Chapter 14: Fifth Day of the Fifth Month

Chapter 14: Fifth Day of the Fifth Month

The young Daoist had already prepared a whole heap of words to deal with the straw-sandal boy's question of "who is it," but unexpectedly, the courtyard door opened swiftly, and it was obvious that the boy from the cramped alley had simply skipped that part entirely.

Mud Vase Alley was one of the narrowest, most confining lanes in the small town; the Daoist's two-wheeled wooden cart couldn't possibly be left outside blocking the road. Fortunately, although Chen Ping'an looked as skinny as a bone, with hardly any strength to speak of, he actually possessed considerable physical power. He helped the young Daoist maneuver the rather heavy cart into the courtyard without much effort. From start to finish, the boy said nothing, which left the young Daoist feeling a bit awkward after closing the door. It was like someone shamelessly showing up at a door to borrow money, only to be treated to fine tea, good wine, and sumptuous meat by the host—any guest with even a shred of conscience would find it increasingly hard to bring up the request.

The young Daoist thought that no matter what, it would be embarrassing, so he might as well get it over with quickly. He lifted a cotton-padded quilt covering the cart, revealing a black-clad girl curled up on her side. A veiled hat, crooked but refusing to fall off, stubbornly concealed her face. For some reason, the moment the thin quilt was lifted, a sharp smell of blood rushed out. Chen Ping'an noticed then that her black clothes were faintly stained with seeping blood. The boy hadn't expected that such a small quilt could completely mask that heavy odor. He stepped back a few paces and asked, "Daoist, what are you going to do?"

The young Daoist said, "Save her! She's severely injured. No one in town is willing to take her in—can't blame them for just looking after their own. So after much thought, I figured you might be the exception."

Chen Ping'an hit the nail on the head. "How did she get hurt?"

The Daoist, without blushing or missing a beat, said, "I was pushing the cart past Memorial Archway just now when I saw this young woman from elsewhere. She said she was going to make a rubbing of that plaque reading 'Spirit Soaring to the Dipper.' She had a rubbing pad, brush, and such, and up she went, scrape scrape scrape. As for rubbing plaques, well, how should I put it? It's this copycat business—basically, scholars with too much time on their hands. Can't explain it properly in a short time. Anyway, after that little miss climbed up, she sat hunched over on the beam, scared me half to death just watching. I had to stop and keep reminding her to be careful. Who'd have guessed she'd be so engrossed that all of a sudden, splat—she fell hard to the ground. You know the ground by the archway—not like your Mud Vase Alley, hard as the bluestone slabs on Fortune Emporium Street. And that did it—probably injured her guts and insides real bad. I'm a man of the cloth; I have to be merciful, right? Can't just ignore it. All along the way, household after household was put off by her blood. New Year's just passed, too much bad luck—no one wanted to carry her inside. I know that's only human. So I had no choice but to come here. To put it bluntly, if even you won't take her in, I'm no god who can drag people back from the gates of death. I'd just have to wait for her to breathe her last, find a spot, dig a hole, put up a marker, and call it done."

The Daoist deliberately spoke very fast, his words slurred, clearly trying to muddle the boy's thinking and get by on a bluff. The hardest part is always the beginning—once you get started, you can take it step by step. Heaven never seals off all exits; there's always a silver lining somewhere.

Chen Ping'an had a complicated look in his eyes. He glanced at the young Daoist, whose face was full of hope, then at the deathly still black-clad girl. After an intense inner struggle, he nodded and asked, "How do we save her?"

The young Daoist instantly lit up. "Great! With that one word from you, Chen Ping'an, we're halfway there. Don't let her injuries scare you—it might look like the King of Hell has already crossed her name off the Book of Life and Death, but it's not as bad as you think. Of course, every word I just said is true. There's all kinds of mysteries involved. For instance, this girl's will to live is extremely strong. Also, she seems to have some inherited skills that protect her vital heart chamber and dantian. And then there's our little town—it's a very interesting place, full of strange things. Eat them, or catch them, and they do a world of good."

The young Daoist caught himself, realizing he'd revealed too many secrets. He gave an awkward laugh. "Anyway, you wouldn't understand, right?"

The boy said seriously, "I don't understand, but I remember most of it."

The young Daoist tested him. "So when you heard the knocking voice in your room, you knew it was me, the fortune-teller with the stall?"

