Chapter 17: When Injustice is Cried Out
Fu Nanhua, the young master of Old Dragon City, was currently sitting opposite the young man surnamed Song, carefully holding the small teapot with the mandrill mark on its base in both hands. He was examining the engraved markings intently, as if admiring the graceful body of a breathtaking beauty, never tiring of looking at it. He had been inspecting, caressing, and breathing on it for nearly an hour, unable to put it down. There are always some people or things that make you fall in love at first sight, filling your heart with joy. For a picky connoisseur like Fu Nanhua, this Heart-Nourishing Teapot was exactly that kind of item. Although the line between finding a bargain and being fooled is razor-thin, Fu Nanhua firmly believed this time he was the former, and he had landed a considerable score. Old Dragon City, where he came from, ranked among the top of the many sects in the southern part of East Bottle Gourd Continent, so Fu Nanhua was truly a disciple of an immortal clan who had seen great wealth. That was also why Cai Jinjian had shown weakness on every front earlier.
Song Jixin yawned, shrinking into his chair and adjusting to a more comfortable position. He asked lazily, "Brother Fu, since we've confirmed the authenticity of the item, shouldn't we talk about the price?"
Fu Nanhua, who was rarely addressed as a brother by anyone, suppressed the faint discomfort in his heart. He reluctantly put down the mandrill teapot and said with a smile, "How sincere I am, Brother Song must know. Otherwise, I would never have been so open and honest, revealing the true value of this teapot the moment we met, nor would I have dawdled so obviously, showing my determination to acquire it. This is to avoid wasting time on haggling and damaging our brotherly bond. Brother Song, I, Fu Nanhua, already see you as a kindred spirit on the path of cultivation. For now, we can do business with peace of mind. Whether we can share fortunes and misfortunes in the future, or even entrust each other with life and death, depends on how solid this first step we take today is."
Song Jixin extended a finger, pointing at the sincere-looking young man in the tall crown, and said with a grin, "Ah, Brother Fu, I'm a particularly vulgar person, reeking of money. Of course, I still recognize friends. But when it comes time to sit down and talk business, if someone starts talking about brotherly sentiment, I can't help but ask myself: when I need that brotherly sentiment in the future, will this person be secretly doing the math and treating it as a business deal?"
Fu Nanhua's expression cooled. He leaned back in his chair, resting against the backrest, and tapped the table lightly with one finger—gentle, silent motions.
As if completely oblivious to Fu Nanhua's change in attitude, Song Jixin continued, "Calling you Brother Fu and showing you this teapot is my sincerity. Since we both want to make a deal, let's be straightforward. Brother Fu, you make an offer, and I'll nod or shake my head. I'll give you two chances to bid. After that, the deal's off—don't come crying to me even if you promise me mountains of gold and seas of silver. Sorry, brother, I won't sell."
"Earlier, that jade pendant was my gift to you, called 'Old Dragon Rains'. It's not some immensely powerful immortal treasure, just something that can ward off heat, clear the mind, and repel filth. It's especially beneficial for meditation and sitting in forgetfulness. If you have a secret oral formula from a top Daoist sect to assist, you can achieve twice the results with half the effort."
Fu Nanhua's smile was genuine, with no trace of arrogance or condescension. He placed an embroidered pouch on the table, pushing it toward Song Jixin with the palm of his hand, and said solemnly, "This pouch of coins is called 'Offering Coins', one of the many types of incense money in the world. They are usually offered to the deities in City God temples or Wenchang Pavilions. They can be held in the mouth, hidden in the belly, or rested in the palm—each method has its own intricacies and functions. But none of that is the most important. The truly crucial point is that these coins that look like gold are actually 'Gold Essence', far more valuable than gold itself. The immortals once said, 'Perhaps you can gather water-jade, but the secrets of Gold Essence are not to be discussed.' That's what this is. This pouch of Gold Essence Offering Coins as payment for the teapot—I wouldn't say it's more than enough, but it's certainly a fair price. If we add that Old Dragon Pendant to the deal, I, Fu Nanhua, dare say Brother Song is definitely making a profit."
