On the second day of the second lunar month, the Dragon raises its head.
In the dusk, in a secluded corner of the town known as Mud Bottle Alley, there was a lonely, lean young man. Following custom, he held a candle in one hand and a peach branch in the other, lighting up the beams, walls, wooden bed, and other places as he tapped here and there with the branch, trying to drive away snakes, scorpions, centipedes, and the like. He muttered an old saying passed down through generations in the town: "On the second day of the second lunar month, candles shine on beams, peach branches strike the walls; snakes and bugs beneath heaven have nowhere to hide."
The young man's surname was Chen, and his given name was Ping'an. His parents had died early. The town's porcelain was renowned far and wide. Since the founding of the present dynasty, it had borne the heavy responsibility of "supervising the firing of ritual vessels for imperial mausoleums by decree." Court officials were stationed here year-round to oversee the affairs of the official kilns. With no one to rely on, Chen Ping'an had become a kiln worker at a very young age. At first, he could only do miscellaneous chores and rough labor. He endured several hard years under a bad-tempered master who had taken up the trade midway through life, and had only just begun to grasp a little of the knack of firing porcelain when the winds of fortune shifted. The town suddenly lost the protective talisman of its official kiln commission, and the several dozen kiln furnaces around town, shaped like crouching dragons, were all ordered by the authorities to close and extinguish their fires overnight.
Chen Ping'an set down the freshly snapped peach branch, blew out the candle, and walked out of the house. He sat on the steps and looked up at the glittering stars.
Even now, the young man clearly remembered that old master, who had only been willing to acknowledge him as half a disciple. His surname had been Yao. One morning in late autumn last year, he had been found sitting in a small bamboo chair, facing the kiln mouth, his eyes closed forever.
Still, people like Old Man Yao, who drilled into a bull's horn and could not pull themselves out, were few in the end.
The town craftsmen, who had done nothing but fire porcelain for generation after generation, neither dared overstep their bounds and make tribute ware from the official kilns nor secretly sell the stored porcelain to commoners. They could only seek other ways to survive. Fourteen-year-old Chen Ping'an was swept out the door as well. After returning to Mud Bottle Alley, he continued watching over this long-ruined old house. It was practically a scene of four bare walls; even if Chen Ping'an had wanted to become a wastrel, he would not have known where to begin.
After drifting about like a lonely ghost for some time, the young man truly could not find any work that earned money. Relying on his meager savings, he barely managed to fill his stomach. A few days ago, he heard that an out-of-town blacksmith surnamed Ruan had arrived in Qilong Alley a few streets away. The man publicly announced that he wanted to take on seven or eight blacksmithing apprentices. There would be no wages, but meals would be provided. Chen Ping'an hurried over to try his luck, only for the middle-aged man to glance at him sidelong and refuse him at the door. At the time, Chen Ping'an had been baffled. Could it be that blacksmithing was not judged by the strength of one's arms, but by the quality of one's face?
Chen Ping'an might have looked frail, but his strength was not to be underestimated. It was the foundation his body had built through years of firing porcelain and throwing clay. Beyond that, he had followed the old man surnamed Yao through all the mountains and waters within a hundred miles of town, tasted every kind of soil in the surrounding area, and worked without complaint. He was willing to do any filthy or exhausting job, never dragging his feet. Unfortunately, Old Yao had never liked Chen Ping'an, believing the young man lacked insight, a lump of elmwood that would not open to understanding. He was far inferior to the eldest disciple, Liu Xianyang. The old man could not be blamed for favoring one over the other. A master led one through the gate, but cultivation depended on the individual. Take the same dull, tedious task of throwing clay: Liu Xianyang's skill after only half a year matched Chen Ping'an's hard-earned level after three years.
Though he might never use this craft again in his life, Chen Ping'an still closed his eyes as usual and imagined a bluestone slab and a potter's wheel before him. He began practicing throwing clay. Practice made perfect.
About every quarter of an hour, the young man would rest briefly and shake out his wrists. He repeated the cycle until he was utterly exhausted. Only then did Chen Ping'an rise, pacing around the courtyard while slowly stretching his limbs. No one had ever taught him these things; he had figured out the method himself through blind groping.
The world had been silent as though all sounds had vanished when Chen Ping'an heard a piercing, mocking laugh. He stopped. Sure enough, he saw that boy his own age crouching atop the wall, grinning wide without bothering to hide the contempt on his face.
This person was Chen Ping'an's old neighbor. Rumor had it that he was also the illegitimate son of the previous Supervisor. That official had feared criticism from the righteous and impeachment by censorial officials, so he had returned to the capital alone to report on his duties, entrusting the child to the incoming official, with whom he had considerable personal ties, to watch over and care for him. Now that the town had inexplicably lost its qualification to fire official kiln ware, the Supervisor responsible for overseeing kiln affairs for the court was himself a Mud Bodhisattva Crossing the River, unable to protect even himself. How could he spare thought for a fellow official's illegitimate son? Leaving behind some silver, he hurried anxiously to the capital to pull strings.
The neighboring boy, who had unwittingly become an abandoned child, still lived a carefree life. Every day, he wandered around inside and outside the town with his personal maidservant. All year long, he idled about and had never worried over silver.
The earthen courtyard walls of every household in Mud Bottle Alley were low. In truth, the neighboring boy could see into this courtyard without even standing on tiptoe. Yet whenever he spoke with Chen Ping'an, he always preferred to squat on top of the wall.
