Chapter 5: Revealing the Truth
Song Jixin, accompanied by his maidservant Zhigui, arrived at the old locust tree and found the shade packed with people. Nearly fifty of them sat on stools and chairs they had brought from home, while children continued to drag their elders over to join the commotion.
Song Jixin stood shoulder to shoulder with her at the edge of the shade, watching an old man beneath the tree. With a large white bowl in one hand and the other behind his back, he spoke with great fervor: "I've just covered the general course of the dragon vein. Now let me talk about this true dragon—tsk tsk, this is truly extraordinary. About three thousand years ago, there appeared in the world a remarkable immortal figure. First, he cultivated diligently in some cave paradise, attained the Great Way, then traveled the world alone with a sword, exuding a three-foot bearing of sharp-edged prowess. For reasons unknown, this man had a particular grudge against flood dragons. For three full centuries, wherever there was a flood dragon, he slew it, until no true dragons remained in the world. Only then did he stop, and he vanished without a trace. Some say he went to a place of supreme Daoist cultivation to debate the Way with the Dao Ancestor. Others say he journeyed to the far western Pure Land Buddhist kingdom to argue scriptures with the Buddha. Still others claim he personally guards the gates of the Fengdu underworld to prevent demons and monsters from wreaking havoc on the mortal world..."
The old man spoke with saliva flying, but all the townsfolk below were utterly unmoved, their faces blank with confusion.
The maidservant asked in a low, curious voice: "What is 'three-foot bearing'?"
Song Jixin chuckled. "It means a sword."
The maidservant retorted with mild irritation: "Young master, this old man sure loves to show off his learning. He can't even speak plainly."
Song Jixin glanced at the old man and said with schadenfreude: "In our town, few can read. This storytelling gentleman is basically casting pearls before swine."
The maidservant asked again: "What are 'cave paradises'? Can anyone really live three hundred years? And that Fengdu underworld—isn't it only for the dead?"
Song Jixin was stumped, but unwilling to appear ignorant, he answered offhandedly: "All nonsense. He's probably read a few trashy unofficial histories and is using them to fool these country bumpkins."
At that moment, Song Jixin keenly noticed the old man glance at him—though it was as brief as a dragonfly skimming water, quickly passing over, Song Jixin still caught it carefully. Still, the boy didn't dwell on it, taking it as a mere coincidence.
The maidservant looked up at the old locust tree. Fragmented rays of light filtered through the gaps in the leaves and spilled down. She instinctively squinted.
Song Jixin turned to look at her and suddenly froze.
Now, this maidservant of his had a profile that was just beginning to shed its baby fat. She seemed quite different from the skinny, scrawny little maid in his memory.
According to town custom, when a woman married, they would hire a person of good fortune—one whose parents and children were all alive—to shave off the bride's facial fuzz and trim her forehead hair and sideburns. This was called "opening the face" or "raising the brows."
Song Jixin had also read about a custom not present in their town. So when Zhigui turned twelve, he bought the best newly brewed wine in town, brought out a porcelain vase he had secretly stashed away—its glaze exquisitely beautiful, like a green plum—poured the wine in, carefully sealed it with mud, and buried it underground.
Song Jixin suddenly spoke up: "Zhigui, even though that fellow surnamed Chen is, as the ancestors of us scholars would say, 'rotten wood that cannot be carved, and walls of dung that cannot be plastered,' still, no matter what, he has managed to do one meaningful thing in his life."
The maidservant did not reply. She lowered her eyes, and the faint trembling of her eyelashes was barely visible.
Song Jixin continued to himself: "Chen Ping'an, well, he's not a bad person. It's just that his temperament is too rigid. He insists on following the same reasoning in everything he does. So being a kiln worker means that no matter how hard he works, he's destined never to create anything with spirit. That's why Liu Xianyang's master, that old Yao, looks down on Chen Ping'an as hopeless. He has his own unique insight—that's 'rotten wood cannot be carved.' As for 'walls of dung cannot be plastered,' it roughly means that even if you dress a poor wretch like Chen Ping'an in a dragon robe, he'd still be a mud-spattered bumpkin..."
When Song Jixin reached this point, he laughed self-deprecatingly. "Actually, I'm worse off than Chen Ping'an."
She didn't know how to comfort her young master.
Song Jixin and his maidservant had long been a major topic of conversation among the wealthy of Fortune Street and Peach Leaf Lane after meals. This was all thanks to Song Jixin's "convenient father," Lord Song.