Having delivered these "words from the heart," Fu Nanhua waited for a response.
Song Jixin was silent for a moment, then blinked and asked, "Is that it?"
Fu Nanhua smiled wryly. "That's it."
The young man suddenly turned hostile, slapping the table. "Surnamed Fu, go to hell! Do you think I'm some three-year-old kid you can fool?! Before you outsiders enter the town, you're given three pouches of coins. After using one as the toll, every time you acquire a treasure, regardless of size, you're supposed to hand over one pouch. A pouch of coins usually has thirty at most, twenty at least. But your limp little pouch here—does it even have twelve coins in it?! If you can't even show basic honesty in business, how dare you try to trade for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity from me?!"
Fu Nanhua's fingers pressed harder, starting slow and then speeding up, tapping the table again and again.
Song Jixin's chest tightened. For no apparent reason, his breathing became labored. His face flushed red, and bloodshot veins appeared in the corners of his eyes. The boy quickly reached out to press his chest, where his heart was pounding like a drum—thump, thump, thump—as if it would burst through his ribcage.
Fu Nanhua gradually slowed the tapping. The boy's complexion improved. Fu Nanhua asked with a grin, "Since the first offer didn't work out, I'll make a second one: twenty-four Gold Essence Offering Coins for this mandrill teapot—deal or not?"
Drenched in sweat, Song Jixin hesitated. As he saw the other man move, the boy was about to say something to ease the tension when the young master of Old Dragon City, accustomed to being the center of attention, accelerated his tapping again, like a sudden summer downpour.
Song Jixin pressed both hands to his chest. His handsome face was already twisted, a vicious smile tinged with cruelty.
Fu Nanhua almost couldn't resist tapping the wolf cub to death right then and there. But at the last moment, the great temptation of stepping to the heavens and achieving the Long Life of the Dao suppressed his personal dislike. So he stopped his finger and let the boy off.
Song Jixin gasped for air, his eyes blazing, and laughed hoarsely.
Fu Nanhua found this incomprehensible. There seemed to be no hatred in the boy's eyes. Fu Nanhua didn't find that particularly alarming; on the path of cultivation, there were all sorts of strange and eccentric people. But he asked curiously, "What are you laughing at?"
Song Jixin's breathing grew steadier. He slumped back in his chair, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and said with shining eyes, "I was just thinking that soon enough, I'll have the same ability as you—to kill with a snap of my fingers. That makes me incredibly happy."
Fu Nanhua dismissed it with a smile. Truly a kindred spirit worth admiring.
This kind of person was the easiest to deal with, as long as you were in a better position than them. But they could also be the most difficult, once they climbed above you.
However, the young master of Old Dragon City didn't think that after successfully intercepting this opportunity, he would be surpassed by a boy who hadn't been taken out of the town before the age of nine.
Song Jixin glanced at the little teapot on the table and the half-pouch of coins. Looking up, he said, "Fu Nanhua, I have two conditions. If you agree, besides selling you this mandrill teapot, I'll offer another antique of equal value."
Fu Nanhua suppressed his inner joy and asked in as calm a tone as possible, "Let's hear them."
Song Jixin didn't beat around the bush. "First, I want three pouches of Gold Essence coins, not two!"
Fu Nanhua answered without hesitation, "Done!"
Song Jixin stared intently into the other's eyes.
Fu Nanhua smiled. "Believe it or not. At the same time, before I leave today, you must show me the item worth two pouches of Gold Essence. I need to inspect it myself."
Song Jixin nodded. "Of course!"
Fu Nanhua asked, "And the second condition?"
Song Jixin said slowly, "Kill someone for me."
Fu Nanhua shook his head. "Since you know how many coins are in a pouch, you should also know that we 'outsiders' cannot kill people here freely. Otherwise, we'll be immediately expelled from the town, and we might even have some of our spiritual roots stripped away. The Sage will use immortal methods to remove the related opportunities—it's a miserable fate, and it would drag down our families, costing them all future chances here."
Song Jixin's lips curled. "Don't refuse so quickly. Wait and see how things develop, how about that?"
