Chen Ping'an did not go straight back to Liu Xianyang's house. First he returned to Mud Vase Lane and told Ning Yao Liu Xianyang's plan. She offered no opinion — it was a matter between the two of them; she only took money to rid people of trouble. If Liu Xianyang could dodge the catastrophe without her, she would return those three bags of gold copper coins. "It's not about the money," said Chen Ping'an, and she answered coolly: "Then you'd rather talk feelings with me? Are we on such terms?" He nearly choked and squatted on the doorstep scratching his head.
Ning Yao glanced at the pastries he had brought, and her heart softened a little. "Could Liu Xianyang have been forced to sell that black-green mole-scale armor under real bodily threat at the forge?" "No. He is not the sort to bow before a threat. When first I met him, even when the Fuliu Street crowd beat him till he vomited blood, he never yielded." "Hot-blooded, headstrong, weighing honor above life — such lane rovers are never in short supply. Yet once the profit looms fat, once the temptation changes shape, can he hold fast?"
Sunk in thought, Chen Ping'an answered, resolute: "He would never squander his house for anything an outsider offered; his feeling for his grandfather runs deep. Unless it is truly as he says — that his grandfather, dying, warned him the armor might be sold, but never cheaply, while the sword scripture must always stay in the Liu family."
"As far as I know, that mole-scale armor is fine but nothing rare. As for the sword scripture — if Zhengyang Mountain has coveted it long enough to send two men hunting for treasure here, it already counts it as goods within its purse. So selling the armor and keeping the scripture makes sense."
Chen Ping'an nodded. Ning Yao stroked the green scabbard, her gaze chill. "To be safe, I'll go with you to send that lady off. Since Liu Xianyang declared he would sell it, the chest may be carried off. Afterward I'll see him at Master Ruan's shop and ask what he intends. If it was his grandfather's dying decree, we need not stick our oars in. If not, at worst I snatch that chest back!" "Is your body all right?" "I'm fine against that woman — in this town, one hand of mine is enough. It's only Zhengyang Mountain's old mountain-moving ape that would give me a beating — they say it can wrench a mountain up and carry it off, though those are rumors. Best we should not fall out with it. But if we do—" "If we do, what then?" "What then? Cut them all down!"
Chen Ping'an swallowed. Then, shouldering his basket, he set off toward Liu Xianyang's ancestral house, the girl beside him. Ning Yao glanced at his basket. "Why so little today?" He sighed: "Ma Kuxuan — Granny Ma's grandson of Apricot Blossom Lane — seems a different person. He says the town's fengshui has shifted, and the stones in these streams can less and less hold their 'qi.'"
Ning Yao's face grew grave. "He's not wrong. This town is about to change. Settle this business soon and walk out of it — even if you come back afterward, it beats staying inside forever." Chen Ping'an nodded, smiling: "I will. The moment I see Liu Xianyang drink the master-apprentice tea with Master Ruan, I'll leave." "What business is it of yours that you're so pleased?" she wondered. "If they call you a soft-hearted do-gooder, what have you to be so high and mighty about?" Deeming them well acquainted, he no longer hedged: "Liu Xianyang, Gu Can — and you, Miss Ning. Of all the people under heaven, it's just these three I care how they fare." "Of the three, where do I rank?" "Third, for now." Ning Yao tapped his shoulder with the scabbard, smiling without smiling: "Chen Ping'an, you should thank me for not killing you." "Don't you find brewing the medicine a bother?" he asked, baffled. Ning Yao started, then understood: "Chen Ping'an, I've just realized that in days to come, even out in the wide world, you'll live well enough."
At the corner of Liu Xianyang's lane a dark shadow sprang out, and Ning Yao almost drew her blade. It was a yellow dog circling Chen Ping'an in fond loops. He rubbed its head: "The neighbors' dog, called Laifu. Many years now, and the timidest of things. But Laifu is old now — very old. When I've made my fortune, I won't let you go hungry."
Ning Yao shook her head; this she could not feel with him, though along her road she had seen destitute scholars trace the brows of fox-spirits in broken temples, and young Celestial Masters cross ancient battlefields alone, leading lonely ghosts along a road of deliverance. And ever her resolve of the dao stood fast as a boulder. Now one more sight was added to her ledger: a boy of a mean alley, alone in the world, stroking an old dog's head, his face full of hope.