Chen Ping'an hesitated, then said, "Yes."

The young Daoist asked curiously, "You have a good memory? How good?"

The boy glanced at the barely breathing black-clad girl. The young Daoist explained with a smile, "She's in a rather mystical state right now. Can't move her around too much. Best wait a moment."

Chen Ping'an was skeptical. "I find it easier to remember things I see than things I hear."

The young Daoist pressed, "Give me an example?"

Chen Ping'an thought for a moment. "Take the head of our dragon kiln, Master Yao. His 'jump-cut' technique is the best of all the old masters in town. Once I've seen it, I remember every detail. But..."

The young Daoist took over with a smile. "But your hands and feet can never keep up, right?"

Chen Ping'an's eyes lit up, and he nodded vigorously.

The young Daoist smiled knowingly. "Then have you ever thought about what's truly special about Old Yao's signature move?"

Chen Ping'an's face darkened. "I used to not understand it at all. Later, Liu Xianyang told me that Old Yao said to master the jump-cut skill, you have to keep your heart steady, not just your hands steady. After hearing that, I sort of got it. I was too impatient before—the more anxious I got, the more my hands shook, and the more I shook, the more mistakes I made. And once I made a mistake, I could see it clearly, knew exactly where I wasn't matching Old Yao, and that made me even more frantic. That's why I've always been the worst at throwing clay at the dragon kiln."

The young Daoist said calmly, "There's an old saying: 'The master leads you through the door; cultivation is up to you.' But if the master never intended to lead you through the door in the first place, how can you cultivate?"

Chen Ping'an shook his head. "I'm clumsy with my hands. Not to mention compared to Liu Xianyang—even the ordinary apprentices are better than me. It's no surprise that Old Yao looked down on me."

The young Daoist suddenly laughed. "Chen Ping'an, do you have any idea how hard it is to grasp the idea of 'steady heart'? It's very hard to understand. Don't sell yourself short."

Chen Ping'an shook his head again. "It's like catching fish in a creek. I stand in water no deeper than my knees, bend over, and catch a fish—that's catching. Someone who's a good swimmer dives into a deep pool, holds their breath for a long time, and catches a fish—that's also catching. Both catch a fish, Master Daoist, but they're not the same, are they?"

The young Daoist laughed heartily, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Then he suddenly said, "We can save her now."

Chen Ping'an stood frozen. The young Daoist was momentarily confused. "What are you spacing out for? Carry the girl inside and put her on the bed!"

Chen Ping'an didn't move. "And then?"

The Daoist said matter-of-factly, "First, change her into clean clothes. Then go to the pharmacy to get some herbs to replenish her vitality. At that point, I'll need to step in personally and show my skills."

Chen Ping'an scowled. "After she wakes up, will she beat me to death?"

The young Daoist said firmly, "No! You're her lifesaver. How could anyone in this world be so ungrateful?!"

Chen Ping'an was silent.

The Daoist coughed, his confidence suddenly deflating. "Probably not?"

Chen Ping'an sighed and tested the waters. "There's a girl named Zhigui next door. Can she do these things?"

The young Daoist shook his head helplessly. "No. That's exactly the problem."

Chen Ping'an didn't insist. He squatted on the ground, scratching his head with both hands.

The young Daoist suddenly asked, "Don't you have any questions to ask? If you ask, I might not be able to answer everything, but I'll try my best to answer what I can. How about it?"

Chen Ping'an sighed, stood up, and said, "First, save her."

The young Daoist beamed. "Good!"

He quietly flicked his sleeve, holding a restless flying sword firmly sheathed.

Chen Ping'an carried the girl on his back and went inside. He gently laid her on the plank bed covered with a quilt—the same bed that Liu Xianyang had sat on and collapsed earlier, just recently repaired, with a bench propped underneath.

The young Daoist followed him across the threshold and looked around. The place was so empty it might as well have no walls.

The young Daoist slapped his forehead, went out to get paper and brush, planning to write a prescription for the boy to fill.

When he returned to the room, the young Daoist shook his head, deliberately not looking toward the plank bed. He thought to himself, *This poor boy is definitely going to be in over his head.*

It turned out that the boy, sitting on the edge of the bed, had already removed the girl's veiled hat, revealing a pale face smeared with blood.

Blood oozing from seven apertures—that was probably the scene right under the boy's eyes.

