Fu Nanhua, the young city lord of Old Dragon City, sat opposite the Song youth, carefully holding the little Mountain Ghoul Gourd in both hands. He studied the inscription carved into its base as though admiring the graceful figure of a peerless beauty. He never tired of looking, examining it, stroking it, even breathing on it. He had been at it for nearly half an hour, unable to put it down. Some people and things inspired love at first sight. To Fu Nanhua's discerning eye, this Heart-Nourishing Pot was one of them. A bargain and a blunder were only a hair's breadth apart, but he was certain he had found the former—and no small bargain, either. His Old Dragon City ranked among the foremost sects in southern East Treasure Bottle Continent, so he was an immortal family scion who had seen wealth and splendor. That was why Cai Jinjian had kept yielding to him earlier.
Song Jixin yawned, sank deeper into his chair, and found a more comfortable position. "Brother Fu, now that we've confirmed the thing is genuine, shouldn't we talk price?"
Rarely addressed with such familiarity, Fu Nanhua suppressed a faint discomfort. He reluctantly set down the Mountain Ghoul Gourd and smiled. "You surely know how sincere I am, Brother Song. Otherwise, I wouldn't have laid bare this pot's true value the moment we met, much less spent so long openly showing how determined I am to have it. I wanted to spare us wild asking prices and endless haggling that would waste time and strain our brotherly bond. Brother Song, I already regard you as a kindred spirit on the road of cultivation. We can trade in good faith today. Whether we can someday stand together through fortune and misfortune, even entrust each other with our lives, depends on whether we take this first step on firm ground."
Song Jixin pointed a finger at the earnest-looking, high-crowned young master and smiled. "Brother Fu, I'm terribly vulgar. I reek of coin. Of course, I make friends too. But when we sit down to do business and someone starts talking about brotherhood, I can't help wondering: when I need him to honor that brotherhood someday, will he be doing sums in his head instead?"
Fu Nanhua's face cooled. He leaned back against his chair and lightly tapped one finger on the table, so softly it made no sound.
Song Jixin seemed oblivious to the change in his manner. "Calling you Brother Fu and letting you inspect this pot was my show of sincerity. Since we both want a deal, let's keep it simple. Name a price, and I'll nod or shake my head. You get two offers. After that, the shop is closed. Promise me mountains of gold and seas of silver if you like—sorry, brother, I won't sell."
"That jade pendant from earlier was my gift on meeting you. It's called Old Dragon Spreads Rain. It isn't a particularly powerful immortal-family Magic Treasure, but it wards off heat, clears the mind, and repels foul influences. It's especially useful for meditation. With a secret formula passed down by a Daoist High Sect, it could even double the results for half the effort."
Fu Nanhua smiled sincerely, without a trace of condescension, and placed an embroidered pouch on the table. He pushed it toward Song Jixin with his palm. "The copper coins in this pouch are called Offering Coins, one kind of the many incense-offering coins in the world. They're generally placed on statues in City God Temples or Wenchang Pavilions—in their mouths, their bellies, or their palms. Each placement has its own rules and purpose. But that isn't what matters most. The crucial point is that these coins, which look like gold, are Gold Essence, far more precious than gold. An Immortal once said, 'Azure waters may perhaps be gathered; the secrets of Gold Essence must not be told.' He meant this very substance. I won't claim this pouch of Gold Essence Offering Coins is more than enough for the pot, but it is a fair price. Add the Old Dragon Spreads Rain pendant, and I dare say you'll come out ahead, Brother Song."
Having delivered these words "from the heart," Fu Nanhua waited for a reply.
Song Jixin fell silent for a moment, then blinked. "That's it?"
Fu Nanhua gave a rueful smile. "That's it."
The youth's expression changed in an instant. He slapped the table. "Fu, go to hell! Do you take me for a three-year-old you can fool?! Before you Outsiders enter town, you're given three pouches of copper coins. One goes toward the toll, and after that, every treasure you acquire, big or small, costs you another pouch. A pouch holds at least twenty coins, sometimes thirty. But that scrawny pouch of yours—does it even have twelve?! You'd cheat me in a trade and still expect me to hand over my fortuitous opportunity?"
Fu Nanhua pressed harder with his finger, tapping the table again and again, faster each time.
Song Jixin's heart lurched. For no apparent reason, he struggled to breathe. His face flushed red and his eyes turned bloodshot. He hurriedly pressed a hand to his chest. His heart pounded like a war drum—thud, thud, thud—as though it might burst through his ribs.
Fu Nanhua gradually slowed his tapping, and the youth's complexion improved. Smiling, he asked, "Since my first offer didn't suit you, I'll make another. Twenty-four Gold Essence Offering Coins for your Mountain Ghoul Gourd. Will you sell?"
