Chapter 3: Sunrise
The town was neither large nor small, with over six hundred households. Chen Ping'an knew most of the doors belonging to poor families. As for the well-off families with substantial means, their thresholds were high, and a barefoot boy like him could never step across. There were even some wide alleys where wealthy households clustered, places Chen Ping'an had never set foot in. The streets there were paved with large slabs of bluestone; on rainy days, one would never step down and splash mud everywhere. Those high-quality bluestone slabs, after thousands of years of being trodden and crushed by people, horses, and vehicles, had long been polished smooth as a mirror.
The four surnames—Lu, Li, Zhao, and Song—were the major clans in the town. The village school was funded by these families, and most of them owned two or three large dragon kilns outside the city. The official residence of the successive kiln supervisors was on the same street as these families.
As luck would have it, the ten letters Chen Ping'an had to deliver today were almost all for the town's famously wealthy households. This was only natural—dragons beget dragons, phoenixes beget phoenixes, and mice dig holes. Wanderers far from home who could afford to send letters back were certainly from good families, otherwise they wouldn't have the means to travel afar. Nine of those letters, in fact, only required Chen Ping'an to go to two places: Fulu Street and Taoye Lane. When he first stepped onto those bluestone slabs as large as bed boards, the boy felt a bit apprehensive. He slowed his pace, even felt a sense of shame, and couldn't help thinking his straw sandals were dirtying the street.
The first letter Chen Ping'an delivered was to the Lu family, whose ancestor had once received an imperial jade ruyi from an emperor. Standing at their gate, the boy grew even more uneasy.
Wealthy families had many rules. The Lu house was large, and at the entrance stood two stone lions, as tall as a man, imposing and fierce. Song Jixin had said these things could ward off evil and suppress malevolent spirits, but Chen Ping'an had no idea what evil spirits were. He was simply very curious about the round stone balls that seemed to be held in the lions' mouths. How had they been carved out? Chen Ping'an resisted the urge to touch the stone ball, walked up the steps, and knocked on the bronze lion-head door knocker. Soon a young man opened the door. When he heard it was a letter delivery, he expressionlessly pinched the corner of the envelope with two fingers, took the family letter, turned and quickly walked back into the house, slamming the gate shut. The gate was plastered with a colored painting of the God of Wealth.
The rest of the boy's letter deliveries were equally uneventful. At a corner of Taoye Lane, there was a household of no particular fame. The person who opened the door was a short, kindly-looking old man. After taking the letter, he smiled and said, "Young man, you've worked hard. Would you like to come in and rest, drink some hot water?"
The boy smiled shyly, shook his head, and ran off.
The old man gently slipped the letter into his sleeve. He didn't hurry back into the house. Instead, he looked up into the distance, his gaze murky.
Finally, his gaze shifted from high to low, from far to near, fixing on the peach trees lining the street. The old man, who seemed decrepit and senile, barely managed to force a faint smile.
Then he turned and went inside.
Not long after, a cute little yellow sparrow landed on a peach tree branch. Its beak was still tender, and it chirped softly.
The last letter remaining was for Chen Ping'an to deliver to the teacher who taught at the village school. On the way, he passed a fortune-telling stall. A young Taoist in an old robe sat upright behind a table. He wore a tall crown that resembled a blooming lotus.
When the young Taoist saw the boy running past, he quickly called out, "Young man, don't pass by without stopping. Come draw a fortune stick. I'll do a divination for you, help you know your fortune and misfortune, blessings and calamities."
Chen Ping'an didn't stop, but he turned his head and waved his hand.
The Taoist didn't give up. He leaned forward and raised his voice, "Young man, normally I charge ten coppers to interpret a stick for someone. Today, I'll make an exception—only three coppers! Of course, if you draw an upper stick, you can add one more copper as a happy bonus. And if you're extremely lucky and draw the highest upper stick, I'll only charge you five coppers. How about it?"
In the distance, Chen Ping'an's steps clearly paused. The young Taoist quickly stood up and pressed his advantage, shouting, "It's early morning, and you're my first customer. I'll do you a solid. Honestly, if you sit and draw a stick, I can write some yellow paper talismans for you. I can help you pray for your ancestors, accumulate hidden virtue. With my skill, I won't say I can guarantee a rich and noble reincarnation, but at least you can try to get a bit more blessing."
Chen Ping'an was taken aback. He turned back with a mixture of doubt and belief and sat down on the long bench in front of the stall.
A simple Taoist and a shabby boy—two paupers, big and small—sat facing each other.
The Taoist smiled and extended his hand, gesturing for the boy to pick up the bamboo tube holding the fortune sticks.
Chen Ping'an hesitated, then suddenly said, "I won't draw a stick. Can you just write me a yellow paper talisman?"
In Chen Ping'an's memory, this young Taoist, who had wandered here, had already stayed in town for at least five or six years. His appearance hadn't changed much, and he was always friendly to everyone. He usually did palm reading, physiognomy, fortune sticks, and occasionally wrote family letters. Interestingly, on his table was a tube of one hundred and eight fortune sticks. Over the years, the town's men and women had drawn sticks, and no one had ever drawn the highest upper stick, nor had anyone shaken out a lower stick. It was as if all one hundred and eight sticks were in the middle-to-upper range, with no bad sticks at all.