Fu Nanhua asked with a smile, "I'm curious—who do you want to kill?"
Song Jixin said half-seriously, half-jokingly, "I'm still figuring that out."
Fu Nanhua picked up the little teapot again, feeling its fine texture, and said casually, "Then I'll wait and see."
Across the table, the boy subconsciously rubbed his neck, his expression extremely grim.
---
Earlier, Zhi Gui had escorted Cai Jinjian to the entrance of the Gu family courtyard. At the time, Song Jixin's maidservant had gone off to stroll on her own. When Cai Jinjian pushed open the door and entered, she was thunderstruck, frozen in place, not daring to move. Staring at the old man sitting on the long bench, she asked in a trembling voice, "Senior, are you the River-Severing True Lord who cultivates at Letter Scroll Lake?"
The old man asked, "How do you recognize me?"
Cai Jinjian replied respectfully, "Junior Cai Jinjian of Cloud Mist Mountain. Ten years ago, I followed my father to Letter Scroll Lake to watch the spectacle of the old turtle carrying a stele out of the water. I was fortunate enough to catch a distant glimpse of Senior's demeanor. It left a deep impression on me, unforgettable to this day."
The old man nodded. "I see."
Cai Jinjian's mood grew slightly heavy. "True Lord, this junior wishes to..."
The "storyteller," known as the "River-Severing True Lord," glanced at her and said calmly, "For the sake of the Pine Mist Patriarch, I'll overlook your uninvited intrusion. But don't let it happen again. When you leave the courtyard, remember to close the door."
Cai Jinjian was silent for only a moment, then nodded. "This junior will take her leave."
She really did leave just like that, and she didn't forget to gently close the door, moving with meticulous care, leaving no loose ends.
Inside the courtyard, the woman turned to look at the gate and asked worriedly, "Immortal Master, she doesn't seem like someone who will let things go. Will there be trouble?"
The old man bearing the title of "True Lord" sneered. "In this town, even taking a breath or passing gas can cause trouble. Does that mean we should give up on our opportunities?"
The woman had no retort.
The old man laughed. "Let me ask you, Mrs. Gu—if you had the choice, would you rather let Gu Can go cultivate at Cloud Mist Mountain, or follow me to Letter Scroll Lake?"
"Don't be hasty in answering."
He waved his hand to stop her from replying immediately, then said slowly, "Cloud Mist Mountain is a lower-tier second-rate sect in East Bottle Gourd Continent. But if you think Cloud Mist Mountain is insignificant, you'd be gravely mistaken. The Cloud Root Stones produced there are true heavenly materials and earthly treasures. Not just in East Bottle Gourd Continent, but in the entire world, it's the only place that produces them. Hence, Cloud Mist Mountain holds a transcendent status; everyone is willing to show it some respect. In particular, the alchemical sects of the Daoist path have had a deep, thousand-year connection with Cloud Mist Mountain. As for me, I am merely one of the cultivators at Letter Scroll Lake, occupying a single island in the center of the lake. My disciples can be counted on one hand, and my servants number fewer than a hundred."
The woman, Mrs. Gu, smiled radiantly—a mature woman with lingering charm. "The gap between me and that woman from Cloud Mist Mountain is the same as the gap between her and you, Immortal Master. How could I possibly let Gu Can forgo a blessed cave-heaven to follow that woman and scratch a living from the fields?"
The old man laughed heartily, then suddenly recalled something and said seriously, "What about that boy's background? Mrs. Gu, tell me in detail. We need to be prepared."
The woman was taken aback. She smoothed the hair at her temples and said softly, "That poor child is named Chen Ping'an. Both his parents grew up in the town. His mother was quite close to me—plain-looking, but with a truly good temperament. I don't think I ever saw her get angry at anyone. Her husband wasn't much to look at—frankly, he didn't deserve her. But he was good at porcelain firing. If he hadn't died young, he might have become the head of that great dragon kiln in twenty years. As for how he died, some say he was rushing to tend the kiln fire on a stormy night and slipped into a stream. Others say he went to cut firewood for charcoal and, greedy for a bargain, trespassed into a sealed-off mountain forest and was dragged off by wild beasts. Either way, his body was never found. That man was the quiet type—couldn't squeeze out a single word from him—but he treated his own child well. Every time he returned to town, he'd bring some little gifts: small drums, sugar figurines, old broken porcelain. All in all, before the man died, that family of three lived a fairly stable life."