There were no great figures in the town, nor any major upheavals. Therefore, the imperial inspector assigned to oversee the kilns here was, as the storybooks would say, a kind of "grand magistrate." Among the dozens of inspectors in history, the most recent one, Lord Song, had won the greatest popularity. Unlike the high-and-mighty officials before him, Lord Song did not hide away in his office to cultivate his aura, nor did he shut his doors to guests and focus on scholarly pursuits in his study. Instead, he personally attended to all matters related to the firing of official kiln porcelain. He was even more like a village commoner than the artisan kiln workers themselves. Over more than a decade, this originally bookish Lord Song had his skin tanned a shiny black. His daily attire was no different from that of a farmer. He never put on airs in dealing with others. Unfortunately, the imperial porcelain fired in the town's dragon kilns never met expectations—whether in glaze quality or in the shape of large vessels and small pieces. To be precise, it was even slightly inferior to the standards of previous generations, leaving the old kiln masters utterly perplexed.
In the end, the imperial court probably felt that Lord Song, despite his diligent efforts, had rendered meritorious service without achieving great results. So, in the document ordering his recall to the capital's Ministry of Personnel, he was at least given a "satisfactory" evaluation. Before returning to the capital, Lord Song actually spent all his gold, using it to build a covered bridge. Later, when people realized that Lord Song's departing caravan did not include a certain child, the prominent families of the town understood everything. It could be said that Lord Song had built up a considerable bond of goodwill with the town. With the current inspector's deliberate care, young Song Jixin had lived a carefree life in the town over these years, free from worries about food and clothing. As for the maidservant now renamed Zhigui, various theories abounded about her origins. Locals living on Mud Vase Lane said that one winter during a heavy snowfall, a girl from out of town had wandered here begging, collapsed unconscious at the gate of Song Jixin's home, and would have been reincarnated to King Yama if not for someone discovering her early. The old men who did odd jobs at the government office had a different story, swearing that Lord Song had long ago had an orphan purchased from elsewhere specifically to provide a confidante for his illegitimate son, Song Jixin, to make up for the debt of not being able to acknowledge their father-son relationship.
Regardless, after the boy named the maidservant Zhigui, the father-son relationship was thoroughly confirmed. For the large clans and gentry of the town all knew that Lord Song cherished a particular inkstone, which was engraved with the two characters "Zhi Gui."
Song Jixin snapped back to reality, his face breaking into a bright smile. "I don't know why, but I'm thinking of that shameless little four-legged snake. Zhigui, think about it—I threw it into Chen Ping'an's yard, and it still wants to scurry back to our house. You tell me, how unappealing must Chen Ping'an's doghouse be, that even a little snake doesn't want to go in?"
The maidservant thought seriously for a moment, then replied: "Some things are also a matter of fate, aren't they?"
Song Jixin gave a thumbs-up and said cheerfully: "Exactly! That Chen Ping'an is a man of shallow fate and meager fortune. He should be content just to be alive."
She said nothing.
Song Jixin murmured to himself: "After we leave the town, we'll leave our things for Chen Ping'an to look after. Do you think he'll embezzle them?"
The maidservant said softly: "Young master, surely not?"
Song Jixin laughed. "Oh, Zhigui, you understand 'embezzle' too?"
The maidservant blinked her long, autumn-water eyes. "Isn't it just the literal meaning?"
Song Jixin chuckled, gazing southward with a look of yearning. "I've heard that the capital has more books than our town has plants and trees!"
Just then, the storytelling gentleman said: "Although there are no true dragons left in the world, their subordinates—such as flood dragons, horned dragons, and hornless dragons—still truly, genuinely live among us. Who knows that they might...?"
The old man deliberately paused for effect. Seeing his audience utterly unresponsive, utterly failing to play along, he had to continue: "Who knows, they might be hiding right beside us. The Daoist immortals call this 'the hidden dragon in the abyss'!"
Song Jixin yawned.
Suddenly, a locust leaf drifted down from above. It was a vivid, lush green, and it landed squarely on the boy's forehead.
Song Jixin reached up, grabbed the leaf, and twisted its stem between two fingers.
---
The boy who was thinking of going to the east gate to collect a debt saw a locust leaf falling before him as he neared the old locust tree. He quickened his pace, trying to catch it.
But a gentle breeze swept by, and the leaf slipped past his hand.
The straw-sandaled boy moved nimbly, sidestepping quickly in an attempt to intercept the leaf.
Yet the leaf twisted in the air once more, evading him.
Refusing to accept defeat, the boy dodged back and forth several times, but still failed to catch the locust leaf.
Boy Chen Ping'an was helpless.
A young man in a blue scholar's robe, who had skipped his village school, brushed shoulders with Chen Ping'an.
The young man in blue had no idea that a locust leaf had settled on his shoulder at some point.
Chen Ping'an continued on toward the east gate. Even if he couldn't get his money back, pressing for it would be better than doing nothing.
---
Over at the fortune-telling stall in the distance, the young Daoist sat with his eyes closed, muttering to himself: "Who said the cycle of heaven's fortune has no bias?"