Chapter 6: An Inauspicious Lot
Chen Ping'an made his way to the eastern gate and saw that ragged man sitting cross-legged on a tree stump by the fence, lazily basking in the early spring sunlight, eyes closed, humming a little tune, slapping his knees with both hands.
Chen Ping'an crouched beside him. For the boy, bringing up the matter of collecting a debt was truly hard to broach.
He had no choice but to sit quietly, gazing toward the wide road to the east, winding and long, like a thick, yellow serpent.
Out of habit, he grabbed a handful of soil, clenched it in his palm, and slowly kneaded.
He had once followed Old Man Yao through the mountains around the town, carrying a heavy bundle packed with all sorts of things, including a firewood knife and a hoe. Under the old man’s lead, they would stop and go in various places. Chen Ping'an often had to “eat dirt” — grabbing a handful of soil and putting it directly into his mouth, chewing it, and carefully savoring the taste. Over time, practice made perfect. Even if he only ground a bit with his fingers, Chen Ping'an could tell the quality of the soil. Later on, when it came to some broken shards from old kilns on the market, Chen Ping'an could tell just by weighing them which kiln they came from, or even which master potter had fired them.
Although Old Man Yao was eccentric and unapproachable, often scolding and even beating Chen Ping'an, there was once a time when Yao, frustrated by Chen Ping'an's poor comprehension — calling him a thickheaded fool — flew into a rage and abandoned him in a desolate wilderness, returning to the kiln alone. The boy had to walk sixty miles of mountain road. By the time he neared that dragon kiln, it was deep in the night. That day, the rain was torrential. When the boy, staggering through the mud, finally saw a glimmer of light in the distance, the stubborn boy, who had been making his own way in life, felt for the first time an urge to cry.
But the boy never resented the old man, much less held a grudge.
The boy was from a poor family and had never studied, but he understood a truth beyond books: In this world, apart from one's parents, no one is obligated to be good to you.
And his parents had left him early.
Chen Ping'an had the patience to just sit and stare off into space. The slovenly man seemed to feel he probably couldn't wriggle out of it this time, so he opened his eyes and said with a grin, "It's just five coppers. A man so stingy won't amount to much."
Chen Ping'an looked helpless. "Aren't you the one being fussy about it?"
The man grinned, revealing a row of uneven yellow teeth, and chuckled slyly. "So, if you don't want to end up like me, a bachelor, then don't worry about those five coppers."
Chen Ping'an sighed, looked up, and said seriously, "If you're hard up for cash, forget the five coppers. But let's make it clear upfront: from now on, one letter equals one copper coin, and no more reneging."
The man, who reeked of sourness and decay, turned his head and said with a smirk, "Kid, with that stubborn crap-stone temper of yours, you're bound to take a big fall in the future. Haven't you heard the old saying, 'Suffering a loss is a blessing'? If you're not even willing to suffer small losses..."
He caught sight of the soil in the boy's hand, paused briefly, and said teasingly, "You're destined to have your face to the earth and back to the sky."
Chen Ping'an retorted, "Didn't I just say I'd let go of the five coppers? Isn't that suffering a small loss?"
The man was momentarily stumped, looking annoyed, and waved his hand to shoo him away. "Scram, scram. Talking with you is such a pain."
Chen Ping'an loosened his fingers, let the soil fall, and after standing up, said, "That stump is damp..."
The man looked up and laughed angrily. "Do I need you to teach me? You young folks have strong yang energy — you could fry a pancake on your butt!"
The man turned his head, glanced at the boy's retreating figure, twisted his lips, and muttered something — probably some disgruntled complaint about heaven.
---
For some reason, Teacher Qi had ended his lessons early today, which was unprecedented.
Behind the schoolhouse was a courtyard, and on the north side was a low little firewood gate leading to a bamboo grove.
When Song Jixin and the maidservant were listening to stories under the old locust tree, someone called him over to play chess. Song Jixin was reluctant, but the man said it was Teacher Qi's wish to see if their chess skills had improved. Song Jixin had an indescribable feeling toward the stern and unsmiling Teacher Qi — something like a mix of respect and fear. Since Teacher Qi had personally issued this decree, Song Jixin had no choice but to go. However, he insisted on waiting until the storyteller finished his tale before heading to the schoolhouse courtyard. The young man in blue, who had been sent to convey the message, had no choice but to return first, but not before repeatedly reminding Song Jixin not to be too late, droning on and on with the same old tune — how his teacher valued rules the most and didn't like people who broke their word, etc.
