“I understand,” Seh said.
“Good,” Mong said. “I'm afraid you can't stay up there any longer. I don't want to risk anyone seeing you. I promise I'll fill you and your brothers in this evening. We could use your help.”
Seh's narrow eyes widened. “You could use our help?”
“Absolutely,” Mong said. “And we'll return the favor. Sanfu has gotten word to me that you wish to address issues surrounding Ying and someone called Bing. I believe I can help you. Ying is in prison, but Bing roams the streets. Bing is indeed the cause of Malao's father's disappearance. I may also be able to find out more about your dragon scroll map through my network. What do you say?”
“Sure,” Seh replied.
“Good,” Mong said. “We need a few more hours. Perhaps you would like to roam around the waterfront until we're through.”
Seh thought about the crowds. And the stench. “I don't know—”
“Give it a try,” Mong suggested. “Perhaps the bridge—you can see everything from there, and there is usually a breeze over the river, bringing fresh air from outside the city. Do you think you can find it?”
Seh decided to take a look.”I think so,” he replied.
“Good,” Mong said. “Go eat, then take Fu and Malao there. I'll meet you as soon as we're done. There will be plenty of things to keep you occupied until I arrive, I'm sure. Besides the dragon boats, I recommend you take a look at some of the acrobats. They are extremely talented. There is one group that dresses head to toe in ivory silk that you should find particularly interesting.”
This is amazing!” Malao squealed.
“You can say that again,” Fu said.
“This is amazing!” Malao squealed again, and giggled so loud, passersby stared at him.
Seh shook his head. For once, Malao wasn't overreacting. It was an amazing sight. From where they stood on the bridge, they could see the activity on both banks of the Yellow River. A hundred dragon boat teams were making preparations to race. About half the boats cruised the water. The rest were beached in neat rows on both the northern and southern shorelines.
The boats were all very long and narrow and rode low in the water. Each had a wooden dragon head attached to the front and a wooden dragon tail attached to the back. Ten men paddled on each side, while a person in the front beat a small drum to keep time so the paddlers would work as one. An additional person in the back steered.
Every boat was different, from the shape of the dragon heads and tails to the colorful patterns on the boats to the costumes worn by the participants. From what Seh could tell from listening to conversations around them on the bridge, the dragon boats came from villages far and near, up and down the river.
Seh knew that dragons were creatures of the water as well as the heavens. He couldn't help but think of Long and wonder if he was okay. Knowing Long, he would be just fine.
Seh inhaled deeply. The warm afternoon breeze washed through his lungs. Mong was right—the bridge was the best spot. They could see the whole riverbank, and it wasn't too crowded. It was large enough to hold several hundred people, but only fifty or so were on it now. It was far less hectic than either shore, where hundreds of people were beginning to stake out positions for the races. They stood shoulder to shoulder under rows of evenly spaced willow trees.
“Hey, what are they doing?” Malao asked. He pointed to a group of people throwing fist-sized packages into the river from the southern shore.
A fat older man standing next to Malao answered. “Those are food offerings.”
Fu's ears perked up. “Food?”
The man laughed, and Seh noticed the man's stomach jiggle beneath his brown robe. He was huge. There was a roll of fat beneath his chin the size of a small melon.
“A boy after my own heart,” the man said to Fu. “What a waste, eh? Inside those lovely bamboo-leaf packages are special rice-and-meat dumplings.”
Fu's eyes widened. “Who are the offerings for?”
“You don't know?” the man asked.
“No,” Fu replied.
“What do you think this festival is all about?” the man asked.
“Dragon boats,” Malao said. “It's the Dragon Boat Festival.”
The man shook his sizable head.
Seh decided to join the conversation. He was worried about what Malao and Fu might accidentally say to the stranger. “The boats are only part of it,” Seh said to Malao. “This festival is actually called the Duan Wu Festival. Duan Wu was a statesman and poet who lived more than fifteen hundred years ago. In an act of protest against the corrupt rulers of the time, he publicly drowned himself in the river. The dragon boats represent the local fishermen's scramble to try and save the man they loved and respected, and the food and drums recount how the locals beat drums and threw food in the water afterward to keep fish from eating Duan Wu's body.”