The small town was neither large nor small, home to some six hundred households. Chen Ping'an knew most of the poorer families in town by name. As for the wealthy households with their deep coffers — their thresholds were high, and a mud-footed boy couldn't very well cross into them. There were even broad alleyways clustered with great houses that Chen Ping'an had never once set foot in. The streets over there were paved with great slabs of blue stone, and on rainy days no one ever stepped into splashing mud. Those blue stones, of the finest quality, had been trodden and rolled over by men and horses for a thousand years or more, until they had been polished smooth as mirrors.
The surnames Lu, Li, Zhao and Song were the great families of the town, and it was these households that had funded the village school. Most of them owned two or three great dragon kilns just beyond the city walls. The official residences of the successive kiln superintendents stood on the same street as these families.
Unfortunately for him, of the ten letters Chen Ping'an had to deliver today, nearly all went to the town's most celebrated rich households. This was only natural, of course. Dragons father dragons, phoenixes father phoenixes, and rats' offspring dig burrows. A wayfaring son far from home who could afford to send letters must surely come from a decent family — otherwise he'd never have had the means to set out on such a journey. Of those ten letters, Chen Ping'an actually only had to visit two places, Fortune Deer Street and Peach Leaf Lane. When he first set his foot on those blue stones big as bed boards, the boy grew nervous, slowed his pace, and even felt a pang of self-conscious shame — he could not help feeling that his straw sandals were sullying the pavement.
The first letter Chen Ping'an delivered was to the Lu family, whose ancestors had once received an imperial jade ruyi scepter from the Emperor himself. Standing at their gate, the boy grew more restless and uneasy by the moment.
Wealthy folk had so many niceties. The Lu residence was enormous to begin with, and a pair of stone lions, each as tall as a man, flanked the entrance, their bearing imposing and fierce. Song Jixin had told him such beasts could ward off evil and suppress misfortune. Chen Ping'an had no idea what evil or misfortune even meant, but he was very curious how artisans had managed to carve that round, rolling stone ball that seemed to sit in the lions' mouths. Suppressing his urge to touch the stone ball, the boy climbed the steps and knocked on the bronze doorknocker shaped like a lion's head. Before long a young man opened the door. On hearing that a letter had arrived, the man kept his face impassive, took the envelope between two fingers, accepted the family letter, then turned and walked briskly into the residence, slamming shut the great door, which bore a painted image of the God of Wealth.
The boy's subsequent deliveries were just as unremarkable. At the corner of Peach Leaf Lane stood a household of no particular renown. The one who opened the door was a small, kindly-faced old man. After tucking away the letter, he smiled and said, "Young man, you've worked hard. Why not come in and rest a while, drink a cup of hot water?"
The boy gave a shy smile, shook his head, and ran off.
The old man slipped the family letter gently into his sleeve. He did not hurry back inside, but raised his head to gaze into the distance, his sight blurred and dim.
Finally, his gaze, falling from high to low, from far to near, came to rest on the peach trees lining the street on either side. The old man, who seemed so aged and decrepit, managed at last to squeeze out a faint smile.
Then the old man turned and went back inside.
Before long, a small yellow bird of lovely color alighted on a peach-tree branch, its beak still tender and young, and gave a soft chirp.
The last letter remaining, Chen Ping'an had to deliver it to the schoolteacher who taught at the village school. On his way he passed a fortune-telling stall, where a young Daoist in a worn old robe sat erect behind the table. On his head he wore a tall crown, like an unfurling lotus blossom.
The young Daoist saw the boy running past and called out cheerfully, "Young man, don't miss what passes by! Come draw a lot. This poor Daoist will cast your fortune, and tell you your fate — fortune or misfortune, blessing or disaster."
Chen Ping'an did not stop. He only turned his head and waved a hand.
The Daoist refused to give up. He leaned forward, raising his voice. "Young man, on ordinary days this poor Daoist charges ten coppers to interpret a lot. Today I'll make an exception — only three coppers! Of course, if you should draw an auspicious lot, you might add another copper as a thanks-gift. If luck smiles on you and you draw a supremely auspicious lot, this poor Daoist will still only charge you five coppers. How about it?"
Far off, Chen Ping'an's steps clearly faltered for a moment. The young Daoist promptly rose and pressed his advantage, calling out louder, "First thing in the morning, young man — you're my first guest of the day. This poor Daoist may as well do good works to the full. If only you'll sit and draw a lot, to be frank, this poor Daoist can write a yellow-paper talisman for you, to offer blessings to your ancestors and accumulate merit for the dead. With my skill I couldn't promise to send someone to be reborn into great wealth and honor, but to add a little share of good fortune — well, it's at least worth a try."
Chen Ping'an was startled. Half-doubting, he turned back and sat down on the long bench before the stall.
A plain Daoist, a shabby boy — two penniless fellows — sat facing each other.
The Daoist smiled and reached out, gesturing for the boy to take the lot tube.
Chen Ping'an hesitated, then suddenly spoke. "I won't draw a lot. You only need to write a yellow-paper talisman for me. Is that all right?"
In Chen Ping'an's memory, this young Daoist who had wandered into town had already been here at least five or six years. His appearance hadn't changed much, and he was pleasant to everyone. On ordinary days he did divination, bone-reading, and fortune-casting, and occasionally wrote family letters on others' behalf. What was amusing was that the lot tube stuffed with one hundred and eight bamboo slips had, over all these years, never once yielded a supremely auspicious lot to any townsman, man or woman, nor had anyone ever shaken a lowly lot from it — as if all one hundred and eight slips were middling-or-better and none of them bad.
