If he had never been to Fulu Street or Taoye Alley, Chen Ping'an might have gone his whole life without realizing how dark and narrow Niping Alley really was. But instead of feeling any sense of loss, the straw-sandaled boy finally felt at ease. Smiling, he stretched out both arms, his palms just brushing the loess walls on either side. He remembered that three or four years ago, he could only touch the walls with his fingertips.
When he reached his house, he found the courtyard gate wide open. Thinking it had been broken into, he rushed inside—only to see a tall boy sitting idly on the threshold, leaning against the locked door and yawning. When the tall boy spotted Chen Ping'an, he sprang to his feet as if sitting on burning coals, ran up to him, grabbed his arm tightly, and yanked him toward the house. In a low voice, he urged, "Hurry and open the door, I've got something important to tell you!"
Chen Ping'an couldn't break free, so he was dragged over to unlock the door. The burly teenager, two years older than Chen Ping'an, quickly shoved him aside and tiptoed over to Chen Ping'an's wooden bed. Pressing an ear firmly against the wall, he started eavesdropping on the neighbors next door.
Curious, Chen Ping'an asked, "Liu Xianyang, what are you doing?"
The tall boy ignored the question. About half a stick of incense later, Liu Xianyang finally sat up at the edge of the bed, his expression complicated—partly relieved, partly regretful.
It was only then that Liu Xianyang noticed what Chen Ping'an was up to: he was crouched just inside the doorway, leaning outward, using a candle stub no bigger than a thumb to burn a yellow talisman paper. The ashes all landed outside the threshold. Chen Ping'an seemed to be muttering something under his breath, but Liu Xianyang couldn't quite hear the words.
Liu Xianyang was the last disciple accepted by the old master Yao of the town's renowned Long Kiln. As for Chen Ping'an, whose aptitude was poor, the old man had never truly acknowledged him as a disciple. In town, if a disciple hadn't offered a formal tea ceremony, or if the master hadn't drunk the tea, it didn't count as a true apprenticeship.
Chen Ping'an and Liu Xianyang weren't neighbors—their ancestral homes were quite far apart. The only reason Liu Xianyang had once introduced him to Old Yao stemmed from an old grudge. Liu Xianyang had been infamous in town for his wild behavior. Before his grandfather passed away, there had at least been someone to keep him in check. After the old man's death, the tall and brawny twelve- or thirteen-year-old became a scourge that made all the neighbors' heads ache.
One time, Liu Xianyang provoked a group of Lu family boys, who cornered him in Niping Alley and gave him a brutal beating. They were all hot-blooded teens, striking without restraint. Liu Xianyang was soon coughing up blood. The dozen or so households living in the alley were mostly poor kiln workers—nobody dared get involved.
At the time, Song Jixin was watching the scene gleefully from a wall, wishing for even more chaos.
In the end, only one skinny little kid snuck out of his courtyard and ran to the alley entrance, screaming at the top of his lungs: "Someone's dead! Someone's dead...!"
Hearing the word "dead," the Lu boys finally snapped out of it. Seeing Liu Xianyang lying in a bloody heap, nearly unconscious, they panicked and ran off through the far end of the alley.
But afterward, Liu Xianyang didn't thank the kid who had saved his life. Instead, he kept showing up to mess with him. The orphan was stubborn—no matter how Liu Xianyang bullied him, he never cried, which only made Liu Xianyang more frustrated.
Then, one winter, Liu Xianyang noticed that the little orphan surnamed Chen looked like he wouldn't make it through the season. For once, his conscience stirred. Already studying at the Long Kiln, Liu Xianyang took the boy with him on a snowy trek dozens of li westward to the kiln by the Baoxi River.
To this day, Liu Xianyang still couldn't understand how the scrawny little kid—built like charcoal, with bamboo-thin legs—had managed to walk the whole way through the snow.
Old Yao eventually kept Chen Ping'an on, but he treated the two boys very differently. With Liu Xianyang, he would scold and beat him, but even a blind man could see the care behind it. One time, after hitting Liu Xianyang so hard that blood seeped from his forehead, the old man—usually reserved—paced his room all night, worried sick. In the end, he called Chen Ping'an over to deliver a bottle of ointment to Liu Xianyang.
Chen Ping'an had always envied Liu Xianyang.
Not for his talent, strength, or popularity—but for how fearless he was. Wherever Liu Xianyang went, he was carefree, never once bothered by being alone. He could easily befriend anyone, slinging arms around shoulders and laughing over drinks.
Because of his grandfather's illness, Liu Xianyang had learned to fend for himself early. He became the local kids' ringleader—catching snakes, fishing, raiding bird nests, all with skill. He could make everything from slingshots and fish rods to birdcages. No one in town could match him when it came to catching loaches or eels in the countryside.