Drenched in sweat, Song Jixin hesitated. When he saw Fu Nanhua move, he was about to speak and ease the tension, but the young city lord of Old Dragon City, accustomed to being surrounded by admirers, had already quickened his tapping again. It came like a sudden summer downpour.
Song Jixin pressed both hands to his chest. His handsome face had twisted with pain, yet a trace of ruthless laughter showed through the grimace.
Fu Nanhua nearly gave in to the urge to tap this wolf cub to death. At the last moment, though, the immense temptation of rising step by step to the heavens and attaining eternal life outweighed his personal dislike. He stilled his finger and spared the youth.
Song Jixin gasped for air, his eyes burning as he laughed hoarsely.
Fu Nanhua could make no sense of it. There seemed to be no hatred in the youth's eyes. That did not particularly alarm him; the road of cultivation was full of bizarre sights and strange people. He merely asked, puzzled, "What are you laughing at?"
Song Jixin's breathing steadied. Slumped against his chair, he wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes gleaming. "I'm thinking that before long, I'll have abilities like yours. I'll be able to kill with a flick of my finger. That makes me happier than I can say."
Fu Nanhua smiled and let it pass. No wonder this Fellow Daoist had struck him as a kindred spirit.
Such people were the easiest to deal with, so long as you stood above them. If they climbed over your head, they might become the hardest.
But the young city lord of Old Dragon City did not believe that, once he had seized this opportunity, he would fall behind a youth whom no one had taken out of town before the age of nine.
Song Jixin glanced at the little pot and the half-filled pouch on the table, then looked up. "Fu Nanhua, I have two conditions. Agree to them, and I'll sell you the Mountain Ghoul Gourd and bring out another old object no less valuable."
Fu Nanhua suppressed his delight and kept his voice as even as he could. "Let's hear them."
Song Jixin did not beat around the bush. His first demand landed like a thunderbolt. "First, I want three pouches of Gold Essence coins, not two!"
"Agreed!" Fu Nanhua said without hesitation.
Song Jixin stared hard into his eyes.
"Believe me or don't," Fu Nanhua said with a smile. "But before I leave today, you must show me this object worth two pouches of Gold Essence so I can inspect it myself."
"Of course." Song Jixin nodded.
"And your second condition?"
"Kill someone for me," Song Jixin said slowly.
Fu Nanhua shook his head. "If you know how many copper coins are in a pouch, you should know that we Outsiders can't kill people here at will. We'd be expelled from town immediately. Part of our Root Bone might even be cut away, and the Sage could strip us of the associated opportunities through immortal-family methods. It would be a wretched end, and our Lineage would lose every opportunity it had here."
Song Jixin's lips curved. "Don't rush to refuse. Watch how things unfold first. What do you say?"
"I'm curious," Fu Nanhua said with a smile. "Whom do you want dead?"
"I'm still thinking about that myself," Song Jixin said, half in earnest.
Fu Nanhua picked up the little pot again, feeling its delicate texture in his hands. "Then I'll wait and see."
Across the table, the youth rubbed his neck without thinking. His complexion was dreadful.
Earlier, Zhi Gui had escorted Cai Jinjian to the gate of the Gu household. Song Jixin's maidservant had then wandered off to browse the streets. Cai Jinjian pushed the gate open, only to freeze as though struck by lightning. She stared at the old man seated on a bench and asked in a trembling voice, "Senior, are you the River-Cutting True Lord who cultivates in seclusion at Book Scroll Lake?"
"How do you know me?" the old man asked.
"I am Cai Jinjian of Cloud Mist Mountain," she said respectfully. "Ten years ago, I accompanied my father to Book Scroll Lake to see the wondrous sight of the old giant turtle bearing a stele out of the water. I was fortunate enough to glimpse you from afar. The sight remains vivid in my memory."
The old man nodded. "I see."
Cai Jinjian's heart sank a little. "True Lord, I was hoping to..."
The "storyteller" known as the River-Cutting True Lord glanced at her. "For Old Ancestor Songxia's sake, I won't hold this uninvited visit against you. There will be no next time. Close the gate when you leave."
Cai Jinjian was silent for only a moment before nodding. "I'll take my leave, then."
She really did leave, and she remembered to close the gate obediently, doing so gently and without the slightest lapse in courtesy.
Inside the courtyard, Madam Gu looked toward the gate and asked anxiously, "Immortal Master, she doesn't seem the sort to let this go. Will there be trouble?"
The old man, who bore the title of True Lord, scoffed. "In this town, even breathing out or passing wind might cause trouble. Should we give up our opportunities because of that?"
Madam Gu had no answer.
The old man smiled. "Tell me, Madam Gu: if you could choose, would you rather send Gu Can to cultivate at Cloud Mist Mountain, or have him follow me to Book Scroll Lake?"
"Don't answer too quickly."
