Chen Ping'an and Ning Yao parted ways at the Twelve-Foot Archway, and the boy made his way to Mud Vase Lane. He knocked on the gate and called, "Song Jixin, are you home?"
Inside the kitchen, the young girl had just ladled a scoop of water from the gourd ladle. She hiccupped repeatedly, then drank it down, and at once felt considerably refreshed. She set down the ladle and glided out from the kitchen, trotted to the gate and opened it. Slightly puzzled, she answered all the same in her measured way: "My young master is not home. Chen Ping'an, why are you knocking at the gate? Before, you always stood in your own courtyard and chatted with us from there."
Chen Ping'an, separated from her by the gate, said, "I need a small favor."
Zhigui opened the gate and teased, "What a rare visitor, what a rare visitor."
She took in the color of his face and asked, "What do you want with my young master? If it isn't urgent, I can pass along a message when he returns. If it is urgent, I'm afraid you would have to go to the kiln-bureau superintendent's compound to find him. You saw it yourself before — my young master is on good terms with the new superintendent, Master Song."
She noticed that the boy stood rooted to the spot, unmoving. Rolling her eyes, she said: "Well, come in then! What are you standing there for? Is my home a tiger's den, or do I charge a tael of silver for a sip of water?"
At that she covered her mouth and giggled to herself. "For you, the latter would surely be the more frightening."
Chen Ping'an tugged at the corner of his mouth into a strained smile and said softly, "Actually, I came looking for you. The way I knocked just now — I was afraid Song Jixin might misunderstand."
Zhigui understood at once and smiled. "Then speak. What is it? I'll say this upfront: neighbors are neighbors, friendship is friendship, but I am only a little maid dependent on the charity of Mud Vase Lane. I cannot carry a load or lift a burden — I'm not much help with big matters. But if it's money you need, then as luck would have it, I do have a small trick or two."
Chen Ping'an smiled bitterly. "It really isn't a matter of money. I'll just tell you straight: Liu Xianyang was beaten half to death by someone at the gallery bridge. The old shopkeeper from the Yang family shop went to look at him and was helpless."
Zhigui looked blank. "I haven't heard about this. Who did Liu Xianyang offend?"
Chen Ping'an said helplessly, "An outsider. From a place called Zhengyang Mountain."
Zhigui ventured cautiously, "Then you want me to pull some strings, to find Liu Xianyang a plot of fine fengshui land for burial? That shouldn't be too difficult. I can have my young master put in a word with the superintendent, and then have someone from the compound — the steward or the gatekeeper — go to Peach-Leaf Lane and ask Old Wei to find a spot. As long as it isn't on land forbidden by the imperial court, it shouldn't be hard."
The already-dark face of Chen Ping'an grew darker still.
Zhigui seemed to realize she had gone astray. She bared her teeth habitually, revealing a row of bright, even teeth, and leaned against the wall where the spring couplets hung. Tilting her head, she smiled with a playful air and said: "Chen Ping'an, are you asking me to repay you for saving my life? But I am only a maidservant. Even the old shopkeeper from the Yang family shop couldn't help — what could I do?"
After a fierce struggle within himself, Chen Ping'an spoke slowly: "Wang Zhu, I know you are not an ordinary person. That year, during the heavy snow, when I saw you standing at my door, I knew you were different from the rest of us. You were also the first to see that the snake-gall stones were unusual. Looking back now, the way you looked at us neighbors back then — it was no different from the way those outsiders look at us now, in essence."
The girl grinned. "There is a difference, actually."
*I look down not only on you mortals, but even on those so-called immortals and cultivators.*
But those words, Zhigui did not say aloud.
Some truths, in her eyes, were simply the natural order of things. But in the eyes of others, they became arrogance, an untamable spirit.
Chen Ping'an asked: "I came to ask you — is there truly any way to save Liu Xianyang? I used up a locust leaf, and it could barely hold on to his last breath. It wasn't much use, but at least it was some use. So I want to ask — do you have locust leaves, especially any spare ones?"
