Chen Ping'an carried the water in and poured it into the earthen jar by the stove, then hurried to the doorway and called out: "Liu Xianyang, I'm going to use some of your firewood, oil, and salt — I want to stew a fish broth for Miss Ning to build up her strength. That's all right, is it not?"
Liu Xianyang, who had been savoring a sweet second sleep, was jolted awake and bellowed: "Chen, you pest! I'd just dreamed that Zhigui smiled at me — now you'll have to pay me back with a whole other Zhigui!"
Chen Ping'an shook his head, and recalling something, said apologetically: "As a matter of fact I did run into Zhigui just now at Iron Lock Well, but Granny Ma cut in and I clean forgot to pass along your message. When I take the fish broth to Miss Ning in a bit, I'll be sure to deliver it."
Liu Xianyang sat up with a spring, flung on his clothes in a flash, and settled on the threshold of the main hall, watching the lean figure bustling about the stove, and cackled: "Wait — I'll go with you to deliver the broth. Say, did Zhigui wear that pomegranate-red skirt today, or the pale green one? Ah, well — in a little while, once I've scraped together another two hundred coppers, I'll be able to afford that silver powder-box of Bai Yu's, the one she's been turning her nose up at buying for ages. I know she's been eyeing it for a long time. It's all that stingy miser Song Jixin's fault, putting on airs like the fine young gentlemen of Fortune & Rank Street over his own dress while poor Zhigui goes scarce a season without new clothes. Were I her young master, I promise she'd buy whatever she set her heart on, richer than any miss of Fortune & Rank Street — a girl in ten thousand catties of gold!"
Chen Ping'an paid no heed to Liu Xianyang's fancies. He could not for the life of him understand why Liu Xianyang was so bent on Zhigui of all girls — not that he looked down on her for being a maidservant, nor thought Zhigui wanting in looks; only that he never found her and Liu Xianyang to be, by any reckoning, a pair bound by fate's red thread.
Curious, Chen Ping'an asked: "How is it you also call her Zhigui, and not Wang Zhu?"
Liu Xianyang grinned, showing his teeth. "Ever since I learned you didn't know either how to write the characters 'Zhigui,' I stopped caring."
Chen Ping'an said, helpless: "What's the use of measuring yourself against me? Measure against Song Jixin — Zhigui isn't my maidservant."
Liu Xianyang gave a snort. "That fellow isn't better than you at everything either. For example — has he ever called anyone 'father' or 'mother' in his whole life? No. So isn't he worse off than you already, Chen Ping'an? No wonder Gu Can's mother, and those gossips like Granny Ma, have such acid tongues. Song Jixin isn't of blameless stock at all; if he were, why wouldn't he live openly in the superintendent's official residence instead of scraping by in your Mud Vase Lane? And the fellow even dares to look down his nose at others, so he deserves the mud they sling and the name 'bastard' they call him."
Chen Ping'an rose and walked to the door of the stove room. "Liu Xianyang, though Song Jixin and I can hardly call ourselves friends, the way you speak of him…"
Liu Xianyang hastily raised both hands, refusing to let Chen Ping'an natter on, and dodged cleverly: "I'll stop, all right? Chen Ping'an, this stubborn hair-splitting temper of yours — who on earth do you take after? My grandfather used to say your father and mother were both easy to deal with — especially your mother; she spoke in a soft, small voice and was forever smiling, a temper so good it went without saying. My grandfather also said that in the early years Granny Ma cursed at nearly everyone in the surrounding lanes; only when she came upon your mother did she neither carp nor carp, but would even crack a smile."
Chen Ping'an laughed fit to split his sides.
Liu Xianyang waved him off. "Off with you, go stew some broth for your little wife."
Chen Ping'an rolled his eyes. "Say that to Miss Ning's face, if you dare!"
Liu Xianyang grinned. "You're the fool, not me."
A short while later Chen Ping'an brought out a small earthen pot, and the two locked up house and yard and set out together toward Mud Vase Lane. When they reached Chen Ping'an's door and saw him knocking there in his doltish way, Liu Xianyang realized the fellow had left the keys to his own home with the black-clad girl; he decided Chen Ping'an was utterly beyond saving.
When the black-clad girl was at home she wore no veil, and as she opened the door she bared a clear, clean-complexioned face. Liu Xianyang found himself half afraid of this grave girl, who never once smiled, though even he could not say why. Were it a matter of a cold nature, Zhigui next door gave no quarter to anyone either — yet against her Liu Xianyang had always dared to stick out his thick hide. Were it that the girl went girt with sword and blade, that was not it either, for Liu Xianyang, cornered and harried time and again by the pampered sons of Fortune & Rank Street, fleeing like a stray dog, had never in his heart once quailed.
But this out-of-town girl called Ning Yao — her he was a little afraid of.
The black-clad girl sat by the table, opened the pot, breathed in the fragrance, half-closed those long narrow eyes, and nodded, saying softly: "My thanks."
Chen Ping'an's observation was acute; he knew this was the cold girl's way of being in a good mood.
