The king drew a sharp breath. “Then you must leave as soon as possible,” he said. “The emperor would have you killed just for knowing I have the Paper.”

“How do you even have the Paper?” Pinmei asked, her curiosity stronger than her timidity. “I thought it was given away.”

“That is a complicated story,” the king said. “I am not sure if I even understand it, much less believe it.”

“What do you mean?” Yishan asked.

The king hesitated. “Do either of you know the story of how the first king of the City of Bright Moonlight’s father turned into a tiger?”

“The Story of the Green Tiger?” Pinmei said instantly. “Of course.”

“Well, I don’t,” Yishan said. “So tell me.”

The king waved his hand at Pinmei. “I would be interested in hearing your version of the story,” he said.

So Pinmei began.

A long time ago, even before the time of my grandmother, the emperor called all the kings of his land to his Spring Festival celebration. At the palace, he presented to each of the kings a small seed.

“Each one of you is to plant and care for your seed as if it were your kingdom,” said the emperor. “At the Moon Festival, you are to bring your plant to me. Those with the best flowers will be rewarded, but if any of you fail to bring me a plant…”

The emperor did not need to finish his sentence. The kings had all thrown themselves into kowtows, each swearing he would return at the Moon Festival with splendid flowers. One by one, they left, each taking his precious seed with him.

The young king of the City of Bright Moonlight returned home to find his father waiting for him. The father had once been a powerful magistrate but had fallen out of favor and was bitterly living at the palace. When the son told him of the emperor’s task, the father was excited.

“You must grow the most magnificent flower,” the father commanded. “This is your opportunity to return me to power!”

The young king did not disagree and planted the seed with great care in a pot. Faithfully, he watered and waited for the seed to sprout. Nothing grew.

The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, and still the pot was bare. The king replanted the seed and called the best gardeners of his land to consult. But still nothing grew.

Throughout this, the king’s father wore a frown that seemed to become permanent on his face. He had sent spies to neighboring kingdoms and heard rumors of orchids, peonies, and lilies. Yet his son had only a dirt-filled pot. If nothing grew by the Moon Festival, the king’s father thought, this chance would be lost and, considering the emperor’s ire, perhaps worse.

So when there was still no plant growing in the pot a month before the Moon Festival, the father confronted his son on his nightly stroll through the garden.

“You will have to leave for the Imperial Palace soon,” the father said. “And your pot is bare.”

The king nodded. In his hands was a piece of paper; the father recognized it as the paper he himself had given him as a wedding gift.

“I’ve prepared another pot for you,” the father said. “In secret, I had the gardener grow a rare moonflower. It is the finest ever seen. You can bring that instead.”

The king was silent, and for a long moment, he stared out at the lake before him.

“Thank you, Father, for your consideration,” the king said finally. “But I will bring my bare pot.”

“You do not understand,” the father said impatiently. “The king of the City of Winding River has grown a red peony so bright it looks as if it is on fire. The king of the City of Far Clouds has an orchid with the fragrance of a sweet apple. All the kings will have flowers in their pots. What will you say to the emperor when you have none?”

“I will tell the emperor I tried my best to grow his seed,” the king said, “yet nothing grew. I must tell the truth.”

“Are you crazy?” the father said. “Do you know what the emperor will do? He will take away your kingdom! He might even execute you for the insult!”

“That may be,” the king said. “But I cannot lie. It would be found out eventually, so I must go with my own pot.”

“I can make sure no one finds out,” the father said. “I will have the gardener and his family killed and throw all who may know into the dungeon.”

The young king blanched at his father’s words and looked at the paper in his hands.

“Father,” the king said, without looking up, “I will bring my bare pot.”

“Don’t be a fool!” his father snapped. “You must bring a flower or I will never return to power!”

The king gave a wry smile at those last words, a smile the father did not understand. As the paper in the king’s hand flapped like a nervous butterfly, the father grew angrier.

“Why are you looking at that paper?” the father growled. “What are you reading?”

The king looked up with reluctance. He glanced at the moon and its reflection wavering in the lake, the murky green water rippling in uneasy waves.

“It says, ‘Three things cannot long be hidden: the sun, the moon,’ ” the king said slowly, holding the paper for his father to see, “ ‘and the truth.’ ”

At this, the father gasped. “It is that accursed paper that is giving you this idiotic advice!” he cried. “You are listening more to that infernal piece of paper than your own father!”

The father gave an infuriated roar and grabbed the paper from his son, seizing it with such force that he fell backward into the lake, shattering the reflection of the moon. The paper slipped from his fingers and, almost as if it were a fish, floated over his face. The father thrashed and flailed, clawing to peel the paper from his face. But as he struggled to lift the paper, he realized he no longer had hands!

His hands had turned to paws and his skin was wet fur of the same color as the murky water. His clothes writhed around him until they finally twisted off. And when at last the paper fell away, he knew his face had changed as well. The young king gaped in shock, and the father was only able to see why when the reflection of the moon returned to the lake. He had turned into a tiger!

“Wait!” Yishan interrupted. “I thought the first king of the City of Bright Moonlight exiled his father.”