If he had never been to Fortune Deer Street or Peach Leaf Lane, Chen Ping'an might never in his life have realized just how dark and narrow Mud Vase Alley was. But the straw-sandaled boy, far from feeling disappointed, finally felt at peace. The boy smiled and stretched out both hands, his palms just touching the yellow-clay walls on either side. He remembered that some three or four years ago, he could only reach the clay walls with his fingertips.
He reached his home and found the courtyard gate wide open. Thinking a thief had come, the boy ran into the yard, only to see a tall youth sitting on the threshold, his back against the locked door of the house, yawning in boredom. On seeing Chen Ping'an, he jumped up as if his backside was on fire, dashed over to Chen Ping'an, grabbed him tightly by the arm, and yanked him toward the house, his voice lowered: "Open up quick, I've got something important to tell you!"
Chen Ping'an couldn't break free of the fellow's grip, so he had to let himself be dragged to open the door. The sturdy youth, two years older than him, soon released Chen Ping'an and crept up onto the wooden bed, pressing his ear firmly against the wall to eavesdrop on the neighbors.
Chen Ping'an asked curiously, "Liu Xianyang, what are you doing?"
The tall youth paid no attention to Chen Ping'an's question. About the time it takes half a stick of incense to burn, Liu Xianyang returned to normal. He sat on the edge of the wooden bed, his expression complex — partly relieved, partly regretful.
Liu Xianyang then noticed Chen Ping'an doing something peculiar. The boy was crouched inside the doorway, leaning outward, burning a piece of yellow paper with a candle stub no bigger than his thumb. The ashes all fell outside the threshold. It seemed Chen Ping'an was even murmuring something under his breath, but from that distance, Liu Xianyang couldn't make it out.
Liu Xianyang was the final disciple of Old Man Yao, who owned an old dragon kiln. As for Chen Ping'an, whose natural endowments were dull, the old man had never truly accepted him as an apprentice. In these parts, if a disciple had not offered the master tea in the formal ceremony, or if the master had not drunk that tea, there was no teacher-disciple bond between them. Chen Ping'an and Liu Xianyang were not neighbors; their ancestral homes were far apart. The reason Liu Xianyang had once introduced Chen Ping'an to Old Man Yao went back to an old score. Liu Xianyang had been a notoriously mischievous boy in town. Before his grandfather died, there was at least an elder in the house to keep him in line. After his grandfather passed away, the boy, who at twelve or thirteen was already as tall and strong as a grown man, became a neighborhood terror whom everyone found a headache. Later, for reasons unknown, Liu Xianyang angered a group of Lu family scions and ended up cornered in Mud Vase Alley, where they gave him a sound beating. His assailants were all hot-blooded youths who never counted the cost of their blows, and soon Liu Xianyang was coughing up blood. More than a dozen families lived in Mud Vase Alley, mostly low-ranking kiln workers who scraped a living from the small dragon kilns — they dared not wade into this muddy water.
At the time, Song Jixin was not the least bit afraid. On the contrary, he squatted happily on the wall watching the excitement, as if the world weren't chaotic enough.
In the end, it was only a child, gaunt as a dried twig, who slipped out of his yard and ran to the mouth of the alley, where he screamed at the top of his lungs toward the street, "Someone's dead! Someone's dead!"
When they heard the word "dead," the Lu sons were jolted awake. They saw Liu Xianyang on the ground, covered in blood, the tall youth barely breathing. Those rich young masters finally felt a chill of fear. After exchanging glances, they fled out the other end of Mud Vase Alley.