Chen Ping'an cooked her a pot of gruel and told her to mind the heat herself, then said to Liu Xianyang: "So you'll just wait here for Zhigui to come out? I have to go deliver the letters."
Liu Xianyang was seated on the threshold with his ears pricked, straining not to miss a single sound of celestial warfare, and in a foul temper said impatiently: "Go on, tend to your business!"
Chen Ping'an left the yard, and as he was about to reach the mouth of Mud Vase Lane, he noticed that the light ahead had darkened; looking up, he found the way blocked by a tall man robed in spotless white. One hand behind his back, the other resting on the white-jade belt at his belly, he stood gazing into the distance.
Perceiving, perhaps, that he blocked the narrow alley, the man smiled faintly and of his own accord turned aside to make way for Chen Ping'an.
Filled with misgivings, Chen Ping'an quickened his step out of Mud Vase Lane, and glancing back once, saw the man had already strolled slowly into it.
Even in that one fleeting glimpse, Chen Ping'an had noted that upon the peerless-snow-white robe, at breast and back alike, faint threads of gold were embroidered, dim and indistinct, forming in shadow the shapes of two pictures, as though living things wandered among misty hills and seas of cloud — a wondrous sight. Chen Ping'an gave it no deeper thought, taking the man for another outsider of Fu Nanhua's ilk come once more to Mud Vase Lane in search of fortune. Since, that day, he had walked beneath the old locust tree beside Master Qi, the straw-sandaled youth had come to worry much less; he felt that so long as Master Qi remained in the town, whatever truly went awry, one could still, at the very last, sue for a measure of fairness.
Jogging past Apricot Blossom Lane, Chen Ping'an saw the blue-robed girl of the night before, still sitting at the wonton shop, one slim chopstick in each hand, tapping out a light rhythm on the tabletop; her round, faintly chubby, childlike face was radiant, her eyes fixed on the wontons boiling in the great pot before her, so that she never noticed Chen Ping'an standing a few paces away.
To the blue-robed girl, with fine food before her, even if the sky were to fall she would finish her bowl before making her escape!
Chen Ping'an admired this strange girl from the bottom of his heart; not wishing to disturb her, he smiled and ran on toward the eastern edge of town.
Some people, some things — even were they merely scenery along the road, still a single glance could make a body feel the world was beautiful.
When Chen Ping'an reached the wooden slat gate to the east, the shabby gatekeeper stood atop a tree-stump, rising on his toes to peer eastward, as though awaiting some person of importance.
Chen Ping'an had, in the old days, heard the elders chat beneath the locust tree of how the present kiln superintendent, upon first entering the town, had come in great state: the greybeards of the ancestral shrines of the four surnames and ten clans had turned out almost to a man, receiving the high official at the eastern gate. Yet after standing in the broad daylight for the better part of a few hours, one harried office steward had finally come running to the east gate to say that the superintendent, only just roused from his noonday nap in the courtyard of his official residence, bade them all meet him there directly — which sent the fine gentlemen, the moneyed lords, into such a fury that, as the saying goes, even the Buddha raised in them both a high and a low heaven of wrath; yet afterward, so the story ran, once they had passed through the gates of the official residence, no one dared let out so much as a fart, each one smiling more sheepishly than the next, like docile grandsons.
It had always struck Chen Ping'an as strange how those elders spoke as though they had witnessed it all with their own eyes. Whenever they told the petty gossip of Fortune & Rank Street and Peach Leaf Lane, they told it more truly than truth itself — how old Lu's second wife had taken to bed the fencing master, and when their affair was caught with the door flung open, all the long chain of details of how the flustered second wife scrambled to gather her clothes and shield her full bosom were told off without a single slip, the teller of the tale being, to all appearances, none other than the fencing master himself.
Liu Xianyang swallowed hard at every telling; Song Jixin went along sometimes, without Zhigui, and laughed more reservedly than Liu Xianyang, yet when it came to joining the crowd's surreptitious egging-on, he threw himself in with rare vigor, louder than he ever declaimed his scriptures of sage guidance at dawn and dusk.
Chen Ping'an crouched beside the tree-stump and waited patiently for the gatekeeper of the town.
The man cursed under his breath, jumped down from the stump, and, catching sight of the straw-sandaled youth, said nothing, but went into the yellow-mud hovel and fetched out a stack of letters — six family letters in all — of which he handed over no more than five penny-coppers.
Chen Ping'an glanced over the addresses without comment, for two of the letters belonged to the neighbor households of Fortune & Rank Street, and he had no wish to take advantage; admittedly, had the gatekeeper been moved by some rare fit of kindness and given him six coppers to start with, he would not have turned the money away, either.
Once Chen Ping'an had decided on his order of delivery, he asked idly: "Waiting for someone?"
The man cast a glance at the broad road to the east, and snorted: "Waiting for my lord!"
Chen Ping'an, having no taste for becoming the target of his temper, scampered off at once.
The man half-smiled in vexation. "Well, well — a fellow with sharp eyes after all."
The gatekeeper looked up at the sky; the thunder had long since rolled away, and the heavy clouds that had seemed all but pressing on the eaves had slowly thinned and scattered.
