The trip to the Temple of Literature, followed by this journey through Northern Juluzhou, had brought Chen Ping'an a rich haul. Ready to take stock of his possessions, he rolled up his sleeves, breathed on his hands, and rubbed them together.
From the look of him, he might have been a Sage presiding over his own Small World.
Zhou Mili and the white-haired boy sat side by side. One lay across the table, eyes wide with anticipation. The other looked sickly as he kept patting the tabletop without making a sound, again and again. When they had boarded, Old Ancestor Yin Guan had settled an old score with him: since he liked slapping tables so much, he could slap one ten thousand times. Otherwise, once they reached Luopo Mountain, he could forget even becoming a menial disciple.
Chen Ping'an took three things from his sleeve: gifts the two Great Mountain Lords of the Central Divine Continent had presented in the Forest of Merit to congratulate his teacher. The mountain god of Jiuyi Mountain had given him a pot of sweet flag, while Zhu Yuxian of Yanzhi Mountain had given him twelve boxes of rouge and face powder. There was also an exceedingly rare folded-paper black-clad swallow.
The white-haired boy glanced at them and lost interest. He slapped the table soundlessly with one hand and yawned behind the other. When he caught Old Ancestor Yin Guan looking at him sidelong, he immediately declared with absolute conviction, "Treasures! Every last one of them could suppress a mountain."
Chen Ping'an turned the little pot with his fingers and introduced it with a smile. "This sweet flag may not look like much, but it's already a thousand years old. See that tiny drop of water on the tip of its leaf? That's literary fortune.