Song Jixin led his maidservant Zhigui to the old locust tree and found the shade crowded with people — nearly half a hundred of them, sitting on benches and stools they had carried from home, while children kept dragging their elders over to join in the fun.
Song Jixin and the girl stood side by side at the edge of the shade. They saw an old man standing beneath the tree, one hand holding a great white bowl, the other clasped behind his back, his expression impassioned, speaking in a loud voice: "I've just described the general course of the dragon veins; now let me speak of the true dragons themselves. Ah, these are truly extraordinary. Some three thousand years ago, a remarkable immortal being came into the world. First he cultivated in seclusion in a blessed grotto-heaven, attained the Great Way, and then, sword in hand, traveled the world alone. His three feet of spirit, his edge gleaming sharp. For reasons unknown, this man was set against the flood-dragons. For a full three hundred years, wherever there was a flood-dragon he slew it, cutting down until there were no more true dragons left in the world; only then did he stop. In the end he vanished without a trace. Some say he went to an exalted land where the highest Daoist teachings are founded, to sit and debate the Way with the Ancestor. Others say he went to a far western Buddhist land of bliss, to debate the scriptures with the Buddha. Still others say he personally took up guard at the gates of Fengdu, the underworld, to keep the demons and specters from wreaking havoc in the world of men..."
The old man spoke till spittle flew, but all the townsfolk below were unmoved, their faces blank with confusion.
The maidservant asked in a low voice, curious: "What is 'three feet of spirit'?"
Song Jixin laughed. "It's a sword."
The maidservant said, put out: "Young master, this old man likes showing off his learning far too much. He won't just talk plainly."
Song Jixin glanced at the old man and said, maliciously gleeful: "Hardly anyone in our town can read. This storyteller is casting his brilliant eyes on the blind."
The maidservant asked again: "And what is a 'blessed grotto-heaven'? Can people really live three hundred years? And that Fengdu underworld — isn't that a place only the dead can go?"
Song Jixin was stumped, but unwilling to show his ignorance, he said offhandedly: "It's all nonsense. I suppose he's read a few low-grade unofficial histories and uses them to pull the wool over the eyes of country bumpkins."
At that moment, Song Jixin keenly noticed that the old man had, deliberately or not, cast a glance his way. Though it was a fleeting look that passed in a flash, Song Jixin still caught it. The boy, however, did not dwell on it, taking it for a coincidence.
The maidservant looked up at the old locust tree. Fine, scattered threads of light filtered down through the gaps between the leaves. She unconsciously squinted her eyes.
Song Jixin turned to look. He was suddenly stunned.
His maidservant now had a profile that had just begun to shed its baby fat. She seemed quite different from that small, skinny, shriveled little maid he remembered.
According to the customs of the town, when a woman married, her family would hire a woman of complete blessings — one whose parents and children were all living — to pluck the down from the bride's face, trim her bangs and temples. This was called "opening the face," or "lifting the brows."
Song Jixin had also read of a custom not practiced in the town. So when Zhigui turned twelve, he bought the finest newly-brewed wine the town had to offer, brought out a porcelain bottle he had hidden away — its glaze was exquisitely beautiful, green as a green plum — poured the wine into it, sealed it carefully with mud, and buried it in the ground.
Song Jixin suddenly said, "Zhigui, that fellow surnamed Chen, to use the words of our scholarly forefathers, is 'rotten wood not fit for carving, a wall of dung not fit for plastering.' But all the same, in this life he has finally managed to do one meaningful thing."
The maidservant did not reply. She lowered her brows, and one could faintly see her eyelashes trembling.
Song Jixin went on to himself: "Chen Ping'an — he's not a bad person, but his nature is too rigid. He only recognizes one truth in whatever he does. So as a kiln worker, it means no matter how hard he toils and trains, he's destined never to make anything good with spirit and life. That's why Liu Xianyang's master, that Old Man Yao, couldn't stand Chen Ping'an no matter what — he had a discriminating eye. This is what's called 'rotten wood not fit for carving.' As for 'a wall of dung not fit for plastering,' it roughly means that no matter what you give this penniless fellow, even if you dress him in a dragon robe, he'll still be a mud-footed lout, coarse and earthy..."
When Song Jixin reached this point, he mocked himself: "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 an important topic of gossip for the wealthy families of Fortune Deer Street and Peach Leaf Lane, over meals and idle hours. This was all thanks to Song Jixin's "cheap father," Lord Song.