He dropped onto the tree-stump with a sigh. "When gods wage war, mortals are the ones to suffer."
---
Six letters — one for each of the four great clans of Lu, Li, Zhao, and Song, over in Fortune & Rank Street, and two more in Peach Leaf Lane, one of which fell, by a happy chance, to that kindly old man who had met Chen Ping'an before. Stranger still, the one who opened the door to take it was that same old man; and recognizing the straw-sandaled youth, he joked: "Child, truly you won't come in for a sip of water?"
Chen Ping'an smiled bashfully and shook his head.
The old man was not surprised; he only fished a handful of coppers from his sleeve and pressed them on Chen Ping'an, chuckling as he explained: "There's good news in the house today; this little bit of luck-money, every guest who sees it may share. It's only for the auspicious omen — a pittance, a dozen coppers, no more. So take it without a worry."
Only then did Chen Ping'an accept the coppers, smiling: "Thank you, Grandfather Wei!"
The old man nodded, and then said suddenly: "Child, in these days, when you have a moment, do go sit beneath the locust tree now and again; and should you find locust leaves or locust twigs lying on the ground, take them home with you and set them by. They'll keep off ants and centipedes and the like — good, is it not, and it costs you not a copper."
Chen Ping'an bowed his thanks to the old man from beneath the step.
The old man smiled a delighted smile. "Go on, go on. A year's crop is planted in its spring; a youth who keeps his limbs busy will surely fare well."
The boy ran off down the blue-stone lane away from Peach Leaf Lane.
The old man stood long at his doorway, gazing at the peach trees on either side, until a slender, graceful young maidservant came to his side and said softly: "Elder, what are you looking at? It's cold out here — don't catch a chill."
The maidservant had tended the old man for years and knew his was a heart of Bodhisattva-kindness; she regarded him with respect rather than fear, and so she smiled prettily and asked, with teasing boldness: "Elder, could it be you're thinking of some girl you met in your youth? The one who stood beneath the peach tree?"
The white-haired old man smiled. "Tao Ya, you are, like that letter-boy, a person with a heart."
The maidservant, praised, smiled with innocent delight.
The old man said suddenly: "In the next couple of days a distant relative will be coming to call; when he does, Tao Ya, you will go with the young folk of the household and leave this town together."
The maidservant started, her eyes reddening in an instant, and said in a voice choked with tears: "Elder, I do not wish to leave this place."
The old man, who was forever easy to persuade, waved a hand: "Let me look on the lane's scenery a while longer; you go back in first. Tao Ya, be obedient — else I shall be angry."
The maidservant could only steal away, timidly, turning to look back at every step.
The peach leaves of Peach Leaf Lane were lush and green; no peach blossoms had yet appeared.
The old man let out a soft breath of stale air, stepped over the threshold, down the steps, and walked toward the nearest peach tree. Standing beneath it, he said, grieved: "The peach is tender, its blossoms blaze. Truly, I shall never see them again."
He glanced back at his own dwelling and murmured: "This town, blessed beyond all measure, was never in keeping with the great dao; long ago the sages heaved and forced heaven and earth into new shape, and we have enjoyed its vast fortune for three thousand years. All those who have left this town through the ages have spread their branches and leaves across the whole Baoping Continent. But heaven is subtle in its reckonings; and so the time has come for it to call in its debts and exact the price from us. You children — if you do not hurry away from here, will you remain to die along with us, broken old shards of porcelain that we are? Know this: death has its greater and its lesser; and for our few thousand souls in this town, this death — it is a great death, with no afterlife to come."
"And so, while heaven still keeps one eye closed, let as many go as can go."
The old man put out a withered hand and steadied a peach bough. "A person with a heart, a person with a heart — I can only hope that heaven will not, in the end, be found wanting."
Unbeknownst to them all, the grandmother of the studious youth Zhao You — the old crone leaning on her staff — had drawn near. "An old man already a foot in the grave, and still so childishly naive — like an old woman painting on rouge. Disgusting to behold. Do you truly believe your good heart can alter this catastrophe by even a sliver?"
The old man's gaze turned distant; looking upon her equally snow-white head, he said, for no apparent reason: "You've come."
The crone was taken aback, then flared at once into wrath, and swung her staff at him: "You shameless old thief, at your age you still dare to waggle your tongue like that?!"
The staff rained down blows upon him, and the old man could do nothing but take to his heels — yet he laughed all the way.
The crone stood beneath the peach tree, still simmering with vexation, sorry she had softened her heart, and, as though hexed, had taken it into her head to walk to Peach Leaf Lane.
At last the crone raised her head and looked at the peach leaves putting out their tender buds.
Step by step she walked back toward Fortune & Rank Street, the staff rapping again and again upon the blue stones.
A placid little town a thousand years in splendor — never having dreamed that in the end all its folk would be poor souls with no life to come.
Was there truly no faint thread of a chance for life?
---
The stream runs ever shallower, the well-water ever colder, the old locust ever older, the iron lock ever more rusted, the great clouds ever lower.
This year the peach leaves will not see the peach blossoms.