But after that, Liu Xianyang, far from being grateful to the child who had saved his life, came to the alley every few days to tease and torment him. The orphan was stubborn too. No matter how badly Liu Xianyang bullied him, he refused to cry, which only made the older boy angrier. Yet one year, seeing that the little orphan named Chen seemed as if he might not survive the winter, Liu Xianyang finally had a change of heart. The youth, who had already apprenticed at the dragon kiln, took the orphan with him to that kiln by Baoxi Stream. They went west out of town, dozens of miles of mountain roads through a heavy snowfall. Liu Xianyang still couldn't figure out how that little fellow, who looked like a charcoal stick with legs as thin as bamboo poles, had managed to walk all the way to the kiln. Old Man Yao had eventually let Chen Ping'an stay, but the difference in how he treated the two boys was as vast as heaven and earth. With his final disciple Liu Xianyang, the old man would scold and beat him, but even a blind man could feel the depth of his concern. Once, when the old man struck too hard and made Liu Xianyang's forehead bleed, the youth's thick hide didn't feel much, but Old Man Yao, who was used to being stern before his disciples, regretted it deeply. Too embarrassed to say anything directly, he paced circles in his own house for half the night, still unable to rest easy about Liu Xianyang. Finally, he had to call Chen Ping'an over and sent him to deliver a bottle of ointment to Liu Xianyang.
For all these years, Chen Ping'an had deeply envied Liu Xianyang.
It wasn't that he envied Liu Xianyang's natural talent, his great strength, or his popularity. He only envied Liu Xianyang's fearlessness — the way he could go anywhere without a care in the world, and never felt that living alone was a terrible thing. Wherever Liu Xianyang went, he could quickly throw his arm around someone's shoulder, call him brother, and start drinking and playing finger-games. Because his grandfather was in poor health, Liu Xianyang had been supporting himself from a very young age, and had become something of a king among children. He was skilled at everything: catching snakes, trapping fish, robbing birds' nests. He could make wooden bows, fishing rods, slingshots, and birdcages. When it came to catching loaches and eels along the ridges of the fields, the youth was unquestionably the best in town. In fact, when Liu Xianyang had dropped out of the village school all those years ago, Teacher Qi had even gone to visit Liu Xianyang's bedridden grandfather and offered to teach him for free. But Liu Xianyang flatly refused. He said he only wanted to earn money, not study. Teacher Qi then offered to hire Liu Xianyang as his personal attendant, but Liu Xianyang still wouldn't agree. The truth was, Liu Xianyang lived quite well. Even after Old Man Yao died and the dragon kiln was sealed, within a few days he was spotted by a blacksmith from Riding Dragon Lane and was soon busy building a thatched hut and a furnace on the south side of town.
Liu Xianyang watched Chen Ping'an blow out the candle and set it on the table, then asked in a low voice, "Have you ever heard any strange sounds early in the morning, like..."
Chen Ping'an sat on the long bench, waiting for him to continue.
Liu Xianyang hesitated for a moment — and, for the first time, blushed faintly — "Like cats in spring."
Chen Ping'an asked, "Was it Song Jixin imitating a cat, or Zhigui?"
Liu Xianyang rolled his eyes and stopped wasting his breath on a deaf ox. He braced his hands on the bed boards, slowly bent his elbows, then straightened his arms, lifting his backside off the bed and his feet off the ground. Hanging in the air, he sneered, "Zhigui, my foot! Her name's Wang Zhu. That Song brat has loved showing off since he was little. He dug up the word 'Zhigui' somewhere and used it without having the faintest idea what it means. That poor Wang Zhu — having a master like that, it must be a punishment from a past life, or else she wouldn't be suffering by Song Jixin's side."
Chen Ping'an didn't agree with the tall youth's view.
Still holding that pose, Liu Xianyang snorted. "Are you really that dim? Why do you think she stopped talking to you after you helped her carry that bucket of water once? I bet Song Jixin's the petty sort — he got jealous and threatened her not to make eyes at you, or else he'd use the family law on her, break her legs and throw her into Mud Vase Alley..."
Chen Ping'an couldn't take it any more. He cut off Liu Xianyang. "Song Jixin isn't cruel to her."
Liu Xianyang flared up. "What do you know about what's good and bad?"
Chen Ping'an's eyes were clear. He said softly, "Sometimes, when she's working in the yard, Song Jixin sits on a stool reading his local gazetteer, and when she looks at him, she often smiles."
Liu Xianyang stared blankly.
Suddenly, the flimsy wooden bed gave way under Liu Xianyang's weight and snapped in two. The tall youth landed hard on the floor.
Chen Ping'an squatted on the ground, holding his head in both hands, sighing with a headache.
