Chapter 4: The Yellow Bird
If Chen Ping'an had never been to Fortune Deer Street or Peach Leaf Alley, he might never have realized how dark and narrow Clay Bottle Alley truly was. Yet the straw-sandaled youth did not feel a sense of loss; instead, he finally felt at ease. The boy smiled and stretched out his hands, his palms just touching the yellow mud walls on either side. He remembered that about three or four years ago, he could only reach the walls with his fingertips.
When he arrived at his own front door, he found the courtyard gate wide open. Thinking there might be a thief, the boy hurried into the yard. Instead, he saw a tall youth sitting on the threshold, leaning against the locked house door, yawning out of sheer boredom. When the tall youth spotted Chen Ping'an, he jumped up as if his butt were on fire, ran over, grabbed Chen Ping'an by the arm, and yanked him toward the house, lowering his voice: "Hurry up and open the door! I have something important to tell you!"
Chen Ping'an couldn't break free from the fellow's grip, so he had to let himself be dragged to the door and open it. The sturdy youth, two years older than Chen Ping'an, quickly released him, tiptoed over to Chen Ping'an's wooden bed, pressed his ear tightly against the wall, and started eavesdropping on the neighbors.
Curious, Chen Ping'an asked, "Liu Xianyang, what are you doing?"
The tall youth ignored Chen Ping'an's question. After about the time it takes to burn half an incense stick, Liu Xianyang returned to normal. He sat on the edge of the wooden bed, his expression complex—partly relieved, partly regretful.
Only then did Liu Xianyang notice that Chen Ping'an was doing something strange. The boy was crouching just inside the door, leaning outward, using a candle stub no bigger than a thumb to burn a piece of yellow paper, letting the ashes fall outside the threshold. It seemed Chen Ping'an was muttering something under his breath, but from that distance, Liu Xianyang couldn't make out the words.
Liu Xianyang was the last disciple of Old Man Yao, who ran an old established dragon kiln. As for the dull-witted Chen Ping'an, the old man had never truly acknowledged him as a disciple from beginning to end. In these parts, if an apprentice didn't offer the master tea in a formal ceremony, or if the master didn't drink that tea, there was no master-apprentice relationship. Chen Ping'an and Liu Xianyang weren't neighbors; their family homes were quite far apart. The reason Liu Xianyang had introduced Chen Ping'an to Old Man Yao back then was because of an old grudge. Liu Xianyang had once been the town's most notorious wild child. Before his grandfather died, there was at least an elder to keep him in line. But after his grandfather passed away, the boy, already as tall and strong as a grown man at twelve or thirteen, became the neighborhood terror. Later, for some unknown reason, Liu Xianyang angered a group of young Lu family members. They cornered him in Clay Bottle Alley and gave him a thorough beating. The other youths were hot-headed and didn't hold back. Liu Xianyang was soon beaten bloody and vomiting. The dozen or so families living in Clay Bottle Alley were mostly low-level kiln workers struggling to make a living; none of them dared to wade into that muddy water.
Back then, Song Jixin wasn't afraid at all. Instead, he squatted happily on the wall watching the show, as if the world couldn't be too chaotic.
In the end, only one child, skinny as a stick, sneaked out of his yard, ran to the alley entrance, and screamed at the top of his lungs toward the main street: "Someone's dead! Someone's dead!"
Hearing the words "someone's dead," the Lu youths finally snapped out of it. They saw Liu Xianyang lying on the ground, covered in blood, barely alive. The rich boys felt a belated chill of fear. They exchanged glances and then fled out the other end of the alley.