"After Chen Ping'an's father died, his mother, probably burdened by grief, quickly lost her spirit. She wasn't strong to begin with, and her health collapsed. In less than a year, she fell ill, wasted away to skin and bones. Even us old neighbors were alarmed—we could barely recognize her as the once lively and pretty young woman. At that time, it was Chen Ping'an who took care of her. Such a small child—buying medicine, brewing it, cooking meals. He'd stand on a stool to cook because he was too short. To save money for her medicine, he'd search the mountains for herbs that were easy to find, and if he gathered enough, he'd sell them to the pharmacy."
"Once, he must have eaten the wrong herb. Carrying his basket back to Mud Vase Alley, he suddenly collapsed, foaming at the mouth, writhing on the ground. We were terrified that the whole family would be wiped out. My mother-in-law was still alive then, and she said it would be better if the whole family died together, so no one would be left behind to suffer—they could reunite in the underworld. Later, somehow, the child recovered on his own and survived that illness. But his mother still couldn't make it through that winter. Oh, right, Immortal Master, Chen Ping'an was born on the fifth day of the fifth month. The older neighbors in our alley all say that's the most unlucky day of the year—it attracts evil spirits and brings misfortune to the family."
"After his parents died, there wasn't a single copper coin left in the house. Even the little trinkets his father had given him—he'd traded almost all of them to the other kids in town for food..."
When the woman reached this point, the old man finally spoke. "The fifth day of the fifth month? Interesting. Let me do a divination."
He folded his fingers into a ritual gesture, his sleeve seeming to contain heaven and earth.
Seeing the woman staring blankly, the old man said with a smile, "Go on."
She let out an "oh" and continued, "Out of neighborly kindness over the years, those of us living on Mud Vase Alley—though we didn't dare bring Chen Ping'an into our own homes—would occasionally help him out, send him a few bowls of food. That much we could do. Everyone has a heart. To be honest, if it weren't for the day he was born being so eerie, nobody wouldn't have felt genuine sympathy for that sensible child. Of course, to be fair, there were also some unscrupulous neighbors—people who took pleasure in others' misfortune—who deliberately tormented the boy, forcing him to eventually become an apprentice kiln worker. You see, his mother, on her deathbed, made him promise never to work at the dragon kiln, even if he had to become a beggar. For such an obedient and filial child to break his vow, it must have been for a serious reason."
The old man asked, "Do you know the names and birth dates of the boy's parents?"
The woman said she only knew their names, but no one knew their exact birth dates. The old man said it didn't matter. A moment later, he sneered, "A paltry trick! A petty scheme!"
The woman was utterly confused.
The old man explained, "The man died a violent death, most likely because he accidentally learned some secret of the town. Unfortunately, his luck was far worse than your family's, and his ancestral blessings were far fewer. To protect his son, he secretly smashed the boy's natal porcelain bottle. That naturally caused some sect outside the town to lose a huge investment. A mere kiln worker couldn't possibly repay that debt, so he had to pay with his life. One life wasn't enough, so they added his wife's. Ridiculous as it sounds, the kiln worker's death was probably too trivial for those people to waste any more effort. The concealment sorcery they used was so sloppy—they clearly didn't take it seriously."
The woman's face darkened.
The old man saw through her thoughts and asked with a smile, "What? Feeling guilty? Regretting it?"
The woman gave a bitter smile. "I do feel guilty—after all, I watched that child grow up. Of course I do. But regret? Absolutely not!"
The old man nodded. "I can see that."
The woman muttered to herself, "If Chen Ping'an's mother were in my position, I believe she would do the same."
The old man shook his head. "That's not necessarily true."
The woman suddenly raised her voice. "She would!"
The old man wasn't angered by her rudeness. He simply sighed. "A parent's heart is truly pitiable."
