Huaiyin

After saying this, the Confucian scholar laughed at himself. What was so precious or valuable about Qi Jingchun's disciples now? A roomful of children in Elementary Education paid only three hundred copper coins a year in tuition each; some children from poor families paid merely three strips of cured pork.

Qi Jingchun looked at the Young Man who stubbornly clung to his position and refused to let go. "Deep down, you do not want to kill him. But the problem is that this man appears determined to kill you no matter what. So should you kill him, wipe the slate clean, preserve your own life for now, and leave tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow? Or do you hope to let sleeping dogs lie, turn a big matter into a small one and a small one into nothing? Is that right?"

The Young Man, who often listened next door as the Reading Seed recited poems and essays, blurted out, "How would you teach me, sir?"

Qi Jingchun smiled. "Chen Ping'an, try letting go with your right hand first. Then decide whether you wish to take a walk with me. There are some matters for which I cannot shirk responsibility. I must give you an explanation."

Chen Ping'an hesitated for a moment. When he released the fingers of his right hand, he was shocked to find that Fu Nanhua had not moved in the slightest. His gaze, hair, and breathing were all frozen.

After Qi Jingchun activated the grand formation, the small town returned to a state of stillness.

Qi Jingchun said softly, "Follow closely behind me. Try not to stray farther than ten paces."

The middle-aged Confucian scholar, robes fluttering and bearing ethereal, walked first toward the end of the alley. Chen Ping'an followed close behind. Along the way, he lowered his head and glanced at his left palm. Its flesh was mangled, white bone visible beneath it, yet the blood plainly visible to the naked eye had stopped flowing.

Walking ahead, Qi Jingchun asked with a smile, "Chen Ping'an, do you believe there are immortals and sprites, demons and monsters, ghosts and goblins in this world?"

Chen Ping'an nodded. "I do. When I was little, my mother often told me old stories. She wanted me to believe that good would be rewarded and evil repaid. She said that most often, so I remember it clearly. She also said there were Water Ghosts in little streams that dragged children away, that near the ruined shrine north of town there was a Lord of the Underworld Officials who specifically judged cases at night, and that the Guardian Gods we pasted up would actually come alive at night and help protect our homes. I did not really believe those things before, but... now, I think they are probably real."

Qi Jingchun said softly, "Some of what she said was true, and some was false. As for good being rewarded and evil repaid, that is difficult to settle. Common folk, Emperors and Generals, and immortal families who seek longevity all define good and evil differently. Thus, the conclusions each reaches are very different as well."

Chen Ping'an put away the ceramic shard and quickened his pace, walking shoulder to shoulder with the Confucian scholar. Looking up, he asked, "Mr. Qi, may I ask a question?"

As though he had seen through the Young Man's thoughts, Qi Jingchun said calmly, "This small town is where the last True Dragon in the world died and was buried. Countless beings of the Flood Dragon Kind believed this place possessed the most flourishing fortune and was destined to 'produce a dragon' one day. Yet for three thousand years, that event has never come. Instead, children born in this town truly have far better innate bones, temperaments, and opportunities than children their age outside. Even the descendants born to famous Taoist Companions from many immortal mansions across East Treasure Bottle Continent are no better than this. Of course, not every child in town possesses astonishing talent."

Qi Jingchun smiled and did not elaborate further, perhaps afraid of hurting the child's feelings. He changed the subject. "The senior cultivators who took part in that great dragon-slaying calamity were almost all grievously wounded. Many settled here, built thatched huts, and cultivated, calmly walking toward death. Some Taoist Companions were fortunate enough to survive together; others, after fighting side by side, naturally became joined in a good union. After more than three thousand years of multiplying and thriving, the small town reached its current scale. On the map of the Great Li Dynasty, this place was first called Great Marsh Village. Later, a Sage personally changed it to Dragon Abyss. Afterward, because the character yuan in Dragon Abyss conflicted with the taboo name of a Great Li Emperor, it was altered again..."

The Young Man, who had been holding his words inside all this time, finally could not endure any longer. He softly interrupted Qi Jingchun, fists clenched, filled with longing and expectation. "Sir, what I really want to ask is... what kind of people were my father and mother?"

Qi Jingchun fell into thought. "Since that wandering Daoist has already revealed heavenly secrets to you, I can also follow the opening he made and tell you some things. In my memory, your father was an honest, gentle man. His aptitude was ordinary, not enough to warrant being taken away from town. Naturally, he became chicken ribs in certain people's eyes, regarded as a losing investment. Perhaps in a moment of anger, perhaps because life was truly too difficult—at any rate, the ceramic buyers from outside town tampered with your father's Natal Ceramic. After that, not only did his life become fraught with misfortune, but he also dragged you and your mother into suffering. Later, for some unknown reason, he accidentally learned the secret of the Natal Ceramics. He learned that once they were taken out of the kiln and carried away from town, one would become a puppet on strings for life. So he secretly smashed the Natal Ceramic that belonged to you. If I remember correctly, it should have been a ceramic paperweight."