The girl pointed at her own nose and asked: "Are you asking whether my young master Song Jixin has locust leaves, or whether I — a fatherless, motherless little maidservant — have them?"
Chen Ping'an fixed his gaze on the girl and said directly: "Even if Song Jixin had them, he would never give them to me. I am asking you, Wang Zhu. If you have them, would you lend them to me? And if not, do you know of any other way to save Liu Xianyang?"
The girl — always addressed as Wang Zhu — rubbed her chin with one hand and lightly patted her belly with the other, shaking her head. "None left. Truly none left. I'm not lying to you. If you had come a little earlier, there might have been a few leaves remaining. As for other methods — of course there aren't any. I am not an immortal. How would I know the arts of bringing the dead back to life, of making flesh grow from bare bone? Right? Chen Ping'an, you can't make unreasonable demands. Really, I misjudged you. I thought you were different from the others — not the sort of person who would press favors for repayment."
Chen Ping'an pressed on, unwilling to give up. "Truly nothing? No matter whether I can manage it or not, you can tell me."
Zhigui shook her head, her tone resolute: "I simply don't have any!"
Chen Ping'an smiled faintly. "I understand."
The youth turned and left. His thin figure soon vanished into Mud Vase Lane.
The girl stood in the lane outside her gate, watching the boy's retreating back grow smaller and smaller, her expression complex — a thread of pity for his misfortune and anger at his stubbornness. She muttered indignantly: "The locust leaves you finally got your hands on, squandered just like that? Well, you might as well go die alongside Liu Xianyang. The sooner you die, the sooner you're reborn. With luck, you'll still be brothers-in-arms in the next life. At least that's better than those poor wretches who have no next life at all."
The girl walked back into the courtyard. As she stepped over the threshold, she hiccupped once more and mocked herself: "A bit stuffed."
Without warning she broke into a quick dash, then stamped her foot hard. Slowly crouching down, she glared at a dusty-yellow four-legged lizard with a small horn atop its head and scolded: "What is borrowed must be repaid, so that borrowing may continue. You five little wretches — if you ever dare default on your debts or welch on a loan, I'll skin you, pull out your tendons, and stew you in a pot!"
The four-legged lizard under the sole of her foot struggled desperately, letting out faint, reedy cries, as though begging for mercy.
---
After leaving Mud Vase Lane, Chen Ping'an ran all the way to the village school, only to be told by an old man sweeping the grounds that Master Qi had left the day before with three out-of-town guests, heading into the deep mountains beyond the town to explore. The round trip would take at least three days. The boy's face was filled with disappointment. As he turned to leave, the old man with the broom suddenly recalled something and called the youth back: "Oh, before Master Qi left, he left word — if anyone from Mud Vase Lane comes looking for him, tell that youth that he had already spoken the principle long ago, and whether he is at the school today or not changes nothing."
The boy seemed to have known all along that this would be the answer. The light in his eyes dimmed.
Still water stirred faintly, devoid of all vitality.
Yet the youth still bowed and said, "Thank you, sir."
The old man hastily stepped aside, waving his hands with a smile: "I hardly deserve the title of 'sir.'"
The old man watched the youth walk slowly away. After a short distance, the boy seemed to lift his arm and wipe at his eyes.
The old man shook his head gently, thinking of two others of similar age — Song Jixin and Zhao Yao, those two promising seeds of learning. Then he looked at this one. The disparity in their lot in life was as vast as heaven and earth.
Some ride the spring wind in triumph; others weather the storms of a troubled age.
Chen Ping'an returned to Mud Vase Lane and retrieved the last pouch of copper coins hidden in a clay jar. With three bags of money on him, he walked into Fulu Street and found the kiln-bureau superintendent's compound.
The gatekeeper was somewhat bewildered upon hearing the introduction — Song Jixin's neighbor from Mud Vase Lane wanted to see Song Jixin and Superintendent Song?