He raised a hand to stop her and continued slowly. "Cloud Mist Mountain sits at the bottom of the second rank among the sects of East Treasure Bottle Continent. But you would be gravely mistaken to think it insignificant. The Cloud Root Stone it produces is a true Heavenly Material and Earthly Treasure, found nowhere else on the entire continent—or indeed anywhere under heaven. Thus Cloud Mist Mountain holds a special standing, and everyone shows it respect. It has especially deep ties with the Daoist temples of the Cinnabar Alchemy Sect, ties sustained by a thousand years of offerings. As for me, I am merely one cultivator of Book Scroll Lake. I occupy a single island in its heart, have only a handful of disciples, and fewer than a hundred servants."
Madam Gu smiled winsomely. Though no longer young, she retained her charm. "The gap between me and that woman from Cloud Mist Mountain is the gap between her and you, Immortal Master. Why would I send Gu Can to grub for food in the fields with her when he could live in a Blessed Land with you?"
The old man laughed heartily. Then something occurred to him, and his voice grew grave. "What is that youth's background? Tell me everything, Madam Gu, in case we've overlooked something."
Madam Gu paused and smoothed the hair at her temple before speaking softly. "That poor child is called Chen Ping'an. Both his parents grew up in town. His mother and I were quite close. She was plain-looking but truly good-natured. I don't think I ever saw her quarrel with anyone. Her husband wasn't much to look at—hardly worthy of her, really—but he was skilled at firing porcelain. If he hadn't died young, another twenty years might have made him master of that great Dragon Kiln. As for how he died, some say that on a stormy night, he rushed to keep the kiln fire from going out and slipped into a stream. Others say he went to cut firewood and make charcoal, strayed onto a mountain closed by the imperial court in hopes of a little extra gain, and was dragged deep into the forest by a beast. Either way, they never found his body. He was the quiet sort; you could beat him with a stick and still not get a word out of him. But he was good to his child. Every time he came back to town, he brought some little gift—a toy drum, a sugar figurine of a bodhisattva, an old porcelain shard. On the whole, before he died, the family of three lived peacefully enough."
"After Chen Ping'an's father died, his mother seemed to develop an illness of the heart. Her spirit soon gave out. She had never been strong, and her health collapsed in less than a year. She grew so thin she was nothing but skin and bones. We old neighbors were frightened to see her; we could hardly recognize the lovely young woman she had once been. Chen Ping'an cared for her then. He was so little, yet he bought and brewed her medicine, cooked meals, did everything. He was too short to reach the stove without standing on a bench. To save money for her medicine, he searched hills and valleys for herbs he could recognize and sold whatever he found beyond what she needed to the apothecary."
"I reckon he ate the wrong herb once. When he came back to Mud Bottle Alley with his basket on his back, he suddenly collapsed, foaming at the mouth and rolling on the ground. We thought all three members of that family would be gone. My mother-in-law was still alive then, and she said it would be better if they all went, so none would be left behind to suffer. At least the family could reunite in the underworld. Somehow the child recovered and survived that illness, but his mother did not make it through the winter. Oh, Immortal Master, Chen Ping'an was born on the Fifth Day of the Fifth Month. The older neighbors in our alley all say it's the most inauspicious day of the year, a day that easily attracts unclean things and brings misfortune upon one's family,
"So after his parents were gone, there wasn't a single copper coin left in the house. He had even traded almost all the little gifts his father had given him to other children around town for food..."
At this, the old man finally spoke. "The Fifth Day of the Fifth Month? Interesting. Let me calculate."
His five fingers formed a hand seal: Sleeve Holds Universe.
Seeing Madam Gu staring blankly, he smiled. "Go on."
"Oh," she said. "For the sake of all those years as neighbors, we people of Mud Bottle Alley helped Chen Ping'an now and then. We didn't quite dare bring him into our homes, but we could at least take him a few bowls of food. Hearts are made of flesh, after all. To be honest, if his birthday hadn't frightened people so much, everyone would have felt for that sensible child. Of course, some neighbors weren't decent. A few who couldn't bear to see anyone else do well liked making the child suffer on purpose. In the end, he had no choice but to become a Potter's apprentice. And on her deathbed, his mother had made him promise that even if he had to beg, he would never work at a Dragon Kiln. For such a dutiful, obedient child to break that promise, things must have been dire."
"Do you know the names and birth dates of the youth's parents?" the old man asked.
Madam Gu knew their names, but no one knew their birth dates. The old man said it did not matter. A moment later, he sneered. "Petty tricks and underhanded schemes!"
Madam Gu looked utterly confused.
"The man met an unnatural death," the old man explained. "Most likely, he stumbled upon one of the town's secrets. Unfortunately, he had nowhere near your family's luck or ancestral protection. To keep his son safe, he secretly shattered that Natal Ceramic vessel. That left some sect outside town empty-handed after a considerable investment. A mere Potter could never repay such a debt, so he paid with his life. When one life wasn't enough, they took his wife's as well. Laughably, the Potter's death must have seemed such a trifling matter to certain people that they couldn't be bothered to expend any more effort. Their spell to pull the wool over heaven's eyes was so crudely cast, they clearly gave the matter no thought at all."