Qi Jingchun said gravely, "You must understand: every infant born in town each year receives a code name stored in secret records. There are also people in town who use a unique secret technique to extract a drop of heart's blood and pour it into the Natal Ceramic later fired for them. A girl's Natal Ceramic must be fired for six years, and a boy's for even longer. The kiln fire cannot stop for a single day; it burns continuously for nine years. A child's aptitude is much like the quality of ordinary kiln-fired ceramics—one can only leave it to heaven and luck. But once the wagers are placed, the bids in this 'ceramic gambling' are enormous. Though your aptitude is equally ordinary now, when your father resolutely smashed that ceramic paperweight, one can well imagine the fury of the ceramic buyers outside town."

"As for your mother, she was a woman of gentle and quiet temperament."

Qi Jingchun suddenly smiled as he said this. "When your mother married your father, quite a few people her age in town were terribly dejected. But honestly, asking me to recount the details of your parents' lives when they were alive is making things difficult for me. Since arriving here, aside from teaching, I have had many other matters to attend to."

The Young Man gave a quiet sound of acknowledgment, then lightly turned his head and roughly wiped his face with his hand. He had probably forgotten the terrible state of his left hand. His face was smeared with blood, yet he could not bear to use his sleeve to wipe it clean.

The two passed beneath the Twelve-Pillar Archway Building.

Without looking at him, Qi Jingchun spoke frankly to the Young Man. "When the True Dragon fell here, four Sages personally appeared and made a pact. They decreed that every sixty years, one person would be replaced to guard this place and watch over the remaining fortune left behind after the True Dragon's death. Whether they should have cut the grass and pulled up the roots back then was not without dispute... But telling you these unspeakable heavenly secrets would only harm you. Broadly speaking, the people of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, plus one Military Strategist, held the four primary shares. The Hundred Schools of Thought, Blessed Lands, immortal family sects, powerful clans, and great aristocratic households of East Treasure Bottle Continent all had certain shares and opportunities as well, allowing them to divide the benefits here. Ridiculous as it sounds, whether a sect or Aristocratic Clan possessed a 'ceramic-buying' quota within a century had nearly become the mark of whether it held first-rate status."

Chen Ping'an said, "I do not understand what you are saying, sir, but I have remembered it all. Still, knowing today that my parents were good people is enough for me."

Qi Jingchun smiled. "I do not expect you to understand it all now. This is merely groundwork. Otherwise, if I simply told you not to kill Fu Nanhua, you certainly would not listen. The reason I want you not to kill him is not because I, Qi Jingchun, feel pity for those of my kind when an object is damaged, or mourn the fox when the rabbit dies. Nor is it because I hope Fu Nanhua and Old Dragon City will be grateful, so I can seek benefits from them later. It is not that. In fact, it is precisely the opposite. We Confucian disciples advocate entering the world, and we are most opposed to the unbridled lawlessness of cultivators. The two sides have openly and covertly fought for countless years. If I, Qi Jingchun, were still the age I was when I first went to Cliff Academy to study under a teacher, whether it was River-Cutting True Lord Liu Zhimao or Fu Nanhua, the young city lord of Old Dragon City, neither would have any chance of surviving now. I would have already turned them to ash with a single palm strike."

The Young Man realized that Mr. Qi at this moment, though his tone remained gentle and his walking posture equally refined, felt like an entirely different person.

It was like when Old Man Yao got drunk and said that the ceramics they fired were for Emperor Master himself to use—who could compare?

When Mr. Qi spoke of turning someone to ash with one palm strike, his tone was different from Old Man Yao's, but his expression was exactly the same.

Qi Jingchun frowned and raised his head toward Mud Bottle Alley, as if listening to someone speak. Though he showed no annoyance, the displeasure in his eyes was utterly undisguised.

At last, he said coldly, "Leave at once!"

Chen Ping'an looked utterly bewildered.

Qi Jingchun explained, "It is that storyteller. His real name is Liu Zhimao, and his Daoist name is River-Cutting True Lord. He is actually a Daoist of an unorthodox school. His cultivation is passable, but his character is vile. More than half the enmity between you, Cai Jinjian, and Fu Nanhua was stirred up by him. In the end, he even planted a talisman from a crooked path in your heart. It was a four-character true phrase, secretly engraving the words 'single-mindedly seek death' upon your heart-field. The method was exceedingly malicious."

Chen Ping'an silently remembered the name Liu Zhimao.

Qi Jingchun sighed and asked, "Are you not curious why I did not intervene?"

Chen Ping'an shook his head.

Qi Jingchun continued on his own. "This world is like an old ceramic vessel weathered by wind and sun for three thousand years, on the verge of falling apart. You are outsiders, and you are protected by the grand formation. No matter what you do, as long as it is not too excessive, it is far from enough to shatter the vessel. But I am the one holding the vessel in my hands. Every action I take affects its cracks. In truth, no matter what I do, I can only make those fissures multiply and spread. If it were merely the vessel breaking, that would be one thing. But the fates of five or six thousand people in this town, in this life and the next, are all in my hands. How can I afford to be careless?"

But Mr. Qi spoke these words, pent up for many years and demanding release, too softly. Even when Chen Ping'an pricked up his ears, he could not hear them clearly.