Liu Xianyang scratched his head and stood up. He didn't say anything apologetic — just gave Chen Ping'an a light kick and said, grinning, "Come on, it's just a lousy little bed. The reason I came today is to bring you a huge piece of good news — it's worth more than that junk bed of yours!"
Chen Ping'an looked up.
Liu Xianyang said smugly, "My Master Ruan left town and went to the creek on the south side. He said he needed to dig a few wells, and he didn't have enough hands, so he needed help. I just casually mentioned you, said there was a shorty with half-decent strength. Master Ruan agreed. He told me to tell you to come by in the next couple of days."
Chen Ping'an shot to his feet, about to thank him.
Liu Xianyang raised a hand. "Stop right there! A great favor needs no word of thanks! Just remember it in your heart!"
Chen Ping'an bared his teeth in a grimace.
Liu Xianyang looked around the room. A fishing rod leaned in a corner, a slingshot lay on the window sill, a wooden bow hung on the wall. The tall youth seemed about to say something but held back, swallowing it down.
He stepped over the threshold with long strides, his boots clearly making a detour around the ashes of the talisman.
Chen Ping'an watched that tall back.
Liu Xianyang suddenly turned around, facing Chen Ping'an inside the threshold. He bent low, his feet staying on the ground, dashed forward a few steps, and threw a heavy punch, then pulled back his fist and straightened up. He laughed loudly, "Master Ruan told me in private that if I practice this boxing for just a year, I'll be able to kill a man with it!"
Liu Xianyang seemed not yet satisfied. He made a bizarre kick and said, laughing, "They call this one: 'A good kick to the crotch, drop a stubborn donkey dead!'"
Finally, Liu Xianyang thrust his thumb at his own chest and said, arrogantly, "When Master Ruan was teaching me the boxing, I shared some thoughts and insights with him. Like my understanding of Old Man Yao's unique 'jump-cut' technique in pottery. Master Ruan said I'm a martial prodigy — once in a hundred years! From now on, you just stick with me, and there'll be plenty of good food and drink for you!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Liu Xianyang saw the neighbor's maidservant had entered the house next door. He suddenly lost interest in playing the hero.
He said casually to Chen Ping'an, "Oh yeah, when I passed by the old locust tree earlier, there was an old man there who called himself a 'storyteller.' He was setting up his stall and said he had a bellyful of strange tales and interesting stories to share with us. If you've got time, you can go check it out."
Chen Ping'an nodded.
Liu Xianyang strode out of Mud Vase Alley.
Many stories circulated about this solitary, headstrong youth. But the boy himself liked to claim that his ancestors were generals who led armies into battle, and that was why his family had the suit of armor that had been passed down generation after generation.
A suit of armor, he said. Chen Ping'an had seen it once. Actually, it was ugly, like a wart on a man's skin, or a knot in an old tree.
But Liu Xianyang's peers told it differently. They said Liu Xianyang's ancestor was a deserter who had fled to this town, married into a local family, and only got away from the authorities by luck. They told it as if it were set in stone, as if they had personally seen his ancestor fleeing the battlefield and making his miserable way to this small town.
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, then squatted down beside the threshold, lowered his head, and blew away the ashes.
Song Jixin was standing by the courtyard wall at some point, with his maidservant Zhigui beside him. He called out, "Want to come with us to the locust tree for some fun?"
Chen Ping'an looked up. "I'll pass."
Song Jixin curled his lip. "Boring."
He turned to his maidservant and said with a smile, "Zhigui, let's go! I'll buy you a whole general's-belly jar of peach blossom powder."
She said shyly, "A little cricket jar would be enough."
Song Jixin clasped his hands behind his back, puffed out his chest, and strode forward. "We Songs are a family of bell-beating, tripod-eating nobles whose caps and hairpins have adorned generations. How could we be so petty? Wouldn't that bring shame to our family name?"
Chen Ping'an sat on the threshold and rubbed his forehead. This Song Jixin — when he wasn't saying those strange, crazy things, he didn't seem so bad. But at times like this, if Liu Xianyang were around, he'd surely say he really wanted to bring a brick down on the back of Song Jixin's head.
