A Parting Gift

In a house on Taoye Lane, a kindly old man sat in a wicker chair beneath the veranda. Beside him sat Tao Ya, a playful, pretty maidservant in patterned goose-yellow trousers and a gauzy pale-green skirt. She listened to his stories while slowly fanning him.

The old man suddenly asked, "Tao Ya, where's the breeze? Dozing off again? I'm not trying to scare you, but if you slacked off like this in one of the great households outside town, you'd be punished."

There was no reply. The old man had always been indulgent with his servants and was about to tease her some more when his expression changed sharply. He looked into the distance, his face grave. Not only had the fan in the girl's hand stopped moving; even the invisible breeze in the courtyard had gone still. He hurriedly held his breath, focused his mind, and silently recited an incantation, entering meditation lest this brief reversal of the River of Time cost him cultivation for nothing. He sighed softly. Qi Jingchun, who observed rules and propriety more strictly than anyone, had finally made an exception and acted. Now the mountains seemed full of rain, and the wind filled the tower.

At Iron Lock Well, a burly young outsider crouched nearby, staring hard at the well windlass. From the corner of his eye, though, he stole glances at the profile of a voluptuous village woman. She bent to lift a bucket from the well, displaying the striking curve of her hips and the heavy swell of her breasts. Her exaggerated figure was revealed in full, her body giving off the wild vitality of ripened wheat. Though her face was unremarkable, she had a charm all her own. When the young man noticed his surroundings had come strangely to a standstill, he stayed where he was and boldly looked straight at the lovely sight of her drawing water. He secretly swallowed, then quickly turned and changed his crouching position.

No wonder his master had said women below the mountain were tigers fresh from the forest: dangerous enough already, even with their powers diminished. Bring one up the mountain, and she would become a tiger enthroned on its peak, one that ate people. After drinking, his master always said that every hero under heaven had lost to the tiger he had brought home, without a single exception. But the young man thought a tiger fresh from the forest was formidable enough. Take this woman: she was plainly ordinary-looking, yet so alluring she made him itch inside. If she slapped him without a word or a shred of reason, he doubted he would dare hit back. If she smiled afterward, he might even smile along.

The thought left the young man disheartened. He glanced down at his crotch and cursed, "Spineless thing! No wonder I've got no backbone!"

In Mud Bottle Alley, Song Jixin was leafing through a thick, worn set of County Annals. He had found many patterns in it. For instance, it was generally expanded once every sixty years, so he had privately named it the Jiazi Annals. Then there was the fact that townspeople taken away by distant relatives in their youth almost never returned home, as though they had no wish to let their fallen leaves return to their roots. These were flowers that bloomed inside the wall but sent their fragrance beyond it: many lineages had branched out elsewhere, some growing into towering trees with deep roots. So Song Jixin had also nicknamed it the Book Beyond the Wall.

The youth was reading a biographical entry about a man named Cao Xi. Its sparing account was another hallmark of the annals. Song Jixin had read the book cover to cover at least seven or eight times and knew it by heart. These days, when he browsed it in his spare time, he picked out strange and wondrous lives as though listening to a storyteller recount legends. Their truth was impossible to verify, and he did not care. What he remembered was the man in official robes who, before leaving town to report to the capital, had come here alone late at night. With utmost solemnity, the man had told him to remember one thing: every name in the book, the hundreds upon hundreds of people, their ancestors' roots in town, and especially their ties to the Four Clans and Ten Tribes.

Now Song Jixin sat motionless, like the shattered Clay Idols southeast of town, lying where they had fallen among weeds and mud. Wind and rain could beat down on them, but they never stirred. The light falling through the window onto his desk remained unnaturally still.

The only beings in the house that could move were Zhi Gui and the inconspicuous Four-legged snake. She had noticed the oddity early. Her first thought was to go next door and curse that stone-faced girl until she was black and blue, but remembering the sword, she abandoned the tempting idea. She went to her young master's room instead and glanced sideways at the page. The sight of "Cao Xi" annoyed her, so she turned forward a few pages for him. When she reached the entry on Xie Shi, she smiled. Soon, though, she reluctantly turned the pages back. She could not reveal heaven's secrets and give herself away. For years, her shrewd young master had merely been curious about her origins; he had never found solid proof. She did not want to fall short just as success was in sight. She often accompanied him to the village school and thought some things scholars said were hypocritical nonsense, such as "give up one's life to preserve righteousness." Others were well put, such as "on a journey of a hundred miles, ninety marks only the halfway point." That truly laid the lesson bare.

