Bad Omen

Chen Ping'an arrived at the East Gate and saw the man sitting cross-legged on a tree stump by the barred entrance, lazily basking in the early spring sun with his eyes closed, humming a little tune and patting his knees with both hands.

Chen Ping'an squatted beside him. For the boy, asking for a debt was truly difficult to bring up.

So he could only quietly look toward the broad road to the east, winding and endless like a thick yellow serpent.

Out of habit, he grabbed a handful of dirt, clenched it in his palm, and slowly rubbed it.

He had once followed Old Man Yao over mountains and ridges around the town, carrying a heavy pack stuffed full of all sorts of things, including a woodcutter's knife and a hoe. Under the elder's lead, they would stop and go throughout the countryside, and Chen Ping'an often had to "eat dirt"—he would grab a handful of soil, put it straight into his mouth, chew it, and carefully taste its flavor. Over time, practice made perfect. Chen Ping'an could tell the texture of soil simply by grinding it between his fingers. Later, when he came across broken porcelain shards from old kilns on the market, he could tell with a quick weighing which kiln they had come from, even which master had fired them.

Though Old Man Yao was withdrawn and cold, quick to beat and curse Chen Ping'an, he had never complained about him. Once, Old Man Yao had despised Chen Ping'an for being too slow-witted, calling him an idiot who could not be taught. In a fit of anger, he left him alone in the wilderness and returned to the kiln himself. By the time the boy had walked sixty li along mountain paths and neared the Dragon Kiln, it was already deep into the night. Rain poured in torrents that day. When the boy, stumbling through the mud, finally saw a distant glimmer of light, that stubborn boy, for the first time since learning to survive on his own, had the urge to cry.

But the boy had never blamed the elder, much less harbored resentment.

The boy came from a poor family and had never gone to school, but he understood a truth not found in books: aside from one's father and mother, no one in this world was obligated to treat you well.

And his parents had left early.

Chen Ping'an could patiently sit there in a daze. The sloppy man apparently felt he would not be able to muddle through this time, so he opened his eyes and laughed. "It's only five copper coins. A man this stingy will never amount to much."

Chen Ping'an looked helpless. "Aren't you the one counting every coin?"

The man grinned, exposing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth, and chuckled. "Exactly. So if you don't want to become a bachelor like me in the future, don't keep thinking about those five coins."

Chen Ping'an sighed, raised his head, and said seriously, "If money is tight for you, then forget the five coins. But let's make this clear beforehand: from now on, one copper coin per letter. You can't default again."

The man, reeking all over of sour rot, turned his head and smiled. "Little fellow, with that temperament of yours, like a stinking stone in a latrine, you'll easily suffer a huge loss someday. Haven't you heard the old saying that suffering losses is a blessing? If you won't even suffer small losses..."

He caught sight of the dirt in the boy's hand, paused slightly, and teased, "Then you're destined to face the yellow earth with your back to the sky."

Chen Ping'an retorted, "Didn't I just say I wouldn't take the five coins? Doesn't that count as suffering a small loss?"

The man was left speechless, his expression souring as he waved him away. "Go, go, go. Talking to you is exhausting."

Chen Ping'an opened his fingers and dropped the dirt. After standing, he said, "That tree stump is damp..."

The man looked up and cursed with a laugh, "Do I need you to lecture me? Young men have vigorous yang energy; they could bake pancakes on their asses!"

The man turned to glance at the boy's retreating back, twisted his mouth, and muttered something that sounded like a dispirited curse at Heaven.

For some reason, tutor Mr. Qi ended his lessons unusually early today.

Behind the school stood a courtyard, with a low little firewood gate in its northern wall that led into a bamboo grove.

Song Jixin and his maidservant had been listening to stories beneath the Old Scholar Tree when someone summoned him to play chess. Song Jixin was not very willing, but the visitor said it was Mr. Qi's wish. He wanted to see whether their Chess Skill had improved. Song Jixin had an indescribable feeling toward the unsmiling Mr. Qi, perhaps best described as both respect and fear. Since Mr. Qi had personally issued this decree, Song Jixin had no choice but to go. Still, he insisted on waiting until the storyteller finished before heading to the school courtyard. The green-robed youth sent to deliver Mr. Qi's message could only Return Home first. Before leaving, he repeatedly reminded Song Jixin not to arrive too late, droning on with the same old refrain: My teacher was most particular about rules, disliked people who broke their word, and so on.

