falling from it. His wife was gone.

Fuxi bellowed a sound of grief, a thunder that shook the heavens and four new mountains of the earth. But the Starry River flooded no more.

“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.”

“Why don’t we ever see the Black Tortoise, then?” Pinmei said. “If he’s so big, he would be hard to miss.”

“The Black Tortoise brings winter, just as the dragon brings spring,” Amah said. “Only the most honored animals are chosen for the job.”

“And that makes them invisible?” asked Pinmei.

“Yes,” Amah said in a tone so unusual Pinmei looked up.