Song Jixin had been picking his ear, saying impatiently, "I know, I know."
When Song Jixin, accompanied by Zhigui, arrived at the schoolhouse courtyard, a cool breeze was blowing. The refined young man in blue was already sitting on the south stool, as usual, back straight, sitting upright in a respectful posture.
Song Jixin plopped down opposite the blue-clad youth, facing south from the north.
Teacher Qi sat on the west side, always watching the game without uttering a word.
Every time her young master played chess, the maidservant Zhigui would go for a walk in the bamboo grove to avoid disturbing the three "scholars." Today was no exception.
In this secluded little town, there were no so-called literary families, so scholars were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.
According to the old rules set by Teacher Qi, Song Jixin and the blue-clad youth had to guess the stones, and the one with black stones would move first.
Song Jixin and his peer of the same age had started learning chess at almost the same time. However, Song Jixin was naturally gifted, and his chess skill progressed rapidly, advancing by leaps and bounds. Thus, Teacher Qi, who had taught both of them, considered him the higher-ranked player. For the guessing, Song Jixin would first grab a handful of white stones from the bowl, the number unknown to the other. The blue-clad youth would then pick out one or two black stones. If he guessed correctly whether the number of white stones was odd or even, he could take black and move first, giving him the advantage of the first move. In the first two years of their games, whether Song Jixin played white as the second mover or black as the first, he never lost a single game.
However, Song Jixin didn't have much interest in chess; he played in fits and starts. In contrast, the less talented blue-clad youth, who was both a student at the village school and served as a book boy, spent day and night with Teacher Qi. Even just watching the master sit quietly reviewing game records was immensely beneficial. So, the blue-clad youth had gone from occasionally winning by luck when holding black, to now, whenever he held black, the outcome was about fifty-fifty with Song Jixin. His improvement in chess skill and tactical prowess was evident. Teacher Qi made no comment about this shift; he merely stood by with his hands in his sleeves.
Song Jixin was just about to grab the chess pieces when Teacher Qi suddenly said, "Today, you will play a game of seat-position chess. White moves first."
Both youths were baffled, having no idea what "seat-position chess" was.
Teacher Qi explained the rules at a calm, measured pace. They were not complicated: he simply placed a black and a white stone on each of the four star points.
The middle-aged man’s movements in picking up and placing the stones were practiced and fluid, a pleasing sight to behold.
The blue-clad youth, who usually loved to stick to the rules, was stunned by this "bad news." He stared blankly at the board and finally said timidly, "Teacher, if that's the case, it seems many standard patterns won't be usable."
Song Jixin frowned in thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up, and his brow relaxed. "The scope of the board has shrunk."
Then, as if seeking praise, he looked up and asked with a smile, "Right, Teacher Qi?"
The middle-aged Confucian scholar nodded. "Indeed."
Song Jixin raised an eyebrow at his peer across the board and asked with a grin, "Want me to let you have two stones as a handicap? Otherwise, you're definitely going to lose."
The youth across from him immediately flushed crimson, stammering inarticulately, because he knew full well that his increasing number of wins wasn't just due to his own improvement. The real main reason was that Song Jixin had been increasingly distracted in chess over the past two years, even growing a bit weary of it. In many decisive moves, Song Jixin would deliberately go easy, or after clearly gaining an advantage in the opening layout, he would take reckless risks in the mid-game just to kill a big dragon.
For Song Jixin, who was brilliant at chess, the question was always whether it was fun and interesting.
For the blue-clad youth, from the very first time he picked up a stone and placed it on the board, he was fixated on winning and losing.
Teacher Qi looked at his school student. "You may take white and move first."
In the game that followed, the blue-clad youth placed his stones slowly, cautiously, and methodically. Song Jixin, as usual, played swiftly and boldly, his moves like antelope hanging from a horn — unpredictable and free.
Their temperaments were as different as heaven and earth.
Within just over eighty moves, the blue-clad youth had lost disastrously. He bowed his head in silence, his lips tightly pressed together.