Chen Ping'an quietly slipped him a gold copper coin he had prepared in advance, saying nothing. The gatekeeper glanced down, weighed it, and rubbed it between two fingers. Understanding flashed across his face, but he did not rush to commit himself. The boy quickly produced a second gold coin. The gatekeeper smiled but did not take it, saying: "Since you are a sensible person, I am willing to help arrange an introduction. Otherwise, if I lost this position on your account, I'd be the biggest fool in the world. Keep that coin for now. If the steward agrees to let you in, you can give it to me then. If not, my hands are tied — consider it a coin that was never fated to reach me. What do you think?"
Chen Ping'an nodded vigorously.
Before long, an aged steward arrived with the gatekeeper. The gatekeeper shot the boy a warning glance — whatever you do, don't hand over a coin right now. Accepting a bribe openly was no small offense. Fortunately, the boy did no such thing, and simply followed the steward toward the rear hall of the compound.
The gatekeeper sighed inwardly, puzzled. Why had the steward agreed so readily the moment he heard it was a boy surnamed Chen from Mud Vase Lane? Since when had the threshold of the compound been set so low?
The gatekeeper felt a twinge of unease. In truth, when he had gone to fetch the steward, his words — both overt and veiled — had urged the old man that it was better to avoid trouble than to court it, and not to let the boy into the compound. He had not said so outright, of course, trusting that the steward, who had served so many years in the yamen, would read between the lines.
The young gatekeeper's original scheme had been simple: pocket a gold coin with no risk and no effort. Now he could only hope that shabby boy was not some troublemaker who would bring disaster upon them all.
---
In the rear hall's main room, a tall man in a white robe sat in the seat of honor, drinking tea.
Song Jixin occupied a guest chair to the left, idly playing with a bamboo folding fan in one hand — opening it, snapping it shut, opening it again — and smiling at the straw-sandaled youth who was being ushered in.
The black lacquered chairs. The snow-white robe. A vivid contrast.
The steward withdrew. The man in the seat of honor set down his teacup and said to the youth with a smile: "Chen Ping'an, please sit anywhere you like. We have actually met before in Mud Vase Lane, but I didn't recognize you at the time. I should have greeted you sooner."
Song Jixin found this faintly amusing — only he knew that when this man used the word "I," he was noticeably unaccustomed to it.
The youth sat in the chair opposite Song Jixin.
The man came straight to the point: "Chen Ping'an, you've come here about Liu Xianyang being beaten?"
The youth stood up and said: "I hope Master Song will severely punish the culprit from Zhengyang Mountain, and not merely expel him from the town."
The man smiled. "In truth, this town is a 'land of no law,' meaning that no dynasty's statutes apply here. The superintendent has always been in an awkward position — no authority to intervene in local affairs. Moreover, the custom here has long been that if no one brings a complaint, the officials do not investigate. Whether a great household beats a maidservant to death, or a minor family brawls and someone is hurt — no one comes to this compound to beat the drum of injustice. So, Chen Ping'an, you have brought a pig's head to the wrong temple and are bowing to the wrong deity."
The man's manner and speech were genial throughout, without a trace of haughty condescension.
Chen Ping'an set three pouches of copper coins on a tall stool beside the chair. Then he said to the unperturbed man: "Master Song, I know you are very powerful. I want to know if you can save Liu Xianyang — and if you cannot save him, whether you can at least give him justice. You cannot let a killer get away with murder simply by walking out of this town as though nothing happened."
The man laughed aloud. "I am very powerful? The girl in black told you that, I imagine? Mm, that shows her martial talent is truly exceptional — even better than your friend Liu Xianyang. I'll tell you the truth: I only know how to kill. Saving people is not something I am good at. And besides — why should I break the great rule that has governed this place for a thousand years, all for a youth I have met only once?"