Song Jixin had picked at his ear impatiently and said he knew, he knew.

When Song Jixin brought Zhi Gui to the school courtyard, a cool breeze was blowing. The graceful and elegant green-robed youth was already seated, as usual, on the bench to the south, back straight and posture proper.

Song Jixin plopped down opposite the green-robed youth, seated north and facing south.

Mr. Qi sat to the west, as always watching the chess game without speaking.

Whenever her young master played chess with someone, the maidservant Zhi Gui would stroll through the bamboo grove so as not to disturb the three "scholars." Today was no exception.

In this remote little town, there were no so-called scholarly families. Scholars were as rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns.

According to the old rules established by Mr. Qi, Song Jixin and the green-robed youth had to guess the stones; black moved first.

Song Jixin and his peer across from him had begun learning chess at almost the same time. But Song Jixin was naturally gifted, and his Chess Skill advanced by leaps and bounds, traveling a thousand li in a day. Mr. Qi, who taught them both, regarded him as the stronger player. When guessing who would move first, Song Jixin would first draw a hidden handful of white Chess Pieces from the Chess Box, their number unknown. The green-robed youth would then pick one or two black stones, and if he correctly guessed whether the number of white stones was odd or even, he could take black and move first. That gave him the advantage of the First Move. During their first two years of matches, Song Jixin had never lost, whether he played white and moved second or played black and moved first.

Yet Song Jixin had little interest in chess, fishing for three days and drying nets for two. By contrast, the less talented green-robed youth was both a student of the village school and a book boy, spending day and night with Mr. Qi. Even merely watching his teacher sit silently and replay game records benefited him greatly. Thus, the green-robed youth went from only occasionally winning by luck when he held black to being able, whenever he held black, to stand even with Song Jixin in victory and defeat. The improvement in his Chess Skill and tactical technique was plain to see. Mr. Qi said nothing about this—This Diminishes, That Grows—and merely watched with his hands tucked in his sleeves.

Just as Song Jixin was about to take the Chess Pieces, Mr. Qi suddenly said, "Today, you will play a game of Zuozi Chess. White will move first."

Both boys were utterly baffled, neither knowing what "Zuozi Chess" was.

Mr. Qi explained the rules carefully in an unhurried voice. They were not complicated: two black and two white stones were placed respectively at the four star points.

The middle-aged scholar's motions as he picked up and placed the stones were practiced and flowing like drifting clouds and running water, Pleasing to the Eye.

The green-robed youth, who ordinarily loved observing rules most strictly, was dumbfounded upon hearing this "bad news." He stared blankly at the board before cautiously saying, "Teacher, if that is the case, it seems many standard patterns cannot be used."

Song Jixin frowned and pondered for a moment. Soon his eyes lit up, and his brow relaxed. "The board's overall framework has become smaller."

Then Song Jixin raised his head with a smile, as though seeking credit. "Right, Mr. Qi?"

The middle-aged scholar nodded. "That is indeed so."

Song Jixin raised an eyebrow at his peer across from him and asked with a smile, "Want me to give you a two-stone handicap? Otherwise this fellow will definitely lose."

The boy opposite him immediately flushed red and stammered, because he knew perfectly well that though he had won more and more often, aside from his increased Chess Skill, the real main reason was that Song Jixin had become increasingly absent-minded and impatient while playing chess over the past two years. At many critical moments, Song Jixin would deliberately go easy on him. Or, even after gaining a clear advantage through his opening layout, Song Jixin would deliberately take dangerous gambles in the middle game just to slaughter a great dragon.

For the brilliantly gifted Song Jixin, whether chess was fun and interesting came first.

For the green-robed youth, from the first time he placed a stone upon the board, he had been fixated on the two words victory and defeat.

Mr. Qi looked toward his school disciple. "You may play white and move first."

After that, the green-robed youth placed his stones slowly, cautious and meticulous, advancing step by step. Song Jixin, meanwhile, continued to place stones as swiftly as flying, broad and unrestrained, like an Antelope Horn hanging where no trace could be found.

Their temperaments were as far apart as Heaven and earth.

Yet after only eighty-odd moves, the green-robed youth lost in a complete rout. He lowered his head without a word, lips tightly pressed together.

Song Jixin rested his elbow on the Tabletop, propped his cheek with one hand, and lightly tapped the Stone Table with a Chess Piece held between two fingers of the other, staring at the game.