The boy immediately got up, grabbed a stool from the table, and placed it beside the bed. Then he hurried to a corner of the room where a small wooden shelf stood, neatly holding pots, bowls, and utensils. Next to the shelf was a water jar covered with a wooden board to keep out flies and mosquitoes, filled with well water fetched from the Iron Lock Well in Apricot Flower Lane. The boy picked up a wooden basin and a gourd ladle, squatted by the jar, scooped clean water quickly into the basin, then draped a clean cotton cloth over the rim. He carried the basin to the bedside, set it on the stool, and began wiping the blood off the girl's face.

The young Daoist turned around, holding up a piece of paper. "There's a small pharmacy on Fortune Emporium Street. Take this prescription and fill it."

The boy looked puzzled. "Didn't you say earlier—?"

The young Daoist pretended to be clueless, blinking. "Right, I said you need to be careful when fetching the medicine. Don't draw too much attention. Don't stir up a storm and ruin the girl's reputation."

Chen Ping'an grunted in acknowledgment. While rinsing the cloth, he asked, "Do you have money for the medicine, Master Daoist?"

The young Daoist suddenly tensed. "You don't?"

Chen Ping'an placed the wooden basin on the table and pressed a gold coin, which he had produced from somewhere, gently onto the tabletop. "Master Daoist, I'll trade this with you for regular copper coins. However you want to work out the exchange, you decide."

The young Daoist thought for a moment. "This coin on the table will be enough to buy what's on the prescription. I'll go get you the money."

Soon, the Daoist returned with a pouch of ordinary copper coins and a few bits of silver, all handed over to Chen Ping'an.

Chen Ping'an instructed, "I'll empty this basin later—don't bother with it, Master Daoist. The guy next door, Song Jixin, likes novelty. If he sees it, it'll be trouble."

The young Daoist said solemnly, "Chen Ping'an, don't you have any questions you want to ask?"

Chen Ping'an stood still, roughly weighing the copper coins and silver bits in his mind to know the amount, then carefully put them away. He gestured with his eyes to step outside. After they had walked past the threshold, the straw-sandal boy looked up and spoke slowly. "I know none of you are ordinary people. Old Yao once said when he was drunk that our town is unusual—everything's strange, everyone's strange. But he couldn't say exactly what's strange, and I certainly don't understand more. This time, Gu Can said that storyteller could pour a whole vat of water from an ordinary big white bowl. Gu Can is pretty annoying, but I know he wasn't lying about that. It's like..."

The boy paused, then continued, "Like today, that very tall woman outside this alley—she flicked my forehead with her finger, slapped my chest with her palm, and then said I'll die soon. I know she was telling the truth."

The young Daoist's expression turned grim.

Chen Ping'an said finally, "You said your talisman paper, when burned, could bring good fortune to my parents. I actually believed you, Master Daoist. So when you showed up and asked me to save her, I didn't say anything. But I hope you'll promise me one thing. If you do, then no matter what you ask me to do next, it'll be fine. If you don't, I'll get the medicine, brew it for you, and then I'll send you away."

The Daoist asked, "What condition? Tell me."

The boy, who had always seemed steady and mature, now looked a bit nervous. He answered, "My parents died early, when I was very young. I don't know why, but I remember a lot of things from childhood—except my parents' faces are always blurry, I can't picture them clearly. For a while, I survived by eating from house to house, thanks to the neighbors. Once, I happened to hear someone say I was born on the fifth day of the fifth month. From the way they said it, it didn't seem like a very auspicious day. Someone next door put it even more bluntly..."

The boy kept circling the subject, then stopped, finally getting to the point. He lowered his head and spoke in a muffled voice. "After I help you save her, if—I mean, if—if I suddenly die one day, could you, Master Daoist, help me be reborn in my next life as my parents' child again?"

The young Daoist was silent.

Chen Ping'an forced a grin and scratched his head. "If not, that's fine. There's no such thing in the world. I'm just making things hard for you."

The Daoist smiled bitterly. "What about that girl?"

Chen Ping'an spun around, his back to the Daoist. He raised his fist and waved it, making a joke for the first time. "She's that pretty—only a fool wouldn't save her!"

The young Daoist watched the straw-sandal boy push open the gate and leave, pretending to be at ease.

Walking down Mud Vase Alley, the boy seemed to remember someone.

And suddenly, his face was drenched in tears.