Qi Jingchun watched the Young Man, who kept using his right hand to wipe his face. They had reached the Iron Lock Well near Apricot Blossom Alley, where a woman was bending down to draw water. Qi Jingchun asked, "If a stranger falls into the well, and saving them means you will die, will you save them?"

Chen Ping'an thought for a while, then asked in return, "I want to know—can that person really be saved?"

Qi Jingchun did not answer the Young Man's question. He merely smiled. "Remember: The gentleman does not save."

The Young Man froze, confused. "A gentleman?"

Qi Jingchun hesitated briefly, then crouched down. First, he straightened the straw-sandaled youth's collar. Then he used his hand to wipe away the bloodstains and said gently, "When encountering misfortune, one must first feel compassion. But a gentleman is not a pedant. He may go to the well's edge to save someone, but he will never let himself fall into certain death."

The question seemed to have stirred something in him.

The Young Man asked earnestly, "Sir, can I still go on living? If I can, then how long can I live?"

Qi Jingchun thought carefully, slowly rose to his feet, and said with iron-clad certainty, "If you do not fear a rough road ahead or immense hardship, then you will certainly be able to live."

The Young Man's smile immediately blossomed brilliantly. As if it were only natural, he said, "I am not afraid of hardship!"

Thinking of the Young Man's calm composure all along the way, Qi Jingchun felt relieved. "Come. I will take you somewhere. Though I, Qi Jingchun, cannot help you much, things have come to this. Helping you cross this calamity absolutely does not count as breaking the rules. In truth, I should have compensated you with an opportunity long ago."

The Young Man was utterly confused.

The two came beneath the Old Scholar Tree. For some reason, all was silent within and without the small town. Only this old sophora tree seemed to be the sole exception, its leaves gently trembling and swaying with grace.

After stopping, Qi Jingchun's expression grew solemn. He bowed, then raised his head and asked, "May Qi Jingchun ask you for one Sophora Leaf, so that this Young Man may safely and steadily leave the small town in the future, free from the calamities and disasters that will come rebounding upon him for at least three years?"

The thousand-year-old sophora tree remained soundless.

Qi Jingchun asked again, "Qi Jingchun has guarded this place for fifty-nine years. If I have no merit, I have at least worked hard. Can I not even request one Sophora Leaf of ancestral blessing? Besides, this Young Man is originally one of your small town's people. Why are you, honored forebears, so miserly?"

The old sophora tree still gave no response.

The silence at this moment was like soundless mockery.

You, Qi Jingchun, may possess vast supernatural powers, but in the end you are still one within the bounds of this world. You are also the pitiful one presiding over the hub of the grand formation. We simply refuse to give away this bond of incense and offerings for nothing. What can you do about it?

Qi Jingchun's expression shifted between light and dark. In the end, he could only sigh, lower his head, and look at the Young Man with guilt filling his heart.

The Young Man grinned and comforted him instead. "Daoist Master Lu said that if I go to the south of town, find a blacksmith surnamed Ruan, and become his apprentice, I will have hope of surviving. Mr. Qi, even without this... Sophora Leaf, I believe there should not be any problem!"

Qi Jingchun asked with a smile, "Is that the truth?"

The Young Man scratched his head and said shyly, "No."

Qi Jingchun smiled in understanding.

Suddenly.

A fresh, emerald-green Sophora Leaf drifted down gracefully from high within the crown of the tree.

The Young Man merely held out his palm, and the leaf landed there of its own accord.

A golden character flashed across the leaf, then vanished.

Qi Jingchun was somewhat astonished. After a moment, he said gravely, "This character is Yao. Chen Ping'an, are you willing to repay the Yao family's kindness, regardless of life or death?! To be honest, even without this leaf, you might still have a thread of hope. I can tell you that clearly. So you must think this through!"

The Young Man asked, "Is it the Yao from Master Yao's name?"

Qi Jingchun nodded. "Exactly."

The Young Man pressed his palms together, gently sandwiching the Sophora Leaf between them. He raised his head and called out loudly, "For as long as I, Chen Ping'an, live, if there is any person surnamed Yao connected to you, then just as Mr. Qi said before—even if he falls into a well, even if saving him means certain death—I, Chen Ping'an, will save him!"

Heavenly silence.

Qi Jingchun smiled. "Let us go."

As he led the Young Man away, Qi Jingchun quietly turned his head and looked toward the highest point of the sophora tree, mockery on his face.

It was not as though there were no Sophora Leaves bearing the surname Chen. In fact, there were more than one or two. Yet in the end, knowing this place was about to collapse, they would rather seek another host. Even if that host did not bear the surname Chen, it did not matter. Still, not one bond of ancestral blessing through incense and offerings was willing to favor the straw-sandaled youth of Mud Bottle Alley.

Qi Jingchun turned back, patted the Young Man's head, and teased, "If Song Jixin, Zhao Yao, Gu Can, or people like them had made such a grand vow as you did before, it might well have stirred a resonance between heaven and earth."

The Young Man smiled brightly. "That is not for me to worry about. I only need to do my own part well."

Qi Jingchun asked again, "Is that the truth this time?"

The Young Man smiled. "It is!"