---
The straw-sandaled boy sat on the doorstep. "Miss Ning, can I ask you some things?"
The black-clad girl leaned against the wall, sitting cross-legged with the narrow green-sheathed blade resting across her knees. "Of course. But if it involves secrets or private matters, I won't answer."
Chen Ping'an asked, "When you people come here, how long do you usually stay before leaving?"
The girl frowned. "It varies. Some people are lucky—they might come and go in a single day. Some are unlucky—they end up spending their entire lives here. If you want me to make a guess, I can, but it might not be accurate. Up to you. For example, our group of eight—two factions are rich suckers, plenty of money but low on brains. They don't look like they'll be in a hurry. They'll probably stay in town for a few days at least. That young master with the tall crown and jade pendant—he'll probably have a relatively smooth time. There's a big, dumb guy who's dead set on working on that well. Whether he succeeds depends on whether heaven favors him."
Chen Ping'an pressed further. "And the other one?"
"Who?"
"The tall woman, not that old."
"Do you like her?"
Chen Ping'an, sitting at the doorway, smiled but didn't take it seriously.
The black-clad girl probably realized she'd told a bad joke. Her expression turned serious. "I actually overheard your conversation with Priest Lu. You have some grievance with her, and you want to... take revenge?"
She sighed. "I'll give you some advice. People like you, on the mountainside—in the eyes of those at the summit, you're no different from those at the foot. It's not just that they look down on you; it's that they truly have the right to. In this 'place where the Dharma ends,' even that woman from Cloud Mist Mountain, not to mention that kid in the red robe—if he punched you in the chest, you'd cough up a mouthful of blood. If you punch him back as hard as you can, I won't say he'd just feel a tickle, but at most he'd feel a bit winded—it wouldn't damage his internal organs. As for the reason, it's hard to explain, mostly because I'm not good at this sort of talk."
Chen Ping'an, his back to the room, faced the doorway and said, "I want to know why she wanted to kill me. It was our first meeting."
The girl thought for a while before speaking. "She's not necessarily the type to kill indiscriminately. How should I put it... On the path of cultivation, you cross mountains and rivers—some paths are wide, some narrow. Some are broad roads, some are single-plank bridges. If you walk too fast, you might accidentally step on ants. When hungry, you grab a few fish from a river. When your Dao arts achieve a minor breakthrough, you might inadvertently kill birds, sparrows, snakes, or rats. It's all possible. I'm not explaining it well—do you understand what I mean?"
Chen Ping'an grunted in acknowledgment. "Roughly."
Then the boy grew a bit somber, looking out toward the courtyard gate again.
In truth, he didn't understand at all. He didn't understand why those people could be so indifferent to other people's lives.
After a long silence, Chen Ping'an turned his head and smiled. "If you don't mind, miss, you can stay here. Just tell me if you need anything."
"And you?"
"I know someone. I'll go stay with him for a couple of days. Don't worry. His name is Liu Xianyang. He's my... friend. Best friend!"
The girl looked at the thin silhouette on the threshold and smiled. "Thank you!"
The boy grinned, scratched his head, but said nothing polite. He hesitated for a moment, then finally summoned the courage to turn his head again. "Miss Ning, if one day I don't come back, please give that pouch of gold coins to Liu Xianyang. Ask him to take care of this house for me. He doesn't have to clean it—just occasionally fix it up, add some new tiles, make sure it doesn't leak. And don't let the walls collapse, or the gate get too broken. If he could put up door gods and Spring Festival couplets on New Year's Eve, that would be best! If it's too much trouble, never mind."
The girl saw that when Chen Ping'an mentioned the door gods and couplets, there was an unusual sparkle in his eyes.
Clearly, this orphan from Mud Vase Alley had longed for years to have door gods on his gate and the character for "spring" on his lintel during the New Year.
As many years as his parents had been dead, that's how many years he had longed.
So when the boy, with no attachments and no lingering regrets, let out a gentle sigh, patted his knees, and slowly stood up—
The flying sword inside its sheath, resting on the table in the room, suddenly began to screech.