The Daoist boy stood on the steps where Old Man Yang of the apothecary often sat, dried tobacco pipe in hand, puffing out clouds of smoke.
Chen Ping'an stood beneath the eaves and gave a proper Daoist bow without a word.
He was not trying to be mysterious. He truly did not know how to answer, and, more than anything, feared dragging Li Liu into it. So he could only grit his teeth and keep his mouth shut.
The Daoist boy shook out his sleeves and returned a perfectly respectable Confucian salute, smiling without speaking.
The boy sat down on the steps and extended a hand. "Sit wherever you like. We're both guests, so let's not stand on ceremony."
I'm passing through. For now, you are too. Later, perhaps not.
Chen Ping'an sat on the long bench. A Four Rivers Returning to the Hall courtyard lay between him and the boy as they faced each other.
There was no need to guess the Daoist boy's identity.
He had once ridden an ox through the pass and roamed the Savage World at his leisure. With a casual point of his finger, he had driven an Old Throne Great Demon back to the bottom of the Ancient Well, leaving Dao marks on him that would not fade for thousands of years.
He had also sent the Great Ancestor Chu Sheng fleeing beyond the heavens, too afraid to show his face.
Even Daoist Master Sun of the Great Xuan Du Temple—a man who had attained the Dao and "sent his regards to True Invincible every few days"—was said to speak of the Dao Ancestor who founded White Jade Capital with shared pride whenever he mentioned him to Bai Ye and others during his travels through the Vast Heaven and Earth. He would swear