Compared with the crude, commonplace name Chen Ping'an, the neighboring boy's name was much more elegant: Song Jixin. Even the maidservant who depended on him for survival had a refined-sounding name: Zhi Gui.
The girl was standing on the other side of the courtyard wall at this moment. She had almond-shaped eyes and looked timid and delicate.
A voice rose from by the courtyard gate. "Are you selling that maidservant of yours?"
Song Jixin froze, then turned toward the voice. A richly dressed young man stood outside the courtyard, smiling with his eyes. His face was entirely unfamiliar.
Beside the richly dressed young man stood a tall old man, fair-faced and kindly looking. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he examined the young man and young woman in the two neighboring courtyards.
The old man's gaze swept past Chen Ping'an without lingering. But it rested far longer on Song Jixin and the maidservant, and the smile on his face gradually deepened.
Song Jixin shot him a sidelong glance. "Selling! Why wouldn't I sell?"
The young man smiled. "Then name your price."
The girl's eyes widened, her face full of disbelief, like a startled young elk.
Song Jixin rolled his eyes, raised one finger, and wagged it. "Ten thousand taels of silver!"
The richly dressed young man's expression did not change. He nodded. "Fine."
Seeing that the young man did not seem to be joking, Song Jixin hurriedly changed his words. "Ten thousand taels of gold!"
The richly dressed young man's lips curled upward. "I was teasing you."
Song Jixin's face darkened.
The richly dressed young man ignored Song Jixin now and shifted his gaze to Chen Ping'an. "Thanks to you today, I was able to buy that carp. After taking it home, the more I looked at it, the more delighted I became. I thought I had to thank you in person, so I had Grandpa Wu bring me here overnight to find you."
He tossed out a heavy embroidered pouch and threw it to Chen Ping'an, his smile brilliant. "This is your reward. You and I are even now."
Chen Ping'an had just wanted to speak when the richly dressed young man had already turned and left.
Chen Ping'an frowned.
During the day, Chen Ping'an had happened to see a middle-aged man walking down the street with a Fish Basket. The man had caught a golden carp the length of a palm, and it had been leaping fiercely inside the bamboo basket. Chen Ping'an took only one glance and felt it was a joyous sight, so he asked whether he could buy it for ten copper coins. The middle-aged man had originally only intended to reward his own five viscera temple, but seeing a chance for profit, he raised the price on the spot, opening his mouth like a lion. He insisted on thirty coins before he would sell. Chen Ping'an, whose purse was embarrassingly light, had no such spare money, yet he truly could not bear to part with that glittering golden carp. He followed the man greedily, wheedling and pleading, hoping to haggle the price down to fifteen coins—even twenty would do. Just as the man showed signs of relenting, the richly dressed young man and the tall old man happened to pass by. Without another word, they bought both the carp and the Fish Basket for fifty coins. Chen Ping'an could only watch helplessly as they swaggered away.
Staring fixedly at the retreating backs of that grandfather and grandson pair, Song Jixin finally withdrew his vicious gaze and jumped down from the wall. Seeming to remember something, he said to Chen Ping'an, "Do you remember that four-legged snake from the first lunar month?"
Chen Ping'an nodded.
How could he not remember? The memory was still fresh as yesterday.
By a custom passed down in the town for centuries, if a snake crawled into one's house, it was a good omen, and the owner absolutely must not drive it away or kill it. On the first day of the first lunar month, Song Jixin had been sitting on his threshold basking in the sun when a little creature commonly called a four-legged snake darted into the house right under his nose. Song Jixin grabbed it and flung it into the courtyard. Unexpectedly, that four-legged snake, already dazed and battered from the fall, only grew braver with every setback. Again and again it tried to enter, enraging Song Jixin, who had never believed in Ghosts and Gods. In a fit of anger, he flung it into Chen Ping'an's courtyard. Who would have thought that the next day, Song Jixin would see that same four-legged snake curled up beneath his own bed?
Song Jixin noticed the girl tugging at his sleeve.
The young man and she understood each other without words. Instinctively, he swallowed the words that had already reached his lips.
What he had wanted to say was that the hideously ugly four-legged snake had recently developed a bulge on its forehead, as though horns were growing from its head.
Song Jixin changed what he was going to say. "Zhi Gui and I may be leaving this place next month."
Chen Ping'an sighed. "Be careful on the road."
Song Jixin said, half in jest and half in earnest, "There are some things I definitely won't be able to take with me. Don't go stealing things without restraint just because no one is home at my place."
Chen Ping'an shook his head.
Song Jixin suddenly burst into laughter. Pointing at Chen Ping'an, he said with a cheeky grin, "Timid as a mouse. No wonder poor households produce no distinguished sons. Don't talk about being poor and lowly, bullied by everyone in this life—perhaps you won't escape it in the next life either."
Chen Ping'an said nothing.
They each returned to their rooms. Chen Ping'an shut the door and lay on the hard wooden bed. The impoverished young man closed his eyes and murmured softly, "Shattered peace, peace through the years. Shattered peace, peace through the years..."
P.S. 1: A side story of nearly two hundred thousand words, set in the snow, is being updated on WeChat. The official account is: fenghuo1985
P.S. 2: Before it was even uploaded, there were already over a hundred Alliance Leaders. You are mighty...
P.S. 3: Long time no see, Sword Come!
Before you continue