But after that, Liu Xianyang didn't show any gratitude to the child who had saved his life. Instead, he came by every few days to tease and torment him. The orphan was stubborn too—no matter how Liu Xianyang bullied him, he refused to cry, which only made the youth more frustrated. Then, one year, seeing that little orphan surnamed Chen probably wouldn't survive the winter, Liu Xianyang finally had a change of heart. Having already become an apprentice at the dragon kiln, he took the orphan to that kiln by Baoxi Creek. They left the town heading west, trudging dozens of miles through heavy snow. Liu Xianyang still couldn't figure out how that little charcoal-stick of a kid, whose legs were as thin as bamboo poles, managed to walk all the way to the kiln. Old Man Yao eventually allowed Chen Ping'an to stay, but the way he treated the two boys was like night and day. He yelled at and beat his official disciple Liu Xianyang, but even a blind man could see his good intentions. Once, he hit too hard and split Liu Xianyang's forehead, drawing blood. The thick-skinned youth didn't think much of it, but Old Man Yao, his master, was deeply regretful. The old man, used to being stern with his apprentices, was too embarrassed to say anything. He paced around his own house half the night, still worried about Liu Xianyang, and finally called Chen Ping'an to deliver a bottle of ointment to Liu Xianyang.
All these years, Chen Ping'an had always envied Liu Xianyang.
Not because Liu Xianyang was talented, strong, or popular. He envied that Liu Xianyang was afraid of nothing. No matter where he went, he was carefree and never felt that living alone was a bad thing. Wherever Liu Xianyang went, whoever he was with, he'd quickly have his arm around their shoulders, calling them brothers, drinking and playing finger-guessing games. Because his grandfather was in poor health, Liu Xianyang had learned to fend for himself early on. He became a kind of king among the children. Catching snakes, fishing, robbing bird nests—he was skilled at all of it. Wooden bows, fishing rods, slingshots, birdcages—Liu Xianyang seemed to know how to make everything. Especially when it came to catching loaches in the fields and fishing for eels, the youth was undoubtedly the best in town. In fact, when Liu Xianyang dropped out of the village school back then, Teacher Qi had even gone to see Liu Xianyang's bedridden grandfather, saying he wouldn't charge a single coin. But Liu Xianyang refused, saying he only wanted to earn money, not study. Teacher Qi offered to hire Liu Xianyang as his bookkeeper, but Liu Xianyang still wouldn't agree. Truth be told, Liu Xianyang lived pretty well. Even after Old Man Yao died and the dragon kiln was sealed, within a few days a blacksmith from Riding Dragon Lane took a liking to him. Liu Xianyang started building a thatched hut and a forge south of town, keeping himself busy.
Liu Xianyang watched Chen Ping'an blow out the candle and put it on the table. He lowered his voice and asked, "Have you ever heard strange noises early in the morning, like…"
Chen Ping'an sat on the long bench, waiting for him to continue.
Liu Xianyang hesitated for a moment, then blushed—a rare sight. "Like cats yowling in spring."
Chen Ping'an asked, "Is it Song Jixin imitating a cat, or Zhigui?"
Liu Xianyang rolled his eyes. No point in casting pearls before swine. He placed his hands on the bed board, slowly bent his elbows, then straightened his arms, lifting his butt off the bed and his feet off the ground. Suspended in midair, he curled his lip in disdain. "What Zhigui? Her name is Wang Zhu! That Song kid has always liked showing off. He saw the characters 'Zhigui' somewhere and used them without caring what they mean. Wang Zhu is unlucky to have a master like him. She must have done something terrible in a past life to suffer like that beside Song Jixin."
Chen Ping'an didn't agree with the tall youth.
Still holding that position, Liu Xianyang snorted. "You really don't get it? Why do you think she stopped talking to you after you carried that water bucket for her once? I bet Song Jixin is so petty he got jealous and threatened her—told her not to make eyes at you, or else he'd use the family discipline. Not only break her legs, but toss her out into Clay Bottle Alley…"
Chen Ping'an couldn't listen anymore. He interrupted, "Song Jixin isn't mean to her."
Liu Xianyang was exasperated. "What do you know about good and bad?"
Chen Ping'an's eyes were clear. "Sometimes when she's working in the yard, he sits on a stool reading some local gazetteer. When she looks at him, she often smiles."
Liu Xianyang's eyes went blank.
Suddenly, the flimsy wooden bed could no longer bear Liu Xianyang's weight. It cracked in half, and the tall youth landed on the floor with a thud.