The earth-yellow Four-legged snake lay sunning itself on the threshold. Now that it had fallen still, it regained its true form. In the light, it shimmered with color, crystalline and translucent, its whole body like a piece of colored glass.

In the house next door, Ning Yao had entered a mysterious state of fetal breathing. She drew no air through mouth or nose, as though she were still in the womb, her spirit returning to its source and her thoughts falling still.

Inside the snow-white scabbard, the flying sword was as though granted a pardon. It slowly drew itself out, then darted lightly around its master, as tame and affectionate as a little bird nestling close, with the grace of a girl's drifting skirts. Its flight was no aimless dance. Like a kindred spirit drawing talismans, it fashioned the best possible place for its healing master. Sure enough, though the girl showed no sign of breathing, the energies around her surged into her body. Like a whale swallowing water, she devoured the world's primordial Spiritual Energy. At that moment, the town's deathly silence stood in stark contrast to the surging vitality of this house.

South of town, beside a stream.

A short, stocky man with thick brows and large eyes stood at a forge, his bearing sharp and forceful. His chest and belly were bare, and he held an iron hammer. One blow sent sparks flying, filling the room with light.

Countless specks of fire scattered through the spacious room, dazzling and magnificent.

A single swing of the hammer could forge a picture.

Across from him stood a petite girl with her hair tied in a neat ponytail. She wore an oxhide smock to keep sparks off her body; ordinary cotton clothes would easily burn through, leaving holes everywhere.

After one strike, the myriad sparks in the room suddenly stopped.

The girl frowned. "Dad?"

"Take over hammering the Old Sword Strip," the man said gravely. "Use this chance to temper your spirit and will."

The girl set down the Old Sword Strip and brushed aside the sparks before her. They moved at the wave of her hand, and one movement stirred the whole. Sparks that should have hung motionless in the River of Time knocked into others, collision after collision, leaving the room's light in utter disarray.

Compared with the elderly masters in town, those Hidden Dragons in the Abyss who had all held their breath and entered quiet meditation, the girl's actions were far too overbearing.

Especially once she took up the hammer. Her blows were heavy, her movements swift, wilder and less restrained even than the seasoned man's.

The sparks from each strike did not vanish within the stillness. They accumulated, blow after blow, until they crowded the air like brilliant stars.

In the sword-forging room, sparks numbered in the hundreds of millions.

The man fixed his eyes on the red-hot Sword Embryo. "Recite the Dragon Shaking Chapter of the Sword Forging Scripture in your head!"

The girl's forceful bearing abruptly ebbed. "Dad?" she asked softly.

"What?" the man snapped.

Her confidence ebbed further. "I didn't eat much at noon. I'm hungry. I can't swing the hammer anymore."

He grew angrier still. If he had not been forging a sword, he might have scolded her properly. "Asking you to memorize a book is like asking for your life. Don't make excuses... Damn it, daughter, with your appetite, you probably are hungry. Maybe it isn't an excuse after all..."

The girl smiled to herself. Hungry or not, her hands had not slowed in the slightest. In a sudden flash of intuition, she shouted and brought the hammer down with all her strength. As though possessed, she cried, "Come out!"

This strike sent forth more sparks than ever, dazzling to the eye.

The man kept his face impassive. It's done.

In Gu Can's courtyard, Madam Gu slowly woke with a splitting headache. Her son helped her back onto the bench. The River-Cutting True Lord, Liu Zhimao, sat with his eyes closed, resting while his thumb and forefinger moved slowly inside his sleeve.

Madam Gu drew her son down beside her. "Immortal master," she asked softly, "what happened?"

Without opening his eyes, the old man said, "I've gained a fine disciple, and you have a fine son. Rest easy, Madam Gu. Your son will bring you honor."

Overjoyed, she gathered Gu Can into her arms, tears filling her eyes. "Do you hear that, his father?" she murmured. "Our Gu Can is going to amount to something..."

Liu Zhimao suddenly exclaimed in surprise. He opened his eyes and studied the lines on his palm, where a new path seemed to have branched off. "Why? That shouldn't be. The boy didn't die, but the disciple from the immortal family somehow did?"