The man gestured toward the three pouches of copper coins. "Without the ancestral armor and sword scripture, Liu Xianyang's life is not worth this much money. And if you hope to buy my goodwill — these coins are far from enough. If Great Li were to fall out with Zhengyang Mountain over three pouches of copper? Utterly impossible. It would be the laughingstock of the entire Baoping Continent. Chen Ping'an, you may not understand this just yet, but if you have the chance someday to venture beyond the town, you will see that this is the plain truth."
Chen Ping'an said through gritted teeth: "Master Song, can you tell me what it would take for you to act? Even if you think I could never manage it, you could at least tell me."
The man did not believe he had betrayed the slightest clue. But this vassal king, whose power was immense, showed a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He smiled and said: "Chen Ping'an, I am not belittling you or deliberately making things difficult. Quite the contrary — I find you interesting, which is why I am willing to take the time to talk reason with you calmly and discuss terms. Do you understand?"
Chen Ping'an nodded.
Song Jixin sat with his legs crossed carelessly on the chair, tapping his knee lightly with the closed folding fan. Watching the fire from the far bank, indifferent to matters that did not concern him.
Song Changjing did not trouble himself over Song Jixin's eccentricity. In this town, the vassal king possessed more intelligence than anyone except Qi Jingchun. At last he spoke the heart of the matter: "Chen Ping'an, you need not burden yourself with guilt, imagining that your friend's death would be your fault. Liu Xianyang was already caught in a deadly impasse. As long as that youth refuses to hand over the sword scripture, it is an unbreakable knot — because Zhengyang Mountain will want him dead. Neither Qi Jingchun nor Master Ruan can stop it. It isn't that no one has ever fought that old ape. The price of doing so is simply too great. It would not be worth it."
The man sipped his tea and continued at his leisure: "Chen Ping'an, have you ever wondered — why is it that you, of all people, the one least deserving of the blessing of one's ancestors, were given a locust leaf? Yet Liu Xianyang, with his superb foundation of bone and sinew, received not a single one? Have you ever thought about that?"
Chen Ping'an said: "I have troubled Master Song."
The straw-sandaled youth gathered up the three pouches of copper coins and took his leave of the superintendent.
Though Song Changjing did not press him to stay, he rose to his feet and personally saw the boy out. Song Jixin was about to rise reluctantly, but saw his uncle shake his head slightly, and so he settled back into his chair with a comfortable sigh, leaning against the backrest.
As they reached the threshold, Song Changjing said without preamble: "There are two things I am capable of doing, but cannot do on my own. However, if you manage to accomplish just one of them, I may well consider teaching that old ape a lesson on your behalf."
The youth stopped in his tracks at once and turned around, his face solemn.
The man said calmly: "One is to find an opportunity to kidnap the little girl from Zhengyang Mountain who is always at the old ape's side — to rattle his mind and force the old ape to remain in the town against his will. The other is to sneak out at night and chop down that old locust tree, then pull out the iron chain from the Iron Lock Well. You may do both, or you may do only one. If you accomplish one, I will strike and injure the attacker for you. If you accomplish both, I will kill the old ape from Zhengyang Mountain."
Song Changjing smiled as he made his promise: "My word is given, and I shall not go back on it!"
Then the vassal king of Great Li, whose power was immense, said something cryptic: "Chen Ping'an, I trust you can sense whether a word spoken is true or false."
The youth departed in silence.
He did not see the boy slap his chest and make grandiose boasts. Song Changjing, on the contrary, found this entirely normal. Standing in the doorway, his back to Song Jixin within, he asked: "You know him better than I do. Do you think he will go through with it?"
Song Jixin shook his head. "Hard to say. Under normal circumstances, getting him to do something against his principles would be very difficult indeed. But for Liu Xianyang's sake — it might be a different story."