The town had no great men and no great storms, so the kiln superintendent stationed here by the court was, without question, the kind of "Lord Clear Sky" one finds in plays. Of the dozens of superintendents throughout history, it was the previous superintendent, Lord Song, who had won the most hearts. Lord Song was unlike the lofty officials before him. He did not hide away in his office cultivating his spirit, nor did he shut his doors and devote himself to scholarship in his study. Instead, he attended personally to all matters of firing the imperial kilns. He was more of a rustic than any kiln worker. Over more than a decade, this man of scholarly bearing had his skin tanned dark and shining, his daily dress no different from a farmhand's, and he dealt with people without a trace of arrogance. Unfortunately, the imperial porcelain fired in the town's dragon kilns — whether in the color and quality of its glaze, or in the forms of its large wares and small pieces — was never quite satisfactory. To speak precisely, it was even a cut below the standards of previous years, which the old kiln masters could not fathom.
In the end, the court, thinking that the diligent Lord Song had at least washed his hands of the matter if not earned any merit, transferred him back to the capital. On his letter of transfer from the Ministry of Personnel, he at least managed a "good" evaluation. Before returning to the capital, Lord Song scattered his wealth to the winds, spending it to build a covered bridge. Later, when people noticed that the child had not been taken away in Lord Song's departing convoy, the great families of the town suddenly understood. It could be said that Lord Song had built up a considerable friendship with the town, and with the deliberate favor of the current superintendent, the youth Song Jixin had spent these years in town well-fed and carefree. As for the maidservant now renamed Zhigui, there were many conflicting tales about her origins. The locals who lived in Mud Vase Alley said that one snowy winter, when goose-feather snow fell thick, a girl from elsewhere had come begging along the road until she collapsed, unconscious, at the gate of Song Jixin's courtyard. If someone had not found her early, she would have gone to reincarnate at King Yama's door. The old man who did odd jobs at the government office had a different story, swearing that Lord Song had bought the orphan from another place in his early years, precisely to find a warm, caring companion for his illegitimate son Song Jixin, to make up for the debt of a father and son who could not acknowledge each other.
Whatever the case, once the maidservant was renamed Zhigui by the boy, the father-son relationship between them was as good as confirmed, because the great families and gentry of the town all knew that Lord Song was most devoted to an inkstone engraved with the two characters "Zhigui."
Song Jixin came back to himself and his smile brightened. "I don't know why, but I just recalled that shameless little lizard. Think about it, Zhigui — I threw it into Chen Ping'an's courtyard, and it still kept trying to scurry back to our house. You tell me, how unwelcoming must Chen Ping'an's dog-house be, that even a little snake doesn't want to go in?"
The maidservant thought earnestly for a moment, then replied, "Some things are also a matter of fate, aren't they?"
Song Jixin held up a thumb and said, delighted: "Exactly! Chen Ping'an is a man of shallow fate and thin fortune. He should be content just to be alive."
She said nothing.
Song Jixin muttered to himself: "After we leave the town, we'll leave our things in Chen Ping'an's care. Do you think this fellow might rob his own trust?"
The maidservant said softly, "Young master, surely not?"
Song Jixin laughed. "Oho, Zhigui, you even know what 'rob his own trust' means?"
The maidservant blinked those long, autumn-water eyes. "Isn't it just the literal meaning?"
Song Jixin laughed, and looked toward the south, his expression one of longing. "I hear the collections of books in the capital are even more numerous than the flowers and trees of our town!"
Just then, the storyteller was saying: "Though there are no more true dragons in the world, their kin — dragons like the jiao, the qiu, the chi, and so on — still live genuinely and truly among men. Perhaps they are even..."
The old man paused for dramatic effect, but seeing his listeners unmoved, with no understanding of how to play along, he had to continue: "Perhaps they are even hidden right here among us! The immortal gods of the Daoist faith call it 'the hidden dragon in the abyss'!"
Song Jixin yawned.
A locust leaf suddenly fluttered down from overhead, lushly green, landing right on the boy's forehead.
Song Jixin reached up, caught the leaf, and twisted its stem between two fingers.
---
The boy, who was thinking of going to the eastern city gate to demand payment of a debt once more, also saw a locust leaf drifting down before him as he neared the old locust tree. He quickened his pace, wanting to reach out and catch it.
But a gentle breeze passed, and the leaf slipped past his hand.
The straw-sandaled boy, agile of body, took a quick step sideways to cut off the leaf.
But the leaf spun once more in the air.
The boy refused to believe it. He dodged and shifted this way and that several times, yet in the end he still failed to catch the locust leaf.
The boy Chen Ping'an was at his wit's end.
A blue-robed youth who had skipped the village school passed shoulder to shoulder with Chen Ping'an.
The blue-robed youth did not even know that a locust leaf had somehow come to rest on his shoulder.
Chen Ping'an continued on toward the eastern city gate. Even if he couldn't get the money, it was worth pressing for it.
---
At the fortune-telling stall in the distance, the young Daoist sat with his eyes closed, meditating. He murmured to himself, "Who was it that said the cycles of heaven's fate know neither favor nor opposition?"