"Dragon’s Gate" by Laurence Yep, Chapters 1–3

“They’re coming!” the sentry announced from the watchtower.

His father, Stony, often needed Stumpy in the fields. As a result, Stumpy's schooling was sporadic; but he was sharp enough to make up for the lost time.

“It was my fault, Master. You should hit me.”
“Why can’t you be a gentleman like Otter?” Uncle Blacky asked. He gave Stumpy six of the best across his palm, even though I had been the insolent one.

“Dirty already.” Seizing my arm, she made me stop in the middle of the street. Then, to my chagrin, she began brushing off my clothes as if I were still a child.

In fact, all of Three Willows had been spruced up, and anything that needed a new coat of paint had received one—and the bill was presented to Mother.

And she would stop whatever she was doing, put me on her lap and tell me, “The astrologers say you were born in the hour of fire on the day of fire in the month of fire, so you were bound to join my family, because we’ve been rebels and troublemakers for seven generations.”

He was famous in the clan not for what he had done for the Work but for his knack of finding gold in places where no one else could.

The more superstitious believed that it was magic. They said he had found some object that turned stones into gold. Others thought he had developed some sixth sense that let him smell the nuggets. The more philosophical thought he had some special power of dreaming—that at night the gold would whisper to him and tell him where the various pieces were.

To the left and right were orchards and terraced fields, while down below, on the valley floor, the rice fields gleamed among the dikes like bits of polished shell in a wooden lattice.

And along the dirt dikes I saw a procession of people the size of ants.

And when she stepped out of the chair, she wore an elegant robe embroidered with birds, and her hair had been wrapped around an elaborate wire frame.

“She looks like her head rammed a trellis,” Mother whispered disapprovingly to me.

Over the gate, two men hastily unfurled a welcome banner, while above the gate, people lined the walls for a glimpse of the two fabled heroes.

Finally came the chairs, gilded and lacquered and fit for an emperor.

Finally came the chairs, gilded and lacquered and fit for an emperor.

When Father and Uncle climbed out of their chairs, I saw that beneath their elegant embroidered silk robes, they were wearing heavy western boots of leather rather than normal shoes.

The neighbors, and my own parents, would have considered it unseemly to display affection in public.

Then he and Father had to endure all the praise the elders lavished on them, using the flowery formal language reserved for such occasions.

Then he and Father had to endure all the praise the elders lavished on them, using the flowery formal language reserved for such occasions.

I thought that explained why Stumpy was so hostile, and I decided to mull that one over when I had more time.

Mother could have lived in a villa like her brother's; but she stayed on in the little cottage because she said she enjoyed its smell—the collected fragrances of decades of flowers and herbs drying from the ceiling rafters and the walls and even on the roof in the dry months.

The T'ang dynasty had its heyday some thousand years ago; its reign had been so glorious that everyone wanted to claim a connection to it.

The more I thought about the notion, the more excited I became. Why should I be the only boy who had to stay home? It would be heaven to be with my father and near my uncle, the living legend.

At that moment, a haggard woman stumbled into the lane. Her hair was a tangled bush and her clothes were dirty; and there were sores at the corners of her mouth.

“You’re a nice boy. Your father sits on a mountain all of gold, so you won't begrudge us a bowl of rice.”

Every muscle stood out taut on her bony body as she flew into a rage.

“You’re nothing but another one of those mean, spiteful Strangers. Real kin would help a clan member.”

The second one had taken place just five years ago; the British and their allies, the French, had pillaged and looted their way up the coast, and the Manchus, for all their boasting, were helpless to stop them.

Late that afternoon, the clan gathered at the banquet hall where Father and Uncle Foxfire held court like emperors and handed out treats to everyone—from exotic candies to bars of sweet-smelling soap to music boxes and odd western gadgets—and the rest of the clan fawned over them.

After the sumptuous banquet, the clan elders retreated to my uncle's mansion, where they began to drink western whiskey and discuss life overseas.

The Watch drove them out with hearty blows.

Others pleaded in a pitiful way. However, the Watch was relentless.

“The world is sliding into a cesspool,” Uncle Pine complained as he shrugged back into his robe, “and it’s opium that’s greasing the way.”

“It’s a poison that’s spreading through the whole kingdom,” Father admitted somberly as he resumed his seat.

When everyone else had thought America was just a fanciful tale, he had believed; and time had only deepened his faith in it.

“How will you do that?” I asked, enthralled.

In addition to contributing a tithe to the Work, Mother had invested the rest of my father's and uncle's money in a number of businesses as well as rich bottomland.

And maybe I would even do something that would make small boys wonder if I could fly or kill monsters or hobnob with dragons.

What was I to do? I couldn’t pick a fight with the entire clan. I hid my indignation as best I could and apologized to Braid, who accepted my apology awkwardly.

“How do you know if you don’t try?” I asked in exasperation.