When Liu Xianyang dropped out of the village school, Teacher Qi even visited his sickbed-bound grandfather to plead on his behalf, saying he'd waive all tuition. Liu Xianyang refused. He just wanted to earn money, not study. Even when the teacher offered to pay him to serve as a book boy, he still wouldn't budge.
Truth be told, Liu Xianyang had done just fine. Even after Master Yao died and the Long Kiln was shut down by the authorities, he quickly found new work, recruited by a blacksmith from Qilong Alley to help build a new forge on the town's southern edge.
Liu Xianyang watched as Chen Ping'an blew out the candle and set it on the table. He asked softly, "Have you ever heard strange sounds in the early morning? Like..."
Chen Ping'an sat on a bench, waiting quietly for him to finish.
Liu Xianyang hesitated, then, unusually, blushed a little. "Like a cat in heat in spring."
Chen Ping'an asked, "Was it Song Jixin pretending to be a cat, or Zhi Gui?"
Liu Xianyang rolled his eyes, no longer willing to cast pearls before swine. He pressed his palms against the bed, bent his arms, then straightened them again, lifting his butt off the bed and feet off the ground. Hovering in midair, he sneered, "What Zhi Gui? Her real name is Wang Zhu. That Song brat just likes to show off—found the words 'Zhi Gui' somewhere and slapped them on her without even checking their meaning. Poor girl, stuck with him. Must've done something terrible in a past life."
Chen Ping'an didn't echo his judgment.
Liu Xianyang scoffed, "You really don't get it? Why do you think that after you helped her carry a water bucket that one time, she stopped talking to you completely? Bet that petty little Song got jealous and threatened her—said if she so much as looked at you, he'd break her legs and toss her in Niping Alley..."
Chen Ping'an couldn't take it anymore and cut him off. "Song Jixin isn't that bad to her."
Liu Xianyang snapped, "What do you know about good and bad?"
Chen Ping'an's gaze was calm as he said softly, "Sometimes when she's doing chores in the yard, Song Jixin sits on a stool reading some county gazette. When she looks at him, she smiles."
Liu Xianyang went blank.
Suddenly, the fragile wooden bed gave out beneath him. With a loud crack, it broke in half, and the tall boy fell heavily to the floor.
Chen Ping'an squatted, holding his head with both hands and sighing in frustration.
Liu Xianyang scratched his head and stood up. He didn't apologize—just gave Chen Ping'an a light kick and grinned. "Come on, it's just a lousy bed. I've brought you a piece of amazing news—worth more than that broken plank!"
Chen Ping'an looked up.
Liu Xianyang puffed up his chest. "My Master Ruan left town and stopped by the creek in the south. He suddenly said he wanted to dig some wells. Didn't have enough hands, so I casually mentioned you—a short guy but fairly strong. He said okay, so you should go over in the next couple of days."
Chen Ping'an jumped up, ready to thank him.
Liu Xianyang raised a hand. "Stop right there! Big favors don't need thanks. Just remember it in your heart!"
Chen Ping'an grinned.
Liu Xianyang glanced around the room. In one corner leaned a fishing rod; a slingshot lay by the window; a wooden bow hung on the wall. The tall boy seemed to hesitate, but in the end, he said nothing.
He strode across the threshold, deliberately stepping around the ashes of the talisman paper.
Chen Ping'an watched the tall figure retreat.
Suddenly, Liu Xianyang turned back. Standing just outside the threshold, he dropped into a low stance, charged a few steps, then threw a heavy punch. Straightening up, he laughed loudly. "Master Ruan said if I train for a year, this punch will be strong enough to kill a man!"
Not yet satisfied, he performed a bizarre kick. "This one's called the 'Groin-Breaker Kick—Kills the Stubborn Mule!'"
Finally, he jabbed a thumb at his chest, proud as a rooster. "Master Ruan said I had insight into martial arts. I even shared some thoughts on Old Yao's porcelain-cutting technique, and he called me a once-in-a-century martial genius. Stick with me, and you'll eat well and live large!"
Liu Xianyang caught sight of the neighboring maid walking into the adjacent house. His heroic act instantly lost steam.
He casually told Chen Ping'an, "Oh, and on my way past the old pagoda tree, I saw an old man calling himself a storyteller setting up a stall. Says he's got a belly full of tales about strange people and wonders. Might be worth a look."
Chen Ping'an nodded.
Liu Xianyang strode out of Niping Alley.
There were many rumors circulating in the town about the solitary and rebellious young man. However, the boy liked to claim that his ancestors were generals who led troops into battle, and that was why his family possessed a suit of treasured armor passed down through the generations.
The so-called "treasured armor"—Chen Ping'an had seen it once with his own eyes—was actually quite ugly. It looked more like warts on a person's body or the scars of an old tree.
But Liu Xianyang's peers didn't think so. They said that Liu Xianyang's ancestors were deserters, who fled to this small town and became live-in sons-in-law. They were lucky to have escaped the pursuit of the authorities. The story was told with such certainty, as though they had personally witnessed how Liu Xianyang's ancestors fled the battlefield and wandered all the way to the town.
