Fu Nanhua, young heir of Old Dragon City, sat across from a youth surnamed Song, both hands cradling the teapot whose base bore the giant-ape hallmark, studying it like a man admiring a peerless beauty. His city ranked among the foremost sects of the southern Baoping Continent, so he had known real wealth — which was why Cai Jinjian had striven to seem humble from the start. He was quite certain this Heart-Nurturing Teapot was a true find, and a sizable one.
Song Jixin yawned. "Brother Fu, since it's confirmed genuine, shouldn't we talk price?"
Fu Nanhua suppressed a flicker of distaste. "You know how sincere I am. I named the pot's true worth at first meeting, and made plain my determination to have it — to spare us the haggling that wounds friendship. Whether we share fortune and misfortune, even entrust each other with life and death, rests on this first step."
"I'm a vulgar fellow reeking of copper," Song said, wagging a finger. "But when someone speaks 'brotherhood' across a bargaining table, I can't help asking: when I truly need it, won't he be totting sums in his heart?"
Fu's face chilled. "That jade I gave as welcome — the Old Dragon Rain-Pendant — wards off heat and repels the impure, a boon to meditation; paired with a secret mantra, its good doubles for half the effort." He set an embroidered pouch before the youth. "These coins look like gold but are 'golden essence,' far more precious than gold. This pouch of offering coins, plus that pendant — I dare say you come out clearly ahead."
"Finished?" Song blinked.
"Finished," Fu smiled wryly.
The youth slammed the table. "When you outsiders enter town you carry three pouches of copper. One pays the road-toll; for every treasure after that you hand one away — thirty coins at most, twenty at least. Does this shriveled purse of yours even hold twelve? If you'll cheat me of even that, how dare you trade for a fated chance?"
Fu tapped. Song's heart lurched, his breath thickened, his face crimson. Fu slowed and the color returned. "Then — twenty-four golden-essence offering coins. Sold?"
The boy hesitated; and when Fu quickened his knocking like a summer storm, Song, both hands on his chest, twisted his handsome face in a cruel grimace. Fu Nanhua very nearly beat this wolf-cub to death — but the lure of rising to eternal life outweighed his loathing, and he spared him.
"A man longs for the moment he too shall kill with a flick," the boy said, eyes gleaming, "and that makes me happy." Fu smiled and let it pass.
"A kindred spirit — the easiest to deal with while you hold the higher ground," he thought, "the hardest once he has crawled above your head." But he did not count himself worse off than this youth.
Song Jixin glanced at the pot. "Two conditions. Besides the teapot, I'll throw in a treasure no lesser than it."
"Name them."
"First — three pouches of golden essence, not two!"
"Agreed!" came without hesitation.
"Show me first, before I leave your door, the piece worth two pouches, to appraise it myself."
"Settled. And the second?"
"Kill a man for me."
Fu shook his head. "We 'outsiders' may not kill here at will. Whoever does is cast out, may have his foundation shaved away, and drags his whole family into ruin."
Song's lips curled. "Don't refuse too quickly, Brother Fu. Watch and wait."
"Who do you want killed?"
"I'm wondering that myself," he answered, half jest, half earnest.
"Then I'll wait and see what unfolds," Fu said. The youth rubbed his neck, his expression unspeakably foul.
---
Earlier, Zhigui had walked Cai Jinjian to the Gu gate. Cai Jinjian pushed open the door and recoiled as if struck by lightning. "Senior, might you be the True Lord Who Severs the River, cultivating at Letter Scroll Lake?"
"How do you know me?"
"Your junior is Cai Jinjian of Cloud Mist Mountain. Ten years ago I watched, from afar, the old tortoise bearing its stele rise from the waters."
"Noted." For the sake of Ancestor Songxia, he let this uninvited visit pass; only, she should close the door. She withdrew, shutting it.
The woman asked, worried, "Immortal, she doesn't look ready to let this lie."