So on holidays, if people just wanted good luck, spending ten coppers was acceptable. But if they really had troubles, no one would come here to be a sucker. To say the Taoist was a complete fraud would be unfair; the town was small, and if he really only pretended to be mystical and cheated people, he would have been driven out long ago. So the young Taoist's skill must not lie in fortune-telling or interpreting sticks. However, many people with minor ailments would drink a bowl of his talisman water and quickly recover—it was quite effective.
The young Taoist shook his head. "I act without cheating either young or old. I said I'd interpret a stick and write a talisman together, for five coppers."
Chen Ping'an argued quietly, "It was three coppers."
The Taoist laughed heartily. "What if you draw the highest upper stick? Then it would be five coppers, wouldn't it?"
Chen Ping'an made up his mind and reached for the stick tube. Then he suddenly looked up and asked, "Master, how did you know I happen to have exactly five coppers on me?"
The Taoist sat up straight. "I've always been accurate in reading people's blessings and wealth."
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment and picked up the stick tube.
The Taoist smiled. "Young man, don't be nervous. What is destined to be yours will eventually be yours; what is not destined, don't force. Treat impermanence with a normal heart—that is the best method of all."
Chen Ping'an put the tube back on the table, his expression serious. He asked, "Master, I'll give you all five coppers, and I won't draw a stick either. I just ask that you write the yellow paper talisman better than usual. Is that alright?"
The Taoist's smile remained unchanged. He thought briefly, then nodded. "Alright."
On the table, the ink, brush, inkstone, and paper were already prepared. The Taoist carefully asked for the names, hometowns, and birth dates of Chen Ping'an's parents. He pulled out a sheet of yellow paper and wrote the talisman in one go, without stopping.
As for what he wrote, Chen Ping'an had no idea.
Putting down the brush, the young Taoist picked up the talisman paper and blew on the ink to dry it. "When you get home, stand inside the threshold and burn the yellow paper outside the threshold. That's it."
The boy took the talisman paper solemnly, carefully stored it away, didn't forget to place five copper coins on the table, and bowed in thanks.
The young Taoist waved his hand, signaling the boy to go about his business.
Chen Ping'an ran off to deliver the last letter.
The Taoist lazily leaned back in his chair, glanced at the copper coins, then bent over and scooped them up in front of him.
At that moment, a petite and exquisite yellow sparrow swooped down from the sky onto the tabletop. It lightly pecked at one of the copper coins, then quickly lost interest and flew off into the distance.
"The yellow sparrow begins to come bearing a flower, but your home's peach blossoms have not yet opened."
The Taoist recited this poem leisurely, then waved his sleeve with feigned nonchalance, sighing, "Fate grants eight feet, don't seek a single zhang."
As he waved his sleeve, two bamboo sticks slipped out and fell to the ground. "Aiyo," he exclaimed, quickly picking them up. Then he furtively looked around, and finding no one paying attention, he breathed a sigh of relief and concealed the two sticks back into his wide sleeve.
The young Taoist coughed, put on a straight face, and continued waiting for the next customer like a rabbit by a stump.
He mused that it was indeed easier to earn money from women.
In truth, the two sticks hidden in the Taoist's sleeve were one of the highest and one of the lowest—both meant for making big money.
This was not something to be shared with outsiders.
The boy naturally knew nothing of these mysteries. He walked lightly all the way until he reached the outside of the village school. Nearby, the bamboo grove was lush, the greenery almost dripping.
Chen Ping'an slowed his steps. From inside came a mellow, middle-aged voice: "The sun rises in radiance, the lambskin robe is glossy."
Then a neat, crisp chorus of young voices repeated, "The sun rises in radiance, the lambskin robe is glossy."
Chen Ping'an looked up. The morning sun was rising in the east, bright and vast.
The boy stood in a daze.
When he came to, the schoolchildren were swaying their heads, reciting a passage fluently as required by the teacher: "At the time of Jingzhe, heaven and earth stir, all things begin to flourish. Sleep early at night, arise early, walk widely in the courtyard. A gentleman walks slowly to nourish his will..."
Chen Ping'an stood at the school gate, hesitant to speak.
A Confucian scholar with graying temples turned to look at him and quietly walked out of the room.
Chen Ping'an offered the letter respectfully with both hands. "Teacher, this is your letter."
The tall man in a blue robe took the envelope and said warmly, "In the future, if you have nothing to do, you can come here and sit in on the lessons."
Chen Ping'an looked troubled. He wasn't sure he would really have time to come listen to this teacher, and he didn't want to lie to him.
The man smiled, understanding. "It's fine. Principles are all in books, but living as a person is beyond them. Go on with your work."
Chen Ping'an sighed in relief and took his leave.
After running far away, he inexplicably turned back to look.
He saw the teacher still standing at the door, his figure bathed in sunlight. From a distance, he looked like a divine being.
(Sanqi Zhongwen et)