Chapter 1: Awakening of Insects
On the second day of the second month, the dragon raises its head.
In the twilight, within a secluded place in the town called Mud Bottle Alley, there lived a solitary, thin youth. At that moment, following tradition, he held a candle in one hand and a peach branch in the other. He shone the light on the beams, walls, wooden bed, and other places, tapping and knocking with the peach branch, trying to drive away snakes, scorpions, centipedes, and the like. He murmured an old saying passed down through generations in this town: "On the second day of the second month, candle shines on beams, peach taps on walls—nowhere for snakes and insects to hide."
The youth's surname was Chen, given name Ping'an. His parents had died early. The town was famous for its porcelain, and since the founding of the current dynasty, it had taken on the important task of "supervising the firing of sacrificial vessels for the imperial tombs under imperial decree." Government officials were stationed here year-round to oversee the official kiln affairs. With no one to rely on, the youth had started working as a kiln potter at a very young age. At first, he could only do odd jobs and menial work, following a half-hearted master with a bad temper. After suffering through several years, he had just begun to grasp some of the tricks of porcelain firing when fate played a cruel trick: the town suddenly lost its protective talisman of being an official kiln workshop. Dozens of kilns around the town, shaped like crouching dragons, were ordered shut and extinguished overnight by the authorities.
Chen Ping'an put down the freshly cut peach branch, blew out the candle, and walked out of the house. He sat on the doorstep, looked up, and saw the starry sky sparkling brightly.
The youth still clearly remembered that old master, who only acknowledged him as half an apprentice, was surnamed Yao. One morning in late autumn of last year, he was found sitting on a small bamboo chair, facing the direction of the kiln head, his eyes closed.
But people as stubborn as Old Man Yao were ultimately rare.
Craftsmen in this town, who for generations had known only how to fire porcelain, dared neither to arrogantly fire tribute porcelain for the official kilns nor to secretly sell the stored wares to commoners. They had to find other ways out. Fourteen-year-old Chen Ping'an was also kicked out. After returning to Mud Bottle Alley, he continued to guard this long-dilapidated old house. It was a scene of utter desolation—bare walls and almost no possessions. Even if Chen Ping'an wanted to be a prodigal son, there was nothing to waste.
After drifting like a lonely ghost for a while, the youth could find no way to earn a living. He barely filled his stomach with his meager savings. A few days ago, he heard that on Dragon Riding Alley, a few streets away, an old blacksmith named Ruan had arrived from outside. He announced he would take seven or eight apprentices to learn blacksmithing—no wages, but meals provided. Chen Ping'an hurried over to try his luck. Unexpectedly, the old man only glanced at him sideways and turned him away. At the time, Chen Ping'an wondered: Is blacksmithing judged not by arm strength but by facial appearance?
He had to know that although Chen Ping'an looked frail, he was not lacking in strength. This was the physical foundation he had built over the years of firing porcelain and throwing clay. Besides that, Chen Ping'an had followed Old Yao all over the mountains and rivers within a hundred li of the town, tasting the flavors of various soils, working tirelessly without complaint, doing any dirty or heavy job without hesitation. Unfortunately, Old Yao had never liked Chen Ping'an, finding the youth lacking in insight, as stubborn as a piece of elm, far inferior to his senior apprentice Liu Xianyang. It was not surprising that the old man was biased—a master only leads you in, but cultivation depends on yourself. For example, in the equally tedious task of throwing clay, Liu Xianyang had achieved in half a year what took Chen Ping'an three years of hard work.
Even though he might never use this skill in his life, Chen Ping'an still closed his eyes as usual, imagining that in front of him was a slate and a potter's wheel, and began practicing throwing. Practice makes perfect.
About every quarter of an hour, the youth would rest for a little while, shaking his wrists, repeating the cycle until he was completely exhausted. Then Chen Ping'an got up, walked around the yard, slowly stretching his muscles and bones. No one had ever taught him this; he had figured it out himself.
The world had been utterly silent, but then Chen Ping'an heard a harsh, mocking laugh. He stopped walking and, sure enough, saw a boy of the same age crouching on the wall, grinning, without hiding his contempt.
This person was Chen Ping'an's old neighbor. Rumor had it he was the illegitimate son of the former supervisor. That official, afraid of criticism from the pure-minded scholars and impeachment by censors, had returned alone to the capital to report, leaving the child in the care of a successor official with whom he had a private friendship. Now, for some inexplicable reason, the town had lost its qualification to fire official kilns. The supervising official responsible for overseeing kiln affairs on behalf of the court was like a clay Bodhisattva fording a river—unable to save himself. How could he still care about the illegitimate son of a colleague? He threw down some silver coins and hurriedly rushed to the capital to pull strings.
Having unknowingly become an abandoned pawn, the neighbor boy still lived a leisurely life, day after day roaming inside and outside the town with his personal maid, loafing around all year, never worrying about money.
The earthen walls of every household in Mud Bottle Alley were low. In fact, the neighbor boy didn't even need to stand on tiptoe to see into the yard, but every time he spoke to Chen Ping'an, he liked to squat on the wall.