Song Jixin rested his elbow on the table, propped his cheek with his hand, and with the other hand held a stone between two fingers, tapping lightly on the stone table, staring intently at the board.
According to Teacher Qi's rules, when playing a game, one could silently place a stone on the board to signal surrender, but never utter the words "I lose."
No matter how unwilling, the blue-clad youth slowly placed his stone in surrender.
Teacher Qi instructed his disciple, "Go practice your calligraphy. No need to clean up the board. Write three hundred instances of the character 'yong.'"
The blue-clad youth quickly stood up, made a respectful bow, and took his leave.
Only after the youth's figure had disappeared did Song Jixin ask quietly, "Teacher, are you also leaving this place?"
The elegant scholar with graying temples nodded. "Within ten days, I will leave."
Song Jixin smiled. "That's good timing. I can see you off."
The teacher hesitated for a moment, then finally spoke. "No need to see me off. Song Jixin, when you later leave this town, remember not to be too ostentatious. I have nothing of my own to give you, but there are three elementary textbooks: 'Elementary Learning,' 'Rites and Music,' and 'The Essence of Observing.' You may take them all. Review them often. You must know that reading a book a hundred times reveals its meaning. If you can read ten thousand volumes, writing will be as if guided by a divine hand. The true meaning of this... you will come to understand later. As for three miscellaneous books — the mathematical work 'Subtlety,' the chess manual 'Plum and Peach,' and the essay collection 'Strategies of Mountains and Seas' — feel free to browse them in your spare time. They can also cultivate your temperament."
Song Jixin was full of surprise, somewhat embarrassed, and boldly said, "Teacher, you sound like you're 'entrusting an orphan.' It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable."
Teacher Qi smiled warmly, his voice gentle. "It's not as exaggerated as you put it. Life is full of meetings; we'll surely meet again someday."
When this teacher smiled, it was like a spring breeze.
He suddenly said, "Go see Zhao Yao over there. Consider it an early farewell."
Song Jixin stood up and said cheerfully, "Alright. Then I'll leave you to clean up the board."
The boy trotted off happily.
The middle-aged Confucian scholar bent down to collect the stones. They seemed scattered randomly, one east, one west, but in reality, he started with the black stones, beginning with the last black stone Song Jixin had placed, and collected them in reverse order, not missing a single one.
At some point, the maidservant Zhigui had returned from the bamboo grove, but she stood outside the firewood gate, not stepping into the yard.
Without turning his head, he said in a low voice, "Take care of yourself."
The girl who had grown up in Mud Vase Alley now wore a look of complete innocence on her face, delicate, timid, and pitiful.
The refined Confucian scholar showed a faint hint of anger, slowly turning his head to look.
His eyes were cold.
The girl still looked dazed.
Innocent and naive.
The middle-aged scholar stood up, graceful and dignified, and looked at the girl, sneering, "Wicked creature! Rebellious seed!"
The girl slowly withdrew the innocent expression from her face, her eyes gradually turning cold, a mocking smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
She seemed to be saying, "What can you do to me?"
She stared straight back at the scholar.
Inside and outside the small courtyard, it was as if a pair of pythons were locked in a standoff.
The two regarded each other as enemies.
From a distance, Song Jixin called out loudly, "Zhigui, time to go home."
The girl immediately stood on tiptoe and replied obediently, "Yes, young master."
She pushed open the firewood gate, and as she brushed past the teacher, she took a few steps, then turned around and performed a curtsy to his back, her voice sweet and charming, "Teacher, Zhigui is leaving now."
After a long while, the scholar let out a sigh.
The spring breeze was warm, and the bamboo leaves rustled, like the sound of turning pages.
---
The young Daoist wearing a lotus crown was packing up his stall, sighing and groaning. When familiar townsfolk asked why, he just shook his head and said nothing.
Finally, a woman who had once come to him to divine her marriage fate happened to pass by. Seeing the young Daoist so out of sorts, she shyly stopped, her voice soft and sticky as she asked a question, while her expressive, watery eyes roamed freely over the young Daoist's handsome face.
The young Daoist glanced at her discreetly, his gaze drifting slightly downward to a certain bulging landscape, then he swallowed and said a cryptic divination phrase, "Today, I drew a lot for myself. An inauspicious lot. Great misfortune."