According to Mr. Qi's rules, during a match, one only needed to silently lay down a stone to concede. The words "I lost" were absolutely forbidden.

No matter how unwilling the green-robed youth was, he still slowly laid down a stone.

Mr. Qi instructed his disciple, "Go practice your calligraphy. No need to clean up this game. Write three hundred 'Eternity' characters."

The green-clad youth hurriedly rose to his feet and respectfully cupped his hands in farewell.

Only after the boy's figure had disappeared did Song Jixin softly ask, "Teacher, are you leaving this place too?"

The refined scholar with Temples Frost White nodded. "I will leave within ten days."

Song Jixin smiled. "Then that works out perfectly. I can still see Teacher off."

This teacher hesitated for a moment before finally saying, "There is no need to see me off. Song Jixin, after you leave this town, remember not to be too ostentatious. I possess nothing else. You may take these three books of Elementary Education together: Elementary Learning, Rites and Music, and Guanzhi. Review them often. You must understand that if one reads a book a hundred times, its meaning will reveal itself. If you can read ten thousand volumes, your brush will move as if aided by a god. The true meaning within this... you will naturally understand it someday. As for these three miscellaneous books—Subtle Calculations on mathematics, Peach and Plum, a chess manual, and Shan Hai Strategy, a collection of writings—you may browse them in your spare time. They can also soothe the mind and cultivate the temperament."

Song Jixin's face was full of surprise. Feeling somewhat awkward, he gathered his courage and said, "Teacher sounds as though you are Entrusting an Orphan. It makes me feel very uncomfortable."

Mr. Qi smiled warmly and said gently, "It is not as exaggerated as you say. Where in life do people not meet again? There will always be a day when we meet again."

When this teacher smiled, one felt as though bathed in spring wind.

He suddenly said, "Go see Zhao Yao. Consider it an early farewell."

Song Jixin stood and laughed. "All right. Then I'll trouble Teacher to clear up this chess game."

The boy ran off happily.

The middle-aged scholar bent over to gather the stones. They seemed scattered here and there in disorder, but in truth he picked up black before white, beginning with the final black stone placed by Song Jixin and working backward in reverse order, without missing a single stone.

At some point, the maidservant Zhi Gui had already returned from the bamboo grove. She only stood outside the firewood gate and did not Set Foot in the courtyard.

Without turning his head, he said in a deep voice, "Take care of yourself."

The girl who had grown up in Mud Bottle Alley wore an innocent, bewildered expression, looking soft, frail, timid, and pitiful.

A trace of anger appeared on the gentle and refined scholar's face as he slowly turned to look at her.

His gaze was cold.

The girl still looked dazed and confused.

Innocent and pure.

The middle-aged scholar rose to his feet, graceful and elegant, looked toward the girl, and sneered, "Evil Obstruction, accursed spawn!"

The girl slowly shed the innocent expression from her face. Her eyes gradually turned icy, and a mocking smile curled at her lips.

She seemed to be saying, What can you do to me?

She stared directly into the scholar's eyes.

Inside and outside the small courtyard, it was as though a pair of serpent-dragons were confronting one another.

Between them, they regarded each other as mortal enemies.

From afar, Song Jixin called loudly, "Zhi Gui, we're going home!"

The girl immediately rose onto her toes and obediently answered, "Yes, Young Master."

She pushed open the firewood gate and trotted past the teacher. After running several steps, she did not forget to turn around and offer a respectful curtsy to that retreating figure, her voice gentle and sweet. "Teacher, Zhi Gui will be leaving first."

After a long while, the scholar sighed.

The spring breeze was mild, and the bamboo leaves swayed like the Sound of Reading.

The young Daoist priest wearing a Lotus Crown packed up his stall, sighing repeatedly. When familiar townsfolk asked why, he merely shook his head and would not answer.

The last newlywed woman who had once come here to have her marriage fortune told passed by. Seeing the young Daoist priest acting so strangely, she shyly stopped. Her voice was soft and waxy as she asked her question, yet her watery, speaking eyes lingered insistently over the young Daoist priest's handsome face.

The young Daoist priest cast the Woman an imperceptible glance, his gaze dipping slightly to take in a full and swelling sight. Then the Daoist priest swallowed and uttered a cryptic divination: "Today, this Daoist cast a lot for himself. A Bad Omen—great misfortune."