Compared with Chen Ping'an's vulgar and common name, the neighbor boy's was much more elegant: Song Jixin. Even the maidservant who lived with him had a refined name, Zhi Gui.
At that moment, the girl stood on the other side of the wall, with almond-shaped eyes, looking timid and weak.
From the direction of the courtyard gate, a voice sounded: "Is this maidservant of yours for sale?"
Song Jixin was taken aback. He turned his head to look in the direction of the voice and saw a richly dressed boy with a smile in his eyes, standing outside the yard—a completely unfamiliar face.
Beside the richly dressed boy stood a tall old man with a fair complexion and a kind expression. He squinted slightly, sizing up the youths and the girl from the two adjoining courtyards.
The old man's gaze swept over Chen Ping'an without pausing, but lingered longer on Song Jixin and the maidservant, his smile gradually deepening.
Song Jixin looked askance and said, "Sell? Why wouldn't I sell!"
The boy smiled and said, "Then name a price."
The girl widened her eyes, her face full of disbelief, like a panicked young deer.
Song Jixin rolled his eyes, stretched out a finger, and shook it, "Ten thousand taels of silver!"
The richly dressed boy's expression remained unchanged as he nodded, "Alright."
Seeing that the boy didn't seem to be joking, Song Jixin quickly changed his tune, "I meant ten thousand taels of gold!"
A smile curled at the corner of the richly dressed boy's mouth, "Just kidding."
Song Jixin's face darkened.
The richly dressed boy no longer paid attention to Song Jixin, shifting his gaze to Chen Ping'an, "Thanks to you today, I was able to buy that carp. After I took it back, the more I looked at it, the more I liked it. I thought I had to thank you in person, so I asked Grandpa Wu to bring me here tonight."
He threw a heavy embroidered pouch to Chen Ping'an, his face bright with a smile, "This is a token of thanks. Now we're even."
Chen Ping'an was about to speak, but the richly dressed boy had already turned and left.
Chen Ping'an frowned.
Earlier that day, he had accidentally seen a middle-aged man carrying a fish basket on the street. He had caught a golden carp about the size of a palm, which was jumping vigorously in the bamboo basket. Chen Ping'an took one look and felt it was very auspicious, so he asked if he could buy it for ten coins. The middle-aged man had originally intended to cook it for himself, but seeing a profit to be made, he raised the price and made an exorbitant demand—refusing to sell unless he got thirty coins. Chen Ping'an, with little money to spare, couldn't afford that. He was really reluctant to part with that glittering golden carp, so he followed the man, pestering him to lower the price to fifteen, or even twenty coins. Just when the middle-aged man showed signs of relenting, the richly dressed boy and the tall old man happened to pass by. Without a word, they bought the carp and the basket for fifty coins and walked away, leaving Chen Ping'an helplessly watching them disappear.
Staring fiercely at the receding figures of the old man and boy, Song Jixin retracted his venomous gaze, jumped down from the wall, and seemed to remember something. He said to Chen Ping'an, "Do you still remember that four-legged creature from the first month?"
Chen Ping'an nodded.
How could he not remember? It was still fresh in his memory.
According to a custom passed down in this town for centuries, if a snake entered someone's house, it was a good omen, and the owner should not drive it away or kill it. On the first day of the first month, Song Jixin had been sitting on the doorstep sunning himself when a little creature commonly called a "four-legged snake" scurried into his house right under his nose. Song Jixin grabbed it and threw it into the yard. Unexpectedly, the four-legged snake, which had been knocked senseless, grew more persistent with each attempt, infuriating the superstitiously skeptical Song Jixin. In a fit of anger, he flung it into Chen Ping'an's yard. Yet the next day, Song Jixin found that same coiled, shriveled four-legged snake under his own bed.
Song Jixin noticed the girl tugging at his sleeve.
He and the girl were in tune, and he instinctively swallowed the words that had been on the tip of his tongue.
What he had been about to say was that the extremely ugly four-legged snake had recently developed a bump on its forehead, as if a horn were growing out.
Song Jixin changed what he said, "Zhi Gui and I might leave here next month."
Chen Ping'an sighed, "Take care on the road."
Song Jixin said, half-jokingly, half-seriously, "There are some things I won't be able to move. Don't you dare come stealing when my house is empty."
Chen Ping'an shook his head.
Song Jixin suddenly burst into loud laughter, pointing a finger at Chen Ping'an, grinning mockingly, "Timid as a mouse. No wonder the poor never produce noble sons. Not only will you be lowly and bullied in this life, you might not escape it in the next either."
Chen Ping'an remained silent.
They each returned to their houses. Chen Ping'an closed the door and lay down on the hard wooden bed. The impoverished youth closed his eyes and murmured softly, "Smooth peace, year after year; smooth peace, peace year after year..."
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PS1: A nearly 200,000-character side story from "Sword in the Snow" has been updated on WeChat. WeChat public account: fenghuo1985
PS2: Over a hundred alliance leaders before even uploading... You all are mighty...
PS3: Long time no see, Sword, Come!
(Sanqi Chinese Version)