Madam Gu's face darkened.
The old man saw straight through her thoughts. "What's this? Do you feel guilty? Are you having second thoughts?"
She gave a bleak smile. "Guilty, yes. I watched that child grow up. Of course I do. But second thoughts? Absolutely not!"
The old man nodded. "I can see that."
Madam Gu murmured, "If Chen Ping'an's mother were in my place, I'm sure she would do the same."
"Not necessarily," the old man said, shaking his head.
"She would!" Madam Gu cried, her voice rising without warning.
The old man took no offense at her rudeness. He merely sighed. "A parent's heart bears so much."
The straw-sandaled youth sat on the threshold. "Miss Ning, may I ask you a few things?"
The black-clothed girl sat cross-legged with her back against the wall, the Green Scabbard Narrow Saber resting across her knees. "Of course. But I won't answer anything confidential or private."
"When people come here," Chen Ping'an asked, "how long do they usually stay before leaving?"
The girl frowned. "It varies. Some get lucky and leave the same day. Some have bad luck and spend the rest of their lives here. If you insist on an estimate, I can give you one, but don't count on its accuracy. Take our group of eight, for instance. Two parties are filthy rich, with more money than sense. Neither looks likely to come and go in a hurry; they'll probably stay in town for several days. That young master with the tall crown and jade pendant will likely have a smoother time. There's also a big fool wholly focused on that well. Whether he succeeds depends on whether heaven sees fit to feed him."
"And the other person?" Chen Ping'an pressed.
"Who?"
"The tall woman. The one who isn't very old."
"Do you like her?"
Chen Ping'an smiled from the doorway. He did not take the question seriously.
The black-clothed girl seemed to realize her joke had fallen flat. Her expression grew solemn. "I heard you talking to Daoist Master Lu. You have a grievance with her. Do you want... revenge?"
She sighed. "Let me give you some advice. To those at the summit, people like you halfway up the mountain are no different from those at its foot. It isn't merely that they're arrogant; they truly have the standing to look down on you. Even after coming to this 'place where magic has run dry,' that woman from Cloud Mist Mountain—or even the child in the bright red robe—could make you cough up a bowlful of blood with one punch to the chest. Hit him as hard as you can in return, and while I wouldn't say it would only tickle, at most you'd leave him short of breath. You certainly wouldn't hurt his organs. The reasons are hard to explain. Mostly, I'm no good at explaining them."
With his back to the room, Chen Ping'an looked out through the doorway. "I want to know why she wanted to kill me. We'd only just met."
The girl took a long time to find the words. "She may not be someone who kills innocents indiscriminately. How should I put it? The road of cultivation crosses mountains and rivers. Some paths are broad, others narrow; some are Yangguan Roads, others single-log bridges. Walk too quickly, and you might accidentally crush ants. Grow hungry, and you might catch a few fish from a river. Gain a little proficiency in Daoist arts, use them carelessly, and you might kill birds, snakes, or mice by mistake. I'm not putting it well, but do you understand what I mean?"
Chen Ping'an gave a soft assent. "More or less."
Then the youth fell quiet and looked toward the courtyard gate again.
In truth, he did not understand at all. He did not understand how those people could care so little about other lives.
A long time later, Chen Ping'an turned and smiled. "If you don't mind, Miss Ning, you can stay here. Just tell me if you need anything."
"What about you?"
"I know someone. I'll stay with him for the next couple of days, so don't worry. His name is Liu Xianyang. He's my... friend. A good friend!"
The girl looked at the frail figure on the threshold and smiled. "Thank you!"
The youth grinned and scratched his head, offering no polite reply. After hesitating, he finally gathered his courage and turned around again. "Miss Ning, if one day I don't come back, please give my pouch of golden copper coins to Liu Xianyang. Ask him to look after this house for me. He won't need to clean it. Just make repairs now and then, add a few new tiles so the roof doesn't leak, and keep the walls from falling and the courtyard gate from getting too shabby. If he could put up door gods and spring couplets on Lunar New Year's Eve, that would be best! But if it's too much trouble, it's all right not to."
The girl saw an unusual light in Chen Ping'an's eyes when he spoke of door gods and spring couplets.
Plainly, this orphan of Mud Bottle Alley had wished for many, many years to have door gods on his door and the character for spring above it when the new year came.
He had wished for it every year since his parents died.
And so, when the youth with nothing left to hold him back and no knot in his heart breathed out softly, patted his knees, and slowly rose,
the flying sword sheathed on the table inside the room suddenly gave a shrill cry.
Before you continue