The old man snorted. "Once you set foot here, even a passing of wind may bring trouble. But tell me, Madam Gu — would you have Gu Can cultivate at Cloud Mist Mountain, or follow me to Letter Scroll Lake?" He raised a hand. "That mountain sits at the bottom of our continent's second rank, yet its Cloud Root Stone is a treasure found nowhere else in the world. As for me, I own but a single island at Letter Scroll Lake."
Madam Gu smiled. "The distance between me and that Cloud Mist woman is exactly the distance between her and you. How could I trade a blessed paradise for scratching a living in the fields?"
The old man turned grave. "And the boy's origins, Madam Gu? Speak in detail."
"That poor child is Chen Ping'an. Both parents grew up here. I was close to his mother — plain of face but a truly good heart; her husband's looks were almost an insult to her, though his craft was fine. How he died — some say he slipped into the brook one stormy night; others, that a beast dragged him off a forbidden hill. His body was never found, but he doted on his boy."
"After he died his wife's spirit gave way, and within a year she lay wasting to skin and bone. Young Chen Ping'an cared for her — brewing her herbs, cooking over a stove he could barely reach. Once he ate the wrong herb and collapsed, frothing," her voice shook, "and we feared that family of three would vanish whole. But the boy pulled through; his mother could not outlast the winter. The child was born on the fifth day of the fifth month — the most inauspicious day. After the parents died, not a copper remained."
The old man spoke at last. "The fifth of the fifth? Let me reckon." His fingers traced the divination mudra. "Continue."
"Few of us in Mud Vase Lane dared take him in," she went on, "but we passed him a bowl of rice now and then. Yet some neighbors delighted in tormenting him, until he was driven to apprentice at the dragon kiln — though on her deathbed his mother made him swear he never would, even as a beggar. For so filial a boy to break that vow, something hard must have driven him."
"Do you know the parents' names and birth-dates?" Only the names were known. "No matter." A moment later he laughed coldly. "A paltry trick — the scheme of ghosts and foxes!" At her blank look: "That man met a violent end, most likely for discovering this town's secret. For his son's safety he secretly smashed his own life-bound porcelain vase — and some sect outside was left empty-handed over a great investment. A mere kiln-worker could never repay; he paid with his life, his wife's added to it. His death seemed so trifling that the concealment art they cast was dashed off shabbily."
"Guilt there is — of course, a child I watched grow," she confessed. "But remorse never!" He only sighed: "Pitiable is the heart of every parent."
---
At the gate, the straw-sandaled boy asked, "Miss Ning, may I ask you a thing or two?"
The black-robed girl sat cross-legged, sword across her knees. "Of course — but not what touches on secrets."
"How long do people like you stay here?"
"It varies. The lucky come and go in a day. Those two fools will linger days; the tall-capped gentleman with the jade should fare well."
"And there's one more?"
"That tall young woman. You fancy her?"
The boy smiled; he had not taken the joke. "I want to know why she meant to kill me. Ours was truly a first meeting."
The girl turned grave. "I heard your talk with Daoist Lu — you bear her enmity. She may not slaughter innocents for sport, but to those on the summit, folk at mid-slope look no different from those at the foot, and they truly have the standing to look down. Here in this land of the ending dharma, even that red-robed child could split your chest with one fist, while your strongest blow would only leave him short of breath. Why — that I'm not good at explaining."
Chen Ping'an faced the gate, unable to grasp how those people could be so careless of another's life. At last he smiled. "If you don't mind, Miss, stay here. Whatever you need, only say."
"And you?"
"I know someone — Liu Xianyang, my good friend. I'll stay with him." The girl watched his thin, frail back. "Thank you!"
The boy grinned, scratched his head, then gathered courage and turned again. "If one day I never return, give that pouch of golden coins to Liu Xianyang. Let him watch over this house — only mend it sometimes, lay new tiles so it won't leak. If he pasted a door-god and spring couplets come New Year's Eve, nothing would please me more. And if it's too much trouble — no matter."
The girl saw in his eyes a strange light when he spoke of the door-god and the couplets. For as many years as his parents had lain in their graves, this orphan of Mud Vase Lane had nursed that one wish. So when the boy, unburdened, let out a soft breath and rose —
the flying sword in its sheath upon the inner table gave a sudden, shrill cry.