Rising Sun

The town was neither large nor small, with over six hundred households. Chen Ping'an recognized most of the doors belonging to poor families, but as for the well-to-do, wealthy households, their thresholds stood too high for a Mud Leg youth to cross. There were even some broad lanes where great households clustered together that Chen Ping'an had never set foot in. The streets there were mostly paved with huge Bluestone slabs. On rainy days, one would never step down and send mud splashing everywhere. Those superb slabs, worn beneath the trampling and crushing of people, horses, and carts over countless centuries, had long since been rubbed smooth as mirrors.

The four surnames Lu, Li, Zhao, and Song were the great clans of the town. They had paid for the village school, and most of them owned two or three great Dragon Kilns outside the town. The official residences of successive Kiln Affairs Supervisors stood on the same street as those households.

Unfortunately, the ten letters Chen Ping'an had to deliver today were almost all addressed to famously wealthy households in town. That was only natural—dragons begot dragons, phoenixes begot phoenixes, and rats begot children that dug holes. Those travelers far from home who could send letters back to their families surely came from decent backgrounds; otherwise, where would they find the confidence to travel afar? Of the ten letters, Chen Ping'an only needed to visit two places for nine of them: Fulu Street and Taoye Lane. When he first stepped onto Bluestone slabs as large as bedboards, the youth felt somewhat uneasy. He slowed his pace and even felt inferior, unable to stop himself from thinking that his straw sandals had dirtied the street.

The first letter Chen Ping'an delivered was to the Lu Family, whose ancestors had received a Jade Ruyi bestowed by the emperor. Standing at their gate, the youth grew even more constrained.

Wealthy families truly had many particulars. The Lu residence was not only enormous, but two stone lions as tall as men stood outside its gate, imposing and intimidating. Song Jixin had said those things could ward off misfortune and suppress evil. Chen Ping'an had no idea what misfortune or evil truly meant, but he was very curious. The mouths of those man-tall lions seemed to hold round stone balls—how had they been carved? Chen Ping'an forcibly restrained the urge to touch one, climbed the steps, and knocked on the bronze lion door knocker. Before long, a young man opened the gate and came out. Upon hearing that Chen Ping'an was delivering a letter, he expressionlessly pinched one corner of the envelope between two fingers, took the family letter, then turned and strode back into the residence, heavily slamming shut the Great Gate adorned with a painted God of Wealth.

The rest of the youth's deliveries were equally uneventful. At the corner of Taoye Lane stood an unremarkable household. The one who opened the door was a short, Kind-Eyed elder. After putting away the letter, he smiled and said, "Young man, you've worked hard. Would you like to come in and rest awhile, have a drink of hot water?"

The youth smiled shyly, shook his head, and ran off.

The elder gently tucked the family letter into his sleeve. Rather than immediately returning to the residence, he lifted his head and gazed into the distance, his eyes clouded.

At last, his gaze moved from high to low, from far to near, settling upon the peach trees lining both sides of the street. The elder, who appeared decrepit and muddle-headed, finally squeezed out the faintest smile.

The elder turned and left.

Not long afterward, a charming little yellow oriole alighted on a peach branch. Its beak was still tender as it gave a soft, rasping chirp.

The final letter Chen Ping'an had kept was for the teacher who taught at the village school. On the way, he passed a fortune-telling stall. Behind the table sat a young Daoist priest in an old Daoist robe, his waist straightened. He wore a tall crown shaped like a blooming lotus.

When the young Daoist priest saw the youth hurrying past, he quickly called out, "Young Man, don't miss it as you pass by! Come draw a fortune stick, and this Daoist will tell your fortune. I can help you foresee blessings and calamities, fortune and misfortune."

Chen Ping'an did not stop, though he turned his head and waved a hand.

The Daoist priest still refused to give up. Leaning forward, he raised his voice. "Young Man, this Daoist usually charges ten copper coins to interpret a fortune stick, but today I'll make an exception and charge you only three! Of course, if you draw a Good Omen, you might as well add another coin for good luck. If fortune shines upon you and you draw a Topmost Omen, this Daoist will still charge only five coins. What do you say?"

Chen Ping'an's footsteps in the distance clearly paused. The young Daoist priest immediately sprang to his feet and struck while the iron was hot, shouting, "Early in the morning, Young Man, you're my first Guest. This Daoist will simply be kind to the end. As long as you sit down and draw a stick, to tell you the truth, this Daoist can write yellow-paper talismans. I can pray for your ancestors and help them accumulate hidden virtue. With this Daoist's abilities, I dare not claim I can certainly secure them rebirth into a rich and noble family, but adding one or two portions of blessings is worth a try."

Chen Ping'an froze for a moment, then turned back half-believing and half-doubting, sitting on the long bench before the stall.

One plainly dressed Daoist priest, one shabby youth—two poor wretches, one big and one small—sat facing each other.

The Daoist priest smiled and extended a hand, gesturing for the youth to pick up the fortune-stick cylinder.

Chen Ping'an hesitated, then suddenly said, "I won't draw a stick. Can you just write me a yellow-paper talisman?"

As Chen Ping'an remembered it, this young Daoist priest who had wandered here had been in town for at least five or six years. His appearance had not changed much. He was amiable with everyone and usually helped people feel bones, read faces, tell fortunes, and draw sticks. Occasionally, he also wrote family letters for others. Interestingly, on the table stood a fortune-stick cylinder packed with one hundred and eight bamboo sticks. Over the years, men and women of the town had drawn from it, yet no one had ever drawn a Topmost Omen, nor had anyone shaken out a Bad Omen. It was as if all one hundred and eight sticks were middling-to-good, without a single bad one.