The two had not been back long when someone knocked at the gate. Chen Ping'an opened it; Ning Yao only stood at the door, though she turned and glanced at the longsword lying quiet on the counter. The knocking one was Lu Zhengchun, the woman behind him heading the party, with two loyal servants of the Lu clan in tow. His face kind, he asked in a low voice: "You're Chen Ping'an, Liu Xianyang's friend? We've come to move the chest. Take this money and don't worry. Every condition our lady promised him will be fulfilled."
Chen Ping'an took the bag and stood aside. The lady led the way into the courtyard. She opened with her own hands the red-lacquered chest, crouched, and reached out to stroke the ugly armor within, her gaze for a moment distant with barely-hidden longing, until she reined it back to an even temper. Rising, she signalled that Lu Zhengchun might lift the chest and be off. It was not heavy — only the one suit of armor. The lady was the last to leave. At the threshold she turned and smiled at him: "Liu Xianyang truly counts you as his friend."
Chen Ping'an, who could not fathom her meaning, said nothing and saw them out. Then he stood beyond the gate, unwilling to stir; Ning Yao came to stand beside him. The lady, reaching the far end of the lane, turned to look back and, seeing the boy and girl shoulder to shoulder, smiled with relish: "How fine to be young. But even so — one must live first, after all."
―――
In the gallery bridge over the little stream, a tall youth lay in a pool of blood, spitting up blood by the mouthful — this time knowing no thin, dark-skinned fellow would come crying, torn-voiced, "A man is dead!" A crowd watched from the stairs, none daring to draw near.
Two people walked swiftly into the bridge. The man laid his fingers to the youth's wrist, his face growing heavier by the moment. The girl in green gnashed her teeth: "One punch and his chest is staved in — what a ruthless hand!" "Father! Are you going to watch Liu Xianyang beaten to death in broad daylight? He is half a disciple of yours!" Unmoved, he answered calmly: "How was I to know the august Zhengyang Mountain would, this time, throw its own rules to the wind?" "If you won't deal with it, I will!" She sprang to her feet. "Ruan Xiu," the man raised his head slowly, "do you want your father to come collect your corpse?" She marched on, unyielding: "Your daughter Ruan Xiu is not one who only knows how to eat! She can kill people too!" Half of the anger on the man's brow was for his girl's headlong foolishness, more for that old ape's cruelty. Yet since he had still to take over Qi Jingchun's post — did it not follow that he, too, need not trouble himself overmuch with the rules?
All at once the girl stopped, having caught sight of a thin, lean youth racing toward her from the far end of the bridge — straw sandals on his feet, his face a flat blank, still as a well that holds no ripples. They passed each other in an instant. She wanted to say something, but the words would not come; for no reason she could name she felt a great wrong done her, and tears wet her cheeks.
The straw-sandaled youth sat down and took one of Liu Xianyang's hands, and the tall youth — his sight long since blurred — seemed to muster a little more spirit. He tried to smile: "That woman said she'd kill you if I didn't hand over the armor… and since she and her son came as two, only one would be driven out, the price was one she could afford. I was afraid — so afraid she'd really kill you… what I told you wasn't all a lie — my grandfather truly did say those things, so I figured, sell it, no great loss… then she sent someone saying the old man had lost his mind, and upon hearing I had no sword scripture he insisted on killing you first, and me after. I worried for you, I ran all the way here, and that old bastard hit me one punch, and it does sting…"
The youth bowed his head and gently wiped the blood from the corner of Liu Xianyang's mouth. His dark face knotted in a hard frown, he said low: "Don't be afraid. It's all right. Trust me. Don't talk anymore — I'll take you home…"
The tall youth's strength began to fade. His gaze wandered, and he murmured: "I don't regret it. Don't you blame yourself, truly… it's just that I'm a little afraid. So it turns out I fear death too." At the last he clenched his one friend's hand, and sobbed: "Chen Ping'an, I'm so afraid of dying."
The straw-sandaled youth sat on the ground, one hand gripping Liu Xianyang's, the other braced in a fist upon his knee, heaving with great ragged breaths. A youth so tender of years, at this moment he looked just like an old dog. And when he wanted to demand an accounting from Heaven, he looked even more like a dog.
Chen Ping'an did not want this. Not in this life, not ever again!