Chen Ping'an leaned against the doorframe, thinking about tomorrow — it would probably be like today, and the day after tomorrow would be like tomorrow. And so on, and so on, until his whole life would pass like this, and in the end he'd be just like Old Man Yao.
Man eats earth his whole life; earth eats man once.
In the end, he'd close his eyes. And when he opened them again, it might be the next life.
The boy looked down at the straw sandals on his feet, and suddenly smiled.
Stepping on blue stone slabs — it felt different from stepping in mud.
---
Liu Xianyang left the alley and passed by the fortune-telling stall. The young Daoist waved at him and called out, "Come, come, this poor Daoist sees your complexion is blazing like oil-fed fire — hardly an auspicious sign! But don't be afraid — this poor Daoist has a method to dispel your calamity..."
Liu Xianyang was a bit surprised. He remembered that this Daoist, when interpreting lots and telling fortunes in the past, had never actively solicited customers. He always let those willing come to him on their own. Could it be that now the dragon kilns had been shut down by the court and the Daoist was also having bad luck, running out of rice, so he'd rather kill the wrong person than let one slip away? Liu Xianyang laughed and cursed, "Your method is 'spend money to avert disaster,' isn't it? Get lost, you old cheat! You want to swindle money out of my pocket? Wait till your next life!"
The young Daoist wasn't angered. He called out loudly to the tall youth, "Hoping this year brings fortune in all things, / Who knew fate had misfortune in store. / Without trouble, no one prays to the immortals; / To have peace you must burn incense... Yes, you must burn incense..."
Liu Xianyang abruptly turned and ran toward the fortune-telling stall at a sprint, rubbing his fists together and shouting, "Burn incense, eh? Let me burn your stall first!"
The Daoist was clearly terrified. He jumped up, abandoning his stall, and fled with his head tucked in.
Liu Xianyang stood beside the stall, watching the Daoist's pathetic flight, roaring with laughter. He spotted the lot tube on the table and casually reached out and tipped it over. The bamboo slips clattered out of the tube, fanning out in a crescent on the table.
Liu Xianyang pointed at the Daoist, who had stopped at a distance. "From now on, every time I see you, I'll beat you!"
The young Daoist folded his hands and bowed, pleading for mercy.
Only then did Liu Xianyang let it go.
The young Daoist, waiting until the tall youth had gone far, dared to sit back down. He sighed. "Hard times. Hearts are not what they used to be. It's not easy for this poor Daoist to make a living either."
Just then, the Daoist's eyes lit up. He quickly closed them and recited in a loud voice: "When the pond is full, frogs croak in chaos; / What pricks the guts is the human heart. / Fame and fortune here are duckweed on water; / Only by moving in all directions can one thrive!"
The pair — a young master and a maidservant — had evidently heard the Daoist's words, but unfortunately showed no sign of stopping.
The Daoist cracked his eyes open a slit. Seeing he was about to lose another customer, he slapped the table and raised his voice: "A scholar-top graduate is but a man's son; / A prime minister is just a man on earth. / One whose learning pierces heaven and whose name shakes the city, / Proud and spirited, full of vigor and vim!"
Song Jixin and his maidservant Zhigui only continued on their way.
The Daoist was disheartened. He muttered under his breath, "This life is impossible."
But without warning, the boy turned his head and tossed a coin from afar to the young Daoist, smiling brightly. "I'll take your good words!"
The Daoist hurriedly caught the coin and opened his palm to look. His brow furrowed. It was just one copper — the smallest denomination.
But still.
The young Daoist set the coin gently on the table.
In the blink of an eye, a yellow bird dove down onto the tabletop. It lowered its head, pecked lightly at the copper coin, then picked it up in its beak and looked up at the young Daoist. Its eyes were lively, no different from a human's.
The Daoist said softly, "Go. This place is no longer fit to stay."
The yellow bird flashed and was gone.
The young Daoist looked around. His gaze finally settled on the distant, towering memorial archway, which happened to face the plaque reading "Spirit Piercing the Dipper and Ox." He sighed. "What a shame."
Then he added, "If I could take it outside and sell it, it'd be worth at least eight hundred or a thousand taels of silver, wouldn't it?"