Chen Ping'an crouched down, holding his head in his hands, sighing in frustration.
Liu Xianyang scratched his head, stood up, and didn't say anything apologetic. He just gave Chen Ping'an a light kick and grinned. "Alright, it's just a lousy broken bed. The reason I came today is to bring you some amazing news—worth way more than this piece of junk!"
Chen Ping'an looked up.
Liu Xianyang said proudly, "My Master Ruan left town and went to that creek on the south side. He suddenly decided to dig a few wells, but he didn't have enough hands, so he needed to hire some helpers. I mentioned you offhand—said there was this short, chubby kid with decent strength. Master Ruan agreed. He wants you to head over yourself in the next couple of days."
Chen Ping'an jumped up, about to thank him.
Liu Xianyang raised a hand. "Stop right there! No need for thanks! Just remember it in your heart!"
Chen Ping'an grinned, showing his teeth.
Liu Xianyang looked around the room. In the corner, a fishing rod leaned against the wall. On the windowsill lay a slingshot. A wooden bow hung on the wall. The tall youth seemed to want to say something but held back.
He strode over the threshold, his boots deliberately stepping around the ashes of the talisman paper.
Chen Ping'an watched that tall figure.
Liu Xianyang suddenly turned around, facing Chen Ping'an, who was still inside the threshold. The tall youth crouched low, never lifting his feet, dashed forward a few steps, threw a heavy punch, then pulled back his fist and straightened up, laughing loudly. "Master Ruan told me in private that if I practice this boxing technique for a year, I'll be able to kill a man!"
Liu Xianyang, not yet satisfied, made a strange kicking motion and laughed. "This is called 'A good leg must enter the crotch; kick the mule until it falls silent and dead!'"
Finally, he pointed his thumb at his own chest and said arrogantly, "When Master Ruan was teaching me the boxing techniques, I shared some of my insights with him. For instance, my understanding of Old Man Yao's secret 'Jumping Knife' technique for making porcelain. Master Ruan said I'm a once-in-a-century martial arts prodigy. From now on, just stick with me, and I'll make sure you eat well and drink well!"
Liu Xianyang's peripheral vision caught the neighbor's maid entering her house, and he immediately lost his enthusiasm for playing the hero.
He said casually to Chen Ping'an, "Oh, by the way, when I passed by the old locust tree earlier, there was an old man calling himself a 'storyteller' setting up a stall. He said he's got a belly full of strange tales and interesting people, and he's going to tell them all. You can go check it out if you're free."
Chen Ping'an nodded.
Liu Xianyang strode out of Clay Bottle Alley with big steps.
There were many rumors about this solitary, unruly youth in town. The boy liked to claim that his ancestors were generals who led troops into battle, which was why his family had passed down a suit of armor generation after generation.
Chen Ping'an had seen that so-called treasure armor once. It was ugly, like a wart on a person's skin or a knot on an old tree.
But the other kids his age didn't say that. They said Liu Xianyang's ancestor was a deserter who fled to this town, became a live-in son-in-law, and was lucky to escape the authorities. They spoke as if they had seen with their own eyes how the ancestor fled the battlefield and wandered all the way to this little town.
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, then crouched by the threshold and blew away the ashes.
Song Jixin appeared by the courtyard wall at some point, his maidservant Zhigui beside him. He called out, "Want to come with us to the locust tree to have some fun?"
Chen Ping'an looked up. "I'm not going."
Song Jixin twisted his lips. "Boring."
He turned to his maid and said with a smile, "Zhigui, let's go! I'll buy you a whole general's belly jar full of peach blossom powder."
She said shyly, "A little cricket jar is enough."
Song Jixin walked ahead with his hands behind his back, chest out, his strides long. "We of the Song family—with our bells and tripods, our generations of honor—how can we be petty? Wouldn't that disgrace the family traditions?"
Chen Ping'an sat on the threshold, rubbing his forehead. This Song Jixin, when he wasn't saying weird, crazy things, wasn't bad. But at times like this, if Liu Xianyang were present, he'd definitely say he wanted to hit Song Jixin on the back of the head with a brick.
