“Careful, you fool!” the emperor barked. “Keep that accursed Paper away from me.”

“Yes, Your Exalted Majesty,” said the king. “What is your question this time?”

“Ask the Paper,” the emperor said, “if I will achieve immortality.”

Pinmei heard the king shift, and both she and Yishan craned their necks to see him lean out of the pavilion, holding the Paper over the frozen lake.

“Will the emperor achieve immortality?” the king said in a loud voice. The full moon made a halo around his head, and only the soft reflected glow from the ice kept his face from being lost in shadow.

“What does it say?” the emperor demanded. “What does that line say?”

Pinmei watched the king gasp. The steam from his breath formed a silver-gray cloud that froze in the air. His eyes widened and his white hands tightened around the Paper.

“It says…” the king said in a strained tone. “It says yes.”

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Pinmei and Yishan stared at each other, their horrified faces mirroring. The emperor would be immortal? Pinmei felt as if a snake had laid an egg in her stomach.

“How?” the emperor said, the excitement palpable in his voice. “When? Ask it when!”

“Your Exalted Majesty, you know the Paper answers only once,” the king said.

“Yes, yes,” the emperor said impatiently. “Only one question and only in the light of the full moon. Infernal thing!”

The wind, which had been silent, gave a weak whimper, as if too tired to even protest.

“Very well. I will wait,” the emperor said, and in a more satisfied tone: “What is another moon when I will have eternity anyway?”

The king did not reply. Pinmei twisted again to see him gazing bleakly at the shadows on the icy lake, looking, she thought, as if he were seeing his own life of endlessly serving the emperor. The snow fell softly—tiny stars yielding their grasp on the sky.

“Meanwhile, I must make plans…” the emperor muttered to himself. He straightened with a proud air. “I will leave now,” he said. “You may stay here and do your thinking or whatever you always do.”

And with that, his heavy steps boomed as he exited the pavilion. Pinmei and Yishan pressed tightly against the stone statue, squeezing together. As he passed, a gust of icy air flew out and clawed at them, but he walked by, muttering, without pause. With her one dared peek, Pinmei could see only an opulence of the golden silk dragon robes and black furs.

They waited in silence, the emperor’s figure getting smaller and smaller as he walked away, the snow slowly veiling him from view. When he finally disappeared, they waited for the king to depart as well. But the king did not move. He just stood at the pavilion, perhaps watching the emperor as well.

Finally, just when it looked as if Yishan was about to fall asleep from being so still, the king stirred. His footsteps were not stomping, powerful ones like the emperor’s, but they too were weighted. They heard his steps come toward the sculpture, but instead of passing by, they stopped and there was a long silence. Yishan and Pinmei looked at each other, puzzled.

“I know you are there,” the king said. “You might as well come out.”

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“How did you know we were here?” Yishan said as they crawled out from behind the statue.

The king gave a small, sad smile, the lantern in his hand casting a dark shadow on his face.

“This used to be my painting studio,” he said, waving his hand at the pavilion. “I know every branch and stone here. When I saw the shape of this shadow, I knew it was not right, even though I have not painted in a long while.”

“I imagine your ink would just freeze now,” Yishan said with a slight undertone of annoyance.

“I stopped long before winter arrived,” the king said. “After I sent my son away, painting lost all its joy.”

“We know about your son,” Yishan said. “Yanna told us.”

The king frowned. “Yanna is a good girl,” he said, “but she has not yet learned restraint.”

“Well, I think you could forgive her for that,” Yishan said, “considering she was running around the army camp for you pointlessly.”

“Pointlessly?” the king said, only the slightest question in his voice.

“No prisoners here,” Yishan answered. “Yanna said they’ve been sent to the Vast Wall already.”

The king bowed his head, and his hand covered his brow.

“Then all is lost,” he said, his eyes closing. “What more can he take from me?”

“Who?” Yishan said.

“The emperor, of course,” the king said. He shook his head in disgust and sighed, a sound low but filled with fury. “He’s a beast, not a man! He could create a sea with all the blood he has spilled. And is still spilling! That Vast Wall is just a vast grave marker.”

“What do you mean?” Yishan asked.

“I am told,” the king said, sagging like the winter branches weighted by snow, “that the workers are treated worse than slaves and the emperor has the fallen buried under the wall.”

Pinmei looked at him in horror.

“But Lady Meng’s husband…” Pinmei whispered.

The king nodded, his head hanging with great grief. “And now,” he said in a voice that cracked, “my own son.”

The wind blew a low, plaintive moan, the beginning note of a lamenting song.

“I knew it was a vain hope to look for him,” the king said finally, lifting his head. “But I could not refuse Yanna’s offer. I hope she is safe.”

“I do too,” Pinmei said, and the king’s eyes looked directly at her for the first time.

“I think I will soon be having that same wish for both of you as well,” the king said, his shoulders straightening as if he were awakening. “Why are you two children here?”

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“Do you not realize how dangerous this is?” the king continued. “If the emperor were ever to know you were… What did you hear?”

“We heard you read the Paper of Answers,” Yishan told him.