He rose and paced slowly around the courtyard, reckoning rapidly on his fingers. "Useless fool! Felled by a street urchin. Cloud Mist Mountain's thousand years of hard-won prestige, ruined in a stroke."

"Old immortal master," Madam Gu said uneasily, "since Can has already become your disciple, couldn't you spare Chen Ping'an?"

"Softhearted fool!" the old man roared. "If you truly had a merciful heart, you wouldn't have thought of killing him when we first met. And now you put on airs like some female Bodhisattva before me? Have you no shame?"

The scolding drained all color from her face. She mumbled but dared not utter a word.

Still furious, he pointed at her and cursed. "Ignorant village woman! Once Gu Can returns with me to Book Scroll Lake, you mother and son must not see each other too often. It would hinder his cultivation. Any objections?"

She hurriedly waved her hands. "I wouldn't dare."

His gaze turned dark.

She froze, then quickly understood. Her face crumpled as she said pitifully, "No objections. None at all!"

He swept his sleeve sharply and snorted. "You infuriate me!"

Earlier, he had found her somewhat attractive and had just considered taking her as a personal slave girl. Then she had shown herself so unbearably vulgar. She deserved to miss the good fortune that might have brought her to the threshold of cultivation.

Suddenly, the old man looked around as though facing a formidable enemy. Sure enough, someone had brought this world to a standstill, turning it into a realm of stillness. Such a realm was a kind of Minor Cave Heaven; even a Land Immortal or Golden Arhat could not hope to create one.

This divine power had reached the highest peak. Though much of it was owed to that great formation, it still inspired awe.

Imagine standing in this world and making any immortal, Buddha, god, devil, ghost, or monster who came here bow before you. What would that feel like?

The River-Cutting True Lord Liu Zhimao dreamed of reaching such heights. Powerful arts should be used sparingly? To hell with that! If he possessed a Minor Cave Heaven like this, he would drag in the third-generation disciples of the Buddha, the Dao Ancestor, and the Confucian leader. He would not dare demand that they bow to him, but at least they could sit as equals and address one another as peers.

Without warning, Liu Zhimao spat blood. Blood sprayed from his palm as well, as though a sharp blade had carved a deep gash across it.

The white bowl appeared of its own accord in his other hand. The water's ripples churned chaotically, while black lines darted about, striking the sides.

He hesitated not at all. Placing one hand over the other, the old man, a Daoist of an unorthodox branch, bowed in the Confucian manner until he was bent double. Utterly sincere, he said in a trembling voice, "Liu Zhimao, Island Master of Qingxia Island, Book Scroll Lake, begs Mr. Qi to show mercy to this junior's sincere heart of seeking the Dao. If I have offended you, I hope you, sir... that a Sage will not hold a lesser man's faults against him!"

A long while passed.

"Leave at once!"

The four words exploded beside the True Lord's ears like spring thunder.

Overjoyed, Liu Zhimao said, "Rest assured, sir. I will take Madam Gu and her son out of town this instant."

The old man, who had consistently styled himself a junior, remembered something. "May I ask, sir, what should I do with these two bags of Golden Essence copper coins?"

The commanding voice sounded again. "One person, one object. That makes two opportunities. Leave them in the courtyard. For thirty years, you are not to take a single step beyond Book Scroll Lake."

Liu Zhimao breathed a sigh of relief. This time, he did not bow with the same obsequious Confucian ceremony. He gave a solemn Daoist salute instead. "I dare not refuse a gift from an elder. Your great kindness, Mr. Qi, is engraved on my heart. I will never forget it as long as I live!"

Qi Jingchun's voice did not return, and the stillness soon vanished. Liu Zhimao wasted no words. He immediately ordered Madam Gu to take Gu Can and leave town with him. She was about to speak when he fixed her with such a vicious glare that she fell silent as a winter cicada. He took out two bags and, though reluctant to part with them, set them on the bench without hesitation. This unorthodox Daoist still aspired to become a True Lord in more than name. But just as they reached the courtyard gate, he asked, "Did your family leave behind any old belongings?"

Madam Gu looked blank. Clever little Gu Can promptly said, "Didn't Dad leave us a cabinet of treasures? The one gathering dust under the bed?"

Liu Zhimao's eyes lit up. Without another word, he had Madam Gu lead him inside to investigate.