Thus, during festivals and holidays, if they simply wanted a favorable sign, the townsfolk could accept spending ten copper coins. But if they truly had a Heart's Matter troubling them, no one would be willing to come here and play the fool. Still, calling this Daoist priest an utter liar would have wronged him. The town was only so large; if he truly knew nothing but playing god and deceiving people, he would have been driven out long ago. So this young Daoist priest's real skill clearly did not lie in face-reading or interpreting fortune sticks. Yet for minor illnesses and ailments, many people recovered quickly after drinking a bowl of his talisman water. It was quite effective.

The young Daoist priest shook his head. "This Daoist conducts business fairly with young and old alike. I said I would interpret your stick and write you a talisman together for five coins."

Chen Ping'an objected softly, "It was three coins."

The Daoist priest laughed loudly. "What if you draw a Topmost Omen? Then wouldn't it be five coins?"

Chen Ping'an made up his mind and reached for the fortune-stick cylinder, but suddenly looked up and asked, "How did Taoist priest know I happened to have exactly five copper coins on me?"

The Daoist priest sat upright with a solemn expression. "This Daoist has always been very accurate at seeing how deep a person's blessings run and how much wealth fortune they possess."

Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, then picked up the fortune-stick cylinder.

The Daoist priest smiled. "Young Man, don't be nervous. What is fated to be yours will be yours in time; what is not fated to be yours, do not force. Regard changeable matters with an ordinary heart—that is the finest method for complete security."

Chen Ping'an set the fortune-stick cylinder back on the table, his expression grave. "Taoist priest, I'll give you all five coins and won't draw a stick. I only ask that you write that yellow-paper talisman better than usual. Is that all right?"

The Daoist priest's smile remained unchanged. After a brief moment of thought, he nodded. "It is."

Brush, ink, inkstone, and paper had long been prepared on the table. The Daoist priest carefully asked Chen Ping'an for his father and mother's names, native places, and birth dates. Then he drew out a sheet of yellow talisman paper and swiftly finished writing in one smooth stroke.

As for what he had written, Chen Ping'an had no idea.

Setting down the brush, the young Daoist priest picked up the talisman paper and blew upon the ink. "When you return home, stand inside the threshold and burn the yellow paper outside it. That will do."

The youth solemnly accepted the talisman paper. After carefully putting it away, he did not forget to place five copper coins on the table, then bowed in thanks.

The young Daoist priest waved a hand, signaling for the youth to go about his business.

Chen Ping'an took off running to deliver the final letter.

The Daoist priest lazily reclined in his chair, glanced at the copper coins, then bent down and swept them toward himself.

Just then, a petite and exquisite yellow oriole swooped down from the sky onto the tabletop. It lightly pecked one of the copper coins, quickly lost interest, and flapped away.

"The yellow oriole had just wished to come bearing flowers, yet the peach blossoms planted by your house had not bloomed."

After leisurely reciting the line of poetry, the Daoist priest affected a carefree flick of his sleeve and sighed. "If fate grants eight feet, do not seek ten."

With that flick of his sleeve, two bamboo fortune sticks slipped from his sleeve and fell to the ground. The Daoist priest cried out, hurriedly picked them up, then furtively looked around in every direction. Only after discovering that no one was paying attention did he breathe a sigh of relief and hide the two sticks back in his loose sleeve.

The young Daoist priest coughed, put on a stern face, and continued waiting by a stump for a rabbit, awaiting his next customer.

He sighed to himself. Sure enough, earning women's money was easier.

In truth, the two bamboo fortune sticks hidden in the young Daoist priest's sleeve were a Topmost Omen and a Bottommost Omen, both used to make big money.

Such things were not for outsiders to know.

Naturally, the youth knew nothing of these mysteries. His steps were light as he arrived outside the village school, where the nearby bamboo grove stood thick and lush, green enough to drip.

Chen Ping'an slowed his steps. From inside came a middle-aged man's rich voice: "Sun Rises with Radiance, Lambskin Robe is Wet."

Soon afterward came a neat, crisp chorus of childish voices: "Sun Rises with Radiance, Lambskin Robe is Wet."

Chen Ping'an looked up. The Rising Sun climbed into the sky, vast and brilliant.

The youth stood there, lost in a daze.

When he came back to himself, the children receiving Elementary Education were swaying their heads as they fluently recited a passage according to their teacher's instructions: "At the time of Insects Awaken, heaven and earth stir to life, and all things begin to flourish. Sleep at Night, Walk Early; Walk Widely in the Courtyard; Gentleman Walks Slowly, To Fulfill Ambitions..."

Chen Ping'an stood at the entrance to the school, wanting to speak but hesitating.

The middle-aged scholar, his temples touched with frost, turned to look over and gently walked out of the room.

Chen Ping'an presented the letter with both hands and respectfully said, "This is your letter, teacher."

The tall man in a Green Robe accepted the envelope and said warmly, "When you have nothing to do in the future, you may come here more often and listen in."

Chen Ping'an felt somewhat troubled. After all, he might not truly have time to come here and listen to this teacher's lessons, and the youth did not wish to deceive him.

The man smiled, understanding his difficulty. "No matter. The principles are all within books, but being a person lies outside them. Go attend to your work."

Chen Ping'an breathed a sigh of relief, bade farewell, and left.

After the youth had run a long way, he turned back to look for no apparent reason.

The teacher was still standing in the doorway, his figure bathed in sunlight. From afar, he looked like a Divine Being.