The man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing up at the sky. He asked: "Suppose the boy does produce an unexpected surprise, and I seize the chance to intervene — whether to cultivate ties with Zhengyang Mountain, or to form an alliance with the Wind-Thunder Garden — naturally I can choose only one, and the other may well become an enemy. Compared with remaining on the sidelines and letting Great Li's relations with both factions stay lukewarm and distant, which outcome do you think would be better for my Great Li?"
Song Jixin rose and paced slowly, tapping his folded fan against his palm. After deliberation he said: "In an age of peace, choose the latter. In a time of upheaval, choose the former."
Then the youth smiled. "Whatever the world beyond this town may be — an age of peace or a time of upheaval — it seems that at the very least, Uncle, you have already made your choice."
Song Changjing scoffed: "What use is a warrior of the battlefield in an age of peace? To be a docile watchdog guarding the house of the scholars?"
Song Changjing turned to look at the stiff-faced youth. "I have already seen that this boy — Chen Ping'an — is the true knot in your heart, one you cannot untie in the short term. If you leave this town carrying that knot, it will not bode well for your cultivation ahead. So you may watch with your own eyes how a youth of once-pure innocence is transformed into one seething with anger and worldly dust. When that time comes, you will find it rather pointless to hold a grudge against such a person."
Song Jixin opened his mouth but said nothing in the end, and fell into deep thought.
The man walked back to his seat in the seat of honor and drained his teacup in one long swallow. "Most importantly — when I play these tedious little games, the real purpose beyond finding a flimsy pretext to muddy the waters, is to teach you a single truth: on the road of cultivation ahead, anyone at all may become your enemy — including your own blood uncle, I, Song Changjing."
The youth was stunned.
Song Changjing sneered: "Because the knot of the heart, if not pulled out by one's own hand, will leave endless misfortune in its wake — like the wild grass of the wasteland, that springs back to life each time the spring wind blows."
Song Changjing continued with scorn and contempt: "Soon-to-be Imperial Prince of Great Li, Song Jixin — are you seething with indignation? But what can you do about it? Tell me — in what way do you consider yourself better off than Chen Ping'an, who is being played like a puppet on strings?"
Song Jixin stared fixedly at this man whose face was as calm as a light cloud. The youth's five fingers, gripping the folding fan, stood out with sinew and bone.
The man sat upright in his chair, his gaze deep and far-reaching, looking out beyond the room as if speaking to himself: "The more people you see in the future, the more you will discover a curious thing. All that talk of good and evil meeting retribution, of swift vengeance, of an ordinary man's rage splashing blood three feet high, of gifted scholars and beautiful maidings, of destined lovers united at last — it is all the fantasy of the weak and the washed-up. So — your own fists must be hard. Rely on me? Rely on your birth parents? I advise you to abandon that notion at once. Otherwise, when I take you from this town, it would be no different from carrying your corpse to a pauper's graveyard. In the house of emperors, one has always borne one's own life and death."
The youth broke out in a cold sweat and slumped into his chair, spent.
Though the youth had hidden his knowledge of his true identity behind a mask of composure, and had shown no unusual trace in his dealings at the compound, in the eyes of the vassal king Song Changjing he was as transparent as if held before a demon-revealing mirror — a spirit in the shape of a man, newly transformed. Thus could he be reduced to ash and dust amid smiles and idle talk.
Song Changjing gazed into the far distance, his sight seeming to reach the southernmost tip of the Baoping Continent, all the way to the distant Old Dragon City.
For reasons the vassal king could not quite explain, a saying drifted through his mind: "The human heart is a mirror. The cleaner and more spotless it once was, the less it can bear scrutiny."
Song Changjing felt that the scholars of the court, for all their tedious babbling that gods and ghosts alike detested, sometimes spoke truths that men of the blade — even if they lived a thousand years — could neither devise nor articulate.
Song Changjing gathered his thoughts and pointed southward with his finger, as though wielding a spear: "Song Jixin, if you think what I have said today is wrong, you may — but hold your tongue. Only when you reach Old Dragon City in the future, and we trade places in these seats, will I consider whether it is worth bending an ear to listen!"