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, then squatted next to the threshold and blew the ashes away.
At some point, Song Jixin had appeared by the courtyard wall, accompanied by his maid, Zhi Gui. He called out, "How about coming with us to the locust tree for some fun?"
Chen Ping'an looked up. "Not going."
Song Jixin curled his lips. "Boring."
He turned to his maid and smiled. "Zhi Gui, let's go! I'll buy you a whole jar of General's Belly Peach Blossom Powder."
She blushed. "A little cricket jar will do."
Song Jixin put his hands behind his back, puffed out his chest, and strode forward. "My Song family is wealthy, with ancestors who served as officials. How could we be so petty? Wouldn't that be a disgrace to our family tradition?!"
Chen Ping'an sat on the threshold, massaging his forehead. Actually, when Song Jixin wasn't talking nonsense, he wasn't bad. But moments like these made him think that if Liu Xianyang were around, he would definitely want to knock Song Jixin on the back of the head with a brick.
Chen Ping'an leaned against the door, thinking about tomorrow. It would most likely be just like today. The day after tomorrow would be like tomorrow, and so on, repeating. So, Chen Ping'an's life would continue like this until he ended up like Old Yao.
People eat dirt for a lifetime, but dirt only eats a person once.
Finally, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, it might just be the next life.
The young man looked down at the grass shoes on his feet and suddenly smiled.
Stepping on the bluestone slabs felt very different from stepping on a muddy patch.
Liu Xianyang left the alley and, when passing the fortune-telling booth, heard a young Daoist call out, "Come, come, come! This poor Daoist sees that your aura is like oil sizzling on fire, which is definitely not a good omen. But don't worry, I have a method that can help you ward off disaster…"
Liu Xianyang was somewhat surprised. He remembered that this Daoist usually only offered fortune-telling when people approached him. He had never actively tried to attract customers. Was it because the Long Kiln had been shut down by the authorities that the Daoist was now desperate, trying to make a living by deceiving people? Liu Xianyang scoffed and cursed, "Your method is to lose money to avoid disaster, right? Get lost, you old scammer. I'm not giving you a single coin!"
The young Daoist wasn't angry. He simply shouted at the tall youth, "If you expect everything to go smoothly this year, beware that fate hides calamity. Only those with no disasters will call on the immortals. To live in peace, you must burn incense…"
Liu Xianyang suddenly turned around and, running toward the fortune-telling booth at lightning speed, rubbed his fists and yelled, "Burn incense, huh? I'll burn your booth first!"
The Daoist was clearly frightened. He immediately got up, not caring about his booth anymore, and ran away with his head covered.
Liu Xianyang stood next to the booth, watching the Daoist's sorry figure. He laughed loudly, then noticed the divination tube on the table. He casually pushed it over, and the bamboo divination sticks scattered, finally forming a fan shape on the table.
Liu Xianyang pointed at the Daoist, who had stopped at a distance, and shouted, "Next time I see you, I'll smack your head with a brick!"
The young Daoist clasped his hands in a gesture of apology, begging for mercy.
Liu Xianyang finally stopped.
The young Daoist waited until the tall youth had walked away before he dared to sit down again. He sighed deeply, "The world is hard, and people's hearts are no longer as pure. It's tough for me to make a living now."
Just then, the Daoist's eyes brightened. He quickly closed his eyes and, with a loud voice, said, "The pond is full, and the frogs croak, disturbing the stomach, much like the human heart. This place's fame is like water on the surface of the pond, only moving when the wind blows!"
The young man and woman heard the Daoist's words, but they showed no signs of stopping.
The Daoist opened a crack in his eyes, realizing that once again he would miss out on a potential customer. With a slap on the table, he raised his voice, "A scholar is but a man of the world, and a prime minister is just another mortal. He who is learned becomes famous, his name resonates in the city, and his spirit exudes vitality!"
Song Jixin and his maid, Zhi Gui, continued walking.
The Daoist, feeling discouraged, muttered softly, "This life is impossible to live."
Out of nowhere, the young man turned his head, threw a copper coin toward the young Daoist from a distance, and smiled brightly. "Take this as a blessing from me!"
The Daoist hurriedly caught the coin and, upon opening his palm, saw it was the smallest of copper coins.
But…
The young Daoist gently placed the coin on the table.
In an instant, a yellow sparrow swiftly landed on the table, lowered its head, pecked the coin lightly, then picked it up in its beak and looked toward the Daoist. The sparrow's eyes were full of life, just like a human.
The Daoist whispered, "Go, it's not safe to stay here."
The yellow sparrow flew away in an instant.
The Daoist looked around, and his gaze finally stopped at the distant, tall archway, just in line with the plaque that read "Qi Chong Dou Niu." He sighed, "What a shame."
Finally, the Daoist added, "If I could sell this outside, it would easily fetch a thousand or eighteen hundred taels of silver."