Life in Qingyun Lane was a little livelier than Chen Ping had expected.
The commotion didn't come from disturbances outside, but from Bing No. 35 Courtyard on his left, whose doors stayed shut day in and day out.
"Boom!"
A muffled explosion rang out, making even the bluestone slabs beneath their feet tremble slightly. A few wisps of black smoke then curled up from beyond the towering courtyard wall next door. A pungent burnt smell and a strange metallic stench drifted on the wind into Chen Ping's little courtyard.
Chen Ping was sitting beneath the old pagoda tree in the courtyard, drawing a Calm Mind Talisman. His wrist quivered slightly, and the cinnabar on the tip of his brush came to a halt. The talisman, almost complete, was ruined in an instant.
He furrowed his brow and set down his brush. Yet there was no irritation in his eyes, only deep wariness and curiosity.
"That's the third time."
Chen Ping silently counted.
He had moved to Qingyun Lane only five days ago, yet the neighbor next door had already caused this kind of commotion three times.
According to a casual remark from the Rental Agency clerk at the lane's entrance, a strange old man named Shen Qianji lived in Courtyard No. 35. He was a loner with an eccentric temper. He never seemed to cultivate, spending all day tinkering with bits of scrap metal in his courtyard. Aside from the occasional trip to the Market to buy spirit materials, he hardly ever left home.
The neighbors around him—even those alchemists and artifact refiners who thought highly of themselves—looked disgruntled whenever Shen Qianji came up and avoided him like the plague. In private, they all called him a "madman."
"Husband, did that startle you?"
Yun Niang set down her needlework and