So during festivals and holidays, purely to court a bit of good luck, the common folk of the town could accept spending ten coppers. But when they were truly troubled, certainly no one would come here to be a fool taken for a ride. To call this Daoist a thorough charlatan would be doing the man an injustice. Small as the town was, if he only knew how to play tricks and swindle others, he would long ago have been run out. So this young Daoist's true skill surely had nothing to do with physiognomy or interpreting lots. There were, however, plenty of small ailments; many people, after drinking a bowl of his talisman water, recovered quickly. It was quite efficacious.
The young Daoist shook his head. "This poor Daoist deals honestly with old and young alike. As I said, interpreting the lot and writing the talisman together — that'll be five coppers."
Chen Ping'an argued in a low voice, "Three coppers."
The Daoist laughed heartily. "And if you should draw a supremely auspicious lot — why, then it would be five coppers, wouldn't it."
Chen Ping'an steeled himself and reached for the lot tube, then suddenly raised his head. "Daoist, how did you know that I happen to have exactly five coppers on me?"
The Daoist sat up straight. "This poor Daoist is always accurate in weighing a man's fortune thick or thin, and gauging the abundance of his wealth."
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, then took up the lot tube.
The Daoist smiled. "Don't be nervous, young man. When fate grants you something, in the end it shall be yours; when fate does not, there's no use forcing it. Treat the changeful affairs of life with an even mind — that is the foremost perfect method."
Chen Ping'an set the lot tube back on the table, his expression solemn. "Daoist, I'll give you all five coppers, and I won't draw a lot. I only ask that you write that yellow-paper talisman even better than you usually do. Is that all right?"
The Daoist's smile remained unchanged. After a moment's consideration, he nodded. "It can be done."
On the table, ink, brush, inkstone, and paper had long since been laid out. The Daoist carefully asked after the names, native places, and birthdays of Chen Ping'an's father and mother, then drew out a sheet of yellow talisman paper and wrote upon it in one breath, all at once.
As for what he wrote, Chen Ping'an had no idea at all.
Setting down the brush, the Daoist lifted the talisman and blew on the wet ink. "When you get home, stand just inside the threshold and burn the yellow paper outside it. That's all."
The boy received the talisman with solemn ceremony, carefully treasured it away, and did not forget to place the five coppers on the table before bowing in thanks.
The young Daoist waved his hand, signaling the boy to be about his business.
Chen Ping'an took off at a run to deliver the last letter.
The Daoist lounged back in his chair, cast a glance at the coppers, then bent and reached down to scoop them toward himself.
Just then, a small, dainty yellow bird swooped down from high in the air onto the tabletop, gave one copper coin a light peck, quickly lost interest, and flapped its wings and flew away.
"The yellow bird was just about to come bearing a flower in its beak, / When in your garden the peach blossoms have yet to open."
After reciting this verse at leisure, the Daoist made a grandly careless wave of his sleeve, sighed, and said, "Fate grants but eight spans — do not covet ten."
At that wave of his sleeve, two bamboo slips slipped from it and clattered to the ground. With an "ouch," the Daoist hastily bent to pick them up, then furtively glanced all around. Finding that no one was paying attention, he sighed in relief and tucked the two slips back into his loose sleeve.
The young Daoist coughed, put on a stern face, and sat waiting for fish to swallow his hook, awaiting the next customer.
He mused, not without feeling, that truly, it was easier to make money off women.
In fact, the two bamboo slips hidden in the young Daoist's sleeve — one supremely auspicious, one supremely lowly — were both meant to earn him his great fortune.
That was not for others to know.
The boy, naturally unaware of these hidden mysteries, walked along light of step until he reached the village schoolhouse. Near it, a bamboo grove stood lush and green, its verdure threatening to drip.
Chen Ping'an slowed his pace. From within the room came a mature, mellow voice: "At sunrise there is brightness, / And the lambskin robe is moist as with dew."
Then a chorus of neat, crisp young voices rang out: "At sunrise there is brightness, / And the lambskin robe is moist as with dew."
Chen Ping'an looked up. The morning sun was rising in the east, brilliant and boundless.
The boy stood staring, lost in thought.
When he came back to himself, the young schoolchildren were swaying their heads, reciting a passage fluently as their teacher had required: "At the time of the Awakening of Insects, heaven and earth give birth, and the myriad things begin to flourish. Lie down at night and rise early, walk abroad in the courtyard; the gentleman walks slowly, that he may nurture his vital aspirations..."
Chen Ping'an stood at the gate of the school, as if he wanted to speak but held back.
The middle-aged scholar, his temples lightly touched with frost, turned his head to look over, then stepped quietly out of the house.
Chen Ping'an thrust the letter forward with both hands and said respectfully, "This is your letter, sir."
The tall man in the blue robe took the envelope and said warmly, "When you have nothing to do, you may come and sit in on my lessons."
Chen Ping'an was a little troubled, for he could not really promise to find time to come and hear this man teach. The boy was unwilling to deceive him.
The man smiled, understanding. "It's all right. All the principles are in the books, but the way to conduct oneself lies beyond the books. Go and be about your business."
Chen Ping'an breathed a sigh of relief, took his leave, and departed.
After running a good distance away, the boy, as if guided by some impulse, turned back to look.
There stood the teacher, still at the gate, his figure bathed in sunlight. From afar he looked almost like a divine being.