Chen Ping'an leaned against the door, thinking about tomorrow. It would probably be like today. The day after tomorrow would be like tomorrow. And so on and so forth. And that's how he would live his life until he ended up like Old Man Yao.
People eat dirt for a lifetime; dirt eats people once.
Finally, you close your eyes. When you open them again, it might be the next life.
The boy looked down at the straw sandals on his feet and suddenly smiled.
Walking on blue stone slabs really was different from walking in mud.
––––
Liu Xianyang left the alley. As he passed the fortune-teller's stall, the young Daoist waved and called out, "Come, come! I see your complexion is like a raging fire—definitely an ill omen! But don't be afraid; I have a method to help you avert disaster…"
Liu Xianyang was a bit surprised. He remembered that this Daoist used to give sign interpretations and fortune readings. He wasn't sure if they were accurate, but he never actively solicited business before—mostly just waited for willing customers. Could it be that now that the dragon kiln was closed by the imperial court and local officials, the Daoist was also down on his luck, his pot empty, so he'd rather catch a thousand by mistake than let one escape? Liu Xianyang cursed with a laugh, "Your method is to lose money to avoid disaster, right? Screw you. Trying to trick money out of my pocket? Wait till your next life!"
The young Daoist wasn't angry. He shouted at the tall youth, "Hope for a prosperous year, but fate brings calamity instead. No disaster, won't pray to immortals. To be safe, you must burn incense… You should burn incense…"
Liu Xianyang abruptly turned around and sprinted toward the fortune-teller's stall, rubbing his fists together and shouting, "Burn incense, huh? Let me burn your stall first!"
The Daoist was clearly terrified. He jumped up, abandoning his stall, and fled with his head down.
Liu Xianyang stood next to the stall, watching the Daoist's pathetic retreat, laughing loudly. He glanced at the bamboo slip container on the table, casually pushed it over. The slips clattered out, forming a fan shape on the table.
Liu Xianyang pointed at the Daoist, who had stopped at a distance. "I'll beat you every time I see you from now on!"
The young Daoist clasped his hands and bowed, begging for mercy.
Only then did Liu Xianyang let it go.
The young Daoist didn't dare sit back down until the tall youth was far away. He sighed. "The times are hard. People's hearts are not what they used to be. Even I can barely scrape by."
Just then, the Daoist's eyes brightened. He quickly closed his eyes and recited loudly, "The pond is full, the frogs make a racket. What stabs the guts is the human heart. Here, fame and rank are duckweed on water; only move when the wind blows in all directions!"
The pair—the boy and his maid—had clearly heard the Daoist's words, but they showed no sign of stopping.
The Daoist opened his eyes a crack. Seeing he was about to lose another customer, he slapped the table and raised his voice, "The top scholar is but a mortal son; the prime minister is but a man of this world. Learning that reaches heaven and man shakes the city; proud and triumphant, full of spirit!"
Song Jixi and his maidservant Zhigui continued walking.
The Daoist was disheartened and muttered under his breath, "I can't go on like this."
Without any warning, the boy turned around, tossed a copper coin far toward the Daoist, and said with a brilliant smile, "Thanks for the good words!"
The Daoist hurriedly caught the coin. Opening his palm, he frowned. It was the smallest denomination—just one wen.
But still.
The young Daoist gently placed the coin on the table.
In an instant, a yellow bird swooped down onto the table, lowered its head, and pecked lightly at the copper coin. Then it picked up the coin in its beak and looked up at the young Daoist. The yellow bird's eyes were lively, as intelligent as a human's.
The Daoist said softly, "Go. This place is no longer safe."
The yellow bird vanished in a flash.
The young Daoist looked around. Finally, his gaze rested on the tall archway in the distance, just below the plaque that read "Spirit Piercing the Dipper." He sighed. "What a pity."
Then he added, "If I could take that to the outside world to sell, it'd surely fetch a thousand or eight hundred taels of silver, right?"