Liu Xianyang came running back with a wicker basket. Chen was watching well-diggers haul up earth when Liu kicked him; seeing it was the tall lad, he let it pass. Liu declared: "Done! Ruan says I dig wells by day, forge iron by night, and in a week-and-a-half I count as his first disciple. I got you a basket to feel out stones, forge to the bridge. But the pool they call the back of the green ox is yours alone — if I set a foot past the bridge north or west, he'll break my legs."
Throwing an arm around his neck, Liu whispered: "Ruan says nothing gets stolen here — these out-of-towners play every part, but never a furtive thief. Heaven never dozes; it's watching. Creepy, eh?" Then: "You can keep living in my house — but don't sell that magic armor before I'm home!"
Chen drove a fist into his chest; Liu cursed, rubbing the spot: "You skinny bamboo pole, where do you get that strength!" Chen grinned: "Burdened with a basket, I could still beat you home." Liu looked sidelong: "Then we'll see who holds his breath longest!"
Near the stream, Chen rolled up his trouser legs: "I won't gamble on a single breath." He lined the basket with spring grasses, muttering that every twenty stones needed fresh grass — vexing Liu so badly he tried to fling the basket at him; Chen refused, saying the hot-headed Liu would just toss stones in and break his heart. But the two waded in and swept the stream, Chen left, Liu right. At the man-deep pools ringed by boulders, Liu shone: he handed off the basket and, in a single dive, fished the snake-gall stones from between the monstrous rocks.
Before they reached the bridge, the basket was nearly full. Among the haul was a dark green stone Liu had to dive for three times, palm-large, flecked with gold, fine-grained and heavy; when Chen ran a finger along it, a faint flicker answered. Clearly this stone was extraordinary.
Sitting side by side on a great boulder midstream, Liu asked: "Ever thought of leaving this town?" Chen: "Not yet. A body needs money to travel, and once I'm gone who keeps up the house? And my parents' graves need the weeds pulled." Liu sighed: "You always mull over useless things — no wonder Song Jixin says you're cursed to run in circles." Chen smiled: "Remember that tree I told you about?" Liu: "A tree on a grave mound, and you fuss? That's the other Chen branch's ancestor!" Chen sat cross-legged: "I wonder how many Chens there are beyond this town." Liu: "Besides you, the town's Chens are almost all born bondsmen of the four surnames and ten clans — and outside the great gates they look down on everyone. So old Yao's right: were you their servant, your whole branch would be done for."
Old Yao had once said the Chens had two branches in town; one moved away early. Chen's own had flourished once, so long ago that not even old Yao could say if it was five hundred years or a thousand — then it split and thinned, its luck carried off by the emigrants, graves falling to neglect, the hills sealed off. Old Yao said not even a god could find Chen's branch's graves; its sons had come to nothing but ruined heirs, who besides never serving the four surnames and ten clans had not one virtue. Chen had once gone in secret to find that ancestor's grave — but found only weeds, foxes and hares, no mound, only one short nameless tree. Weeds run wild, foxes come and go — one tree full and green.
Chen shook his head: "Before my mother left, she made me swear: I may beg, even starve — but never become a servant to a great house." Liu blurted: "Didn't she also swear you never to apprentice at the dragon kiln?" The youth's face darkened; he did not flare up. A pang of guilt struck Liu, but he never said "sorry," so he feigned nothing, and rose: "Come on, wells to dig. I'll wheedle Ruan to take you on as a day-laborer." Chen: "No hurry — wait till those two bands leave." Liu: "Why does taking old Ruan as master dodge the catastrophe?" Chen, unsure: "When rain comes sudden, you find an eave to shelter under." Liu: "Can he hold those bands in check?" Chen: "Don't judge a man by his looks." Liu: "You look poor — are you?" Chen cracked a grin and said nothing. Liu got up: "Carry it to the bridge?" Chen shook his head. "It's not heavy." "Give me my basket back." And Liu waded off, scattering spray.
Chen hoisted the basket and made for the bridge, then heard footsteps — Liu again. The tall lad snatched the basket onto his back and mocked: "From far off you look like a grasshopper toting a boulder, poor thing. Out of charity I'll carry it to the bridge." In the spring breeze the two walked on. "Chen, when I've learned my craft, I'll see the world — marry a wife fairer than Zhigui, drink the finest wine, live in the grandest house, ride the swiftest horse!" "And I'll see a mountain as high as the sky, and a river a thousand times wider than our stream." "In short, I won't rot here all my life." One dreaming aloud, one chewing a blade of grass.
——
Chen carried the stones back to Liu's courtyard, sorted the choicest into the by-house, locked up, and ran to Mud Vase Lane, where the black-clad girl sat in the sun; he greeted her and brewed medicine. From next door came sounds of chopping — strange, for Song Jixin, though seen as parentless, had never lacked anything. He rose on his toes at the wall: Zhigui, a kitchen cleaver in hand, was hewing at a wooden figure, jade-hued and ancient, now chopped into many pieces. The girl turned, wiped her sweaty face, and forced a smile: "You're back. I meant to borrow a wood-chopper, but that guest of yours wouldn't open the door." Chen: "I'll fetch one. Swing gently — it slips easy." She waved: "Hurry, then." Chen brought it; she asked if he knew what it was. He didn't. She offered no answer and hewed on. Finding Miss Ning gone, he hurried in and laid on the table a snake-gall stone small enough to hold shut in a palm, like frozen honey, its color true. Ning Yao was bemused. Chen smiled: "Miss Ning, it's for you." She asked: "Your favorite?" Chen, embarrassed: "This one… comes about fourth. The best three I've hidden away." Only then did she take it, pinch it up between two fingers, and study its grain. She looked at the stone; the youth looked at her.
——
Deep in the night a boy slipped into Mud Vase Lane, quiet as a wildcat, to Gu Can's courtyard. He crouched by the great water jar and found the snake-gall stones, once stacked neatly, already picked through — as though someone had known their worth before even Chen. Gu Can, the town's odd soul who collected such stones, brought home but one each time, hoarding fifty or sixty. Chen moved aside the dried, lifeless stones, saw no trace of digging, and breathed easy. He scooped the earth until his fingers met a wrapping of yellow oiled paper; his heart jolted, then he drew it out — a book. Tucking it into his bosom, he tamped the earth down: the remaining stones were all "dead," unlike his fresh finds.
He decided to slip out of the lane by his own house. At Song Jixin's gate a door creaked, and he had to knock on his own: "Miss Ning, asleep? I've come for something." A light flared; the black-clad girl opened the gate. Over the way, Zhigui sauntered out, caught a glimpse of him with a bulky yellowing volume clutched in his arms, wagged her head, and clucked — like one who had caught a shameless pair in the act.
——
Though Ning Yao let Chen Ping'an into her courtyard and even her room, her face was not kind. She sat by the table, one arm on her sword-sheath, fingers drumming the hilt. Once sure Zhigui had gone, he explained, awkward: "I went to Gu Can's to fetch something, and she happened to be coming out, so I hid here." She asked: "Fetch what?" He hesitated, then drew out the package: "I don't know myself." She turned her back: "Open it first, then decide whether to tell me." Chen peeled the layers of oiled paper, mud crumbs rolling down, until an ancient book lay revealed — its cover bearing two characters, of which he knew only one: mountain. He set it before her: "Miss Ning, how is this read?" The girl glanced at it and said: "Hàn." The title of the book was Hàn Shān.