The young Prince of Great Li, Song Jixin, had recovered his composure. He smiled: "I shall be watching."
At the compound's gate, the straw-sandaled youth handed the gatekeeper the second gold copper coin as promised.
---
At the Twelve-Foot Archway, Chen Ping'an spotted the figure of the girl in black and hurried toward her.
Ning Yao stood beneath the plaque inscribed with "Soaring Spirit Piercing the Dipper and Ox." She asked: "How did it go?"
Chen Ping'an shook his head. "I looked for all three. I managed to see two of them, but Master Qi was not there. Though I knew the answer from the start."
*The gentleman does not save.*
Master Qi had indeed said as much before.
Ning Yao frowned and said nothing.
Chen Ping'an then said a word of caution to the girl, and broke into a run.
He went first to the Yang family shop, and with a single gold copper coin, bought from a well-informed elder a large quantity of medicines — bottles, ointments, and herbs — for treating bruises, falls, and internal injuries. The boy knew well how to prepare and brew them. Working the dragon kiln was a trade that depended on the mountain, and accidents of all sorts were common. Though Old Yao had never warmed to the half-disciple Chen Ping'an, he had to admit the boy was quick on his feet and honest of heart. So many of the errands and purchases — buying medicine for the injured at the kiln, brewing the remedies — fell to Chen Ping'an.
Back in Mud Vase Lane, in his ancestral home, the boy shut the door and began brewing a decoction — a prescription for internal injuries. While waiting for the fire to do its work, he spread a shirt across the table — faded from washing but still clean — and tore it into strips. The straw-sandaled youth, famous for his miserliness, felt not the slightest pang. He strapped the pressed-ink blade Ning Yao had lent him to his forearm, and wound layer after layer of fine cotton bandages around his calves and wrists.
Chen Ping'an took down the self-made wooden bow from the wall, hesitated, then set it aside for now. Instead he retrieved a slingshot and a pouch of pebbles from the windowsill.
Why persist in trying when all signs said it was hopeless? Three rebuffs in succession, and still no regret — that was the stubbornness unique to this youth.
Without trying, he would never be at peace. It was the same as when he had gone to the blacksmith shop for the last time, begging the old shopkeeper to try once more.
First he had sought out the peculiar Zhigui, hoping to find a sliver of hope for Liu Xianyang. Then he had sought Master Qi, clinging to the faint chance that he might uphold justice. And finally, the so-called martial arts grand master that Ning Yao had mentioned — Superintendent Song — where he had laid all his wealth on the table in a desperate bargain.
The youth had known the odds from the very beginning, and so though his disappointment was deep, it did not feel as though his heart were being torn apart.
In truth, Vassal King Song Changjing and his neighbor Song Jixin did not understand Chen Ping'an at all.
Some things, one must do even at the cost of death. But other things, one must never do — not even to save one's life.
The youth crouched in the corner, quietly waiting for the decoction to be ready. This particular brew was strange — it served no purpose except to dull pain. Once, at the dragon kiln, a man had contracted a strange illness and lain in bed for most of a day, half dead. What was worse, his face and limbs had twisted in agony. The Yang family shop had then provided a prescription much like this one. The man died soon after, but he did not die in pain. He even had the strength to sit up, dictate his last words, and under Old Yao's support, go and take one final look at the kiln.
Chen Ping'an thought he might have need of it too.
The boy noticed some scraps of cloth still on the table. He took off his worn-out straw shoes, produced a pair of new shoes he had never been able to bring himself to wear, fetched the clay jar, and took out the broken porcelain shards within.
About half an hour later, the youth had finished everything. He opened the door and slipped silently from Mud Vase Lane.
Near dusk, the sunlight was no longer glaring. Layer upon layer of burning clouds stretched across the horizon, staggeringly beautiful.
The straw-sandaled youth walked toward Fulu Street.
On the flagstone road, no other figure stirred. The boy walked alone.