Since the Sage had acknowledged that Gu Can himself was an opportunity, the child could take away any opportunity belonging to him.

As for who ultimately claimed those opportunities, in this town even the Heavenly King Father himself would have to listen to Qi Jingchun. But at Book Scroll Lake, that was another matter.

At last left unwatched, Gu Can waited until the two went inside. He snatched up both bags, quietly drew back the gate bolt, and sprinted toward the far end of Mud Bottle Alley.

Inside, Madam Gu knelt and reached under the bed to pull out the chest. It was small but heavy, and the effort left her panting.

Then the River-Cutting True Lord kicked her hard in her ample backside. "Madam Gu, you've suffered from neglecting yourself over the years," he teased. "With that figure, making you a second-rank maidservant on Qingxia Island might be a stretch, but you'd have more than enough to qualify for third rank. You don't catch my eye, but a few Guest Officials on the island may fancy your sort. When the time comes, make the most of it. Don't be shy and let a blessing slip away."

Her body stiffened slightly. Most of her was still under the bed, and her face could not be seen.

At the mouth of an alley, Qi Jingchun said to Chen Ping'an, "Leave Cai Jinjian and Fu Nanhua to me. Now that you have this Sophora Leaf, a blessing from your ancestors, you must value your life all the more. Living well is the greatest way to repay your parents. As for Cloud Mist Mountain, Old Dragon City, and the River-Cutting True Lord, I can't promise they'll never trouble you, but they certainly won't for the next ten years. If you're lucky and remain an ordinary townsman, you may pass thirty years in peace."

Qi Jingchun smiled. "Nor need you fear this town. Before long, there should be no more of those schemes. If you want twenty or thirty peaceful years, find a girl here, marry her, and build a life together. If you want to leave town and see what the wider world is truly like, that's good too. Reading ten thousand books and traveling the Ten Thousand Miles Road are things we scholars must do. You'll discover that in town, books are hard to come by but traveling is easy. Outside, many scholars find it easy to buy books, read books, and collect books, yet they dislike going far because hardship puts them off. Their so-called travels in pursuit of learning amount to little more than carriage rides into the countryside."

Surprised, the youth asked, "Mr. Qi, does walking count as hardship too?"

Qi Jingchun laughed heartily. "Never mind the world outside. Think of those around you. How many people your age on Fulu Street or Taoye Lane have you seen roaming the hills and fields like you?"

"That's true," the youth said with a nod.

After a moment's thought, Qi Jingchun pulled the Jade Hairpin from his topknot and bent to offer it to the poor youth. "Consider it a farewell gift. It isn't valuable, let alone an immortal family treasure, so accept it without worry. I was once a poor boy from a narrow alley, much like you. I studied hard and endured trial after trial, setback after setback. Of course, I also had opportunities along the way. Only then did I enter Cliff Academy and study under my teacher. Those were the happiest years of my life. Later, when I left the academy, my teacher gave me this hairpin as a sign of his hopes and his trust. Sadly, looking back now, I have fallen short all these years. If he were still alive, I'm sure he would be disappointed."

How could the youth dare accept such a gift?

The Jade Hairpin seemed to hold the bond between Mr. Qi and his teacher. Its sentimental weight went without saying, and the object itself was hardly insignificant.

However little the youth had seen of the world, he had once fired porcelain for imperial use. He knew something about judging the quality of an object.

Qi Jingchun said gently, "If it stays with me, this keepsake from my teacher will be buried along with me. Better to pass it on to you. Besides, you've earned it. I've spent nearly sixty years in this town with a small knot in my heart that I could never untie. My teacher passed away, and I thought I would never find the answer in this life. Then you helped me understand without meaning to. So giving you this hairpin is fitting in sentiment, reason, and propriety alike. Chen Ping'an, I could only obtain one Sophora Leaf for you. I can't give you any more opportunities."

The youth accepted the plain Jade Hairpin with both hands. Looking up, he said sincerely, "You've already done so much, sir."

Qi Jingchun answered with a smile. Seeing that the youth had accepted the hairpin eased a burden on his heart. It truly was an ordinary hairpin, but it was his teacher's keepsake. To give it to a youth who would live up to the words engraved on it was a good thing.

So Qi Jingchun left him with one final instruction. "Chen Ping'an, remember this: whatever you encounter in the future, never lose hope in this world."