Huizi Market

This was Zheng Qing's first time visiting "Huizi Market."

Huizi Market was a small bazaar, consisting of just one street.

The entire street was less than ten meters wide, roughly trapezoidal in shape, looping back on itself for only two or three li in length.

Both sides of the street were lined with old, worn-down shops, their storefronts uneven. One herbal medicine shop even had its door half-shut, its windows unopened. Walking down the street, in the slightly more open spaces, one could see vendors setting up stalls, giving the impression that the market was poorly managed.

"Our Sanyou Bookstore has a branch here. When I'm not around on normal days, you can take some time to come and keep an eye on it." Mr. Wu walked ahead, giving casual instructions to Zheng Qing.

Zheng Qing hummed in acknowledgment, but his eyes were glued to the goods the stall vendors on both sides of the street were displaying.

A serpent with horns, a three-headed dog, a rabbit with a scorpion's tail, a mermaid lying in a bathtub—it felt like he had stumbled into a fairy tale world. Zheng Qing's mouth hung open as he grabbed the hem of his teacher's robe, staring blankly at these bizarre and dazzling sights. Strangely, he felt no shock in his heart, only intense curiosity.

Mr. Wu was quite pleased with his reaction. Even spotting a few alluring young women on the street didn't make the old man's already squinting eyes open any wider. He slowed his pace, walking along while gently introducing the shops on either side.

"This 'Daodi Ben Cao' mainly sells authentic raw herbs. Shangdang's hundred-bearded old ginseng, Shangzhou's bitter orange, Su's Pleiades inner gold, and even some Sichuan ginger, Sichuan pepper, licorice—you can find just about any material for decoctions and elixirs here."

"If you need to see a doctor and buy ready-made medicine, you have to go to 'Huichun Hall.' The current hall master is Deng Xiaoxian. He just graduated from university not long ago and originally wanted to go out and explore the world, but Old Mr. Deng dragged him back. His pharmacy is right next to our bookstore; you can go take a look later."

"This 'Fendian Suoqiu' sells nothing but piles of old papers no one reads. They're all tadpole script and oracle bone script—nothing interesting."

"You can drop by this 'Luxi Fang' occasionally. It sells clothes. But the styles are all quite old-fashioned, not trendy. I doubt you'd be interested."

As he spoke, Mr. Wu occasionally cupped his hands and bowed to a few old men, exchanging pleasantries and greetings.

Zheng Qing stood obediently by his side, glancing at a toddler, no more than two or three years old, not far away. The child's parents were nowhere to be seen, leaving only this little one, wearing a red bellyband and a topknot, zipping back and forth on a two-foot-long toy wooden sword, cackling wildly.

"Why isn't he riding a broom?" Following behind his teacher, Zheng Qing rubbed his nose, watching the little brat with envy.

"Because his mom will come over and spank him in a bit. If he were riding a broom, she'd grab it and whack him with it," the teacher said in a comforting tone. "Can't even walk yet, and he wants to fly around—easy way to get a beating."

Zheng Qing felt there was a hidden meaning in his teacher's words.

"Today you turn twelve, so I have to give you a gift." Stopping in front of a shop, Mr. Wu patted Zheng Qing's head and smiled. "Don't refuse. A gift from an elder must not be declined."

Zheng Qing grinned, unable to hide his excitement, with no intention of refusing at all.

He wondered what gift his teacher would give him.

Those little animals he'd seen earlier were pretty good. The three-headed dog and scorpion-tailed rabbit might be a bit dangerous, and his family definitely wouldn't let him keep them. The little mermaid might be possible—he could put a bathtub in his bedroom and diligently change her water every day.

The candy house sold at the stall they'd passed earlier was also nice. A colorful garden villa, with flowers, grass, trees, insects, fish, birds, and beasts, and even little people running from the house onto the lawn—all made of candy beans, looking incredibly delicious. But that kind of gift was a consumable; it would probably disappear after his birthday.

And then there was that little brat's wooden sword he was flying around on. Though it was too small for him to ride, they had a hamster at home—he could hang it on the sword and let it fly.

Before Zheng Qing could finish his thoughts, Mr. Wu had already come out of the shop.

He opened his hand and held it out to Zheng Qing, smiling. "This is your birthday gift."

In the teacher's palm lay a silvery white pocket watch, engraved with intricate patterns. Pressing the button on the crown gently popped open the case, revealing the ticking hands inside.

Zheng Qing took the gift with delight, though a hint of disappointment lingered in his heart.

The teacher pointed at the watch, his tone serious. "Remember this: your most precious wealth is your time."

Zheng Qing looked up, a bit confused.

"Do you see my hand?" The teacher turned his palm over, revealing the wrinkled back of his hand. The skin was sallow, dotted with age spots—not a pretty sight.

"Can you imagine that this skin was once smooth and elastic? And now, it's withered."

"Between life and death is not great terror, but great thrill and great excitement. The true great terror is silently feeling time slip away, your body age, and being powerless to stop it."

"When I was young, every time I saw an old person, I would easily glance past them. Carelessly, feeling they were far removed from me."

"But as time ticked by, I was startled to realize that aging was so close to me."

"I don't fear death, and I don't fear aging. I just occasionally worry about my own powerlessness. My inability to leave my mark, to prove that I once lived with meaning."

***

Returning from Huizi Market, Zheng Qing shut himself in his room and practiced rune characters frantically all night. So much so that the next day, the dark circles under his eyes startled the whole family.

It was also from that day on that, in addition to teaching Zheng Qing how to practice rune characters, Mr. Wu imparted to him a set of guidance techniques.

According to the old man, a deficiency at birth required strengthening the foundation and cultivating the root.

Rune characters to strengthen the foundation, guidance techniques to cultivate the root.

Thus, Zheng Qing's first task every morning was to practice the guidance technique once. Then, before breakfast, before his afternoon nap, and before bed, he would copy dozens of rune characters.

And so, days slipped by like flowing water.

The memory of his earlier headaches faded with time, becoming so faint and dreamlike that Zheng Qing himself couldn't be sure if those difficult days had ever really happened.

Zheng Qing was now eighteen years old.

Studying under Mr. Wu didn't take up too much of Zheng Qing's time. According to the teacher, haste makes waste in all worldly matters, especially on the path of seeking the Dao. Practicing the guidance technique no more than three times a day and rune characters no more than three hundred was the limit. Exceeding that would drain his energy and trigger old ailments.

As a member of a family with a tradition of education, although his family no longer demanded he study hard, he couldn't forgo the ordinary life of learning. Under the combined insistence of his family and teacher, Zheng Qing went through elementary school, middle school, and high school step by step.

He sadly realized that he had truly become the kind of person he used to mock as a child: from elementary to high school, he'd always lingered near the neighborhood.

He had to go to a university far from home!

But no matter how far, it couldn't be so far that even he didn't know where he was.

Retrieving that admission letter from his bedroom, Zheng Qing returned to the living room.

Because at noon that day, when Zheng Qing's parents came home, they brought a golden-haired, blue-eyed guest with them.

From the brief conversation between his parents and this guest, Zheng Qing learned the foreigner's identity.

He was the interviewer sent by that strange First University.