Ning Yao woke slowly, having slept with extraordinary comfort and deep satisfaction. Opening her eyes, she found herself sitting on a stool and felt momentarily bewildered. After a daze, she rose, pushed open the door, and saw an old man and a young man sitting in the corridor outside—two silent gourds, not a word between them. Hearing Ning Yao's footsteps, Chen Ping'an turned and smiled: "You're awake? You were sleeping so soundly I didn't want to wake you."
Ning Yao nodded, unconcerned. She asked: "Elder Yang?"
The old man replied grumpily: "What, afraid Chen Ping'an would take liberties while you slept? Relax—I was watching. That boy has the heart of a thief but not the guts."
Chen Ping'an hastily explained: "Miss Ning, don't listen to Grandpa Yang's nonsense. I swear I don't even have the heart!"
Ning Yao made a gesture of centering her qi and told herself: "A great person has great magnanimity."
The old man shot a sidelong glance at the straw-shoe boy and said with malicious glee: "Seven apertures open to six—one aperture completely blocked."
The rain had dwindled considerably. The old man said bluntly: "Bring that pouch of offering coins back later, and this girl's treatment, along with your future medicine, will be considered paid in full."
Ning Yao frowned: "What kind of medicine does the Yang family shop sell that costs so much?!"
The old man replied flatly: "When a man is starving to death, how much is the steamed bun in my hand worth?"
Ning Yao said coldly: "You're exploiting our desperation!"
The old man smoked his pipe fiercely, his entire upper body wreathed in a thin haze of smoke. From within this "cloud sea" came his hoarse, indifferent voice: "Haggling is the trade of low merchants—I don't do that. My price is final, one offer only. Take it or leave it, buy or don't buy."
Ning Yao was about to retort when she felt Chen Ping'an tugging at her sleeve, shooting her meaningful glances. In the end she swallowed her anger.
The medicinal herbs grown in this small cave-heaven were indeed of superior quality. But this famous Li Zhu small cave-heaven, renowned throughout the Eastern Baoping Continent, had never been famous for its natural treasures—rather, it was the "porcelains" and destiny artifacts that had made it known throughout the world. So even if the Yang family shop's herbs were piled into a mountain, they would not be worth many gold-essence copper coins.
The old man waved his pipe: "The rain has stopped. Stop making eyes at each other in my shop—have you no shame?"
Chen Ping'an took Ning Yao by the arm and led her down the steps, through the main hall, and out onto the street. He asked with a smile: "Can't figure it out? Don't worry—Grandpa Yang is just like this. He doesn't care about sentiment. Everything he does is... fair. Yes, very fair."
Ning Yao sneered: "Fair? Everyone has their own scales in their heart. On what basis does he get to decide he's fair? Just because he's old?"
Chen Ping'an shook his head: "I don't feel I threw away a pouch of copper coins for nothing."
Ning Yao glanced at the boy: "If you can say that again after surviving ten years out there, you win!"
Chen Ping'an smiled: "We'll see about that then."
Ning Yao sighed—she truly could do nothing with him. "Where to next?"
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment: "Let's go check on Liu Xianyang at the shop, and I'll pull your knife out of the ground while we're at it."
Ning Yao was characteristically decisive: "Then lead the way."
She suddenly asked: "Are you all right?"
Chen Ping'an grimaced: "No major problems. But aside from continuing to practice my fists, I'll have to brew and drink medicine every day, same as you. Grandpa Yang says if the results aren't good, I may have to spend more money."
Ning Yao asked, skeptical: "You actually believe that?"
Chen Ping'an smiled and shook his head, as though he couldn't be bothered to argue about such things.
Once they left the town, he rolled up his sleeves, removed the dress-cutting knife strapped to his body, and returned it to the girl.
She stowed the dress-cutting knife, then retrieved the narrow blade that the mountain-moving ape had driven into the ground. As for the sword sheath Chen Ping'an had given away, he had temporarily left it with Ning Yao. She hung it at her waist, and at last the flying sword had a home.
When Chen Ping'an and Ning Yao reached the south end of the covered bridge, they saw a young girl in green robes with a ponytail sitting at the top of the steps, chin resting in both hands, gazing into the distance. She presented only her back to them.
---
In the backyard of the Yang family shop, the old man sat alone. He put away his pipe, waved his hand to scatter the lingering smoke, and said: "Rest assured—once the matter is accomplished, I will grant you the immortal body of a river-spirit as promised. Whether you can truly achieve a divine position and be elevated to the rank of a proper river-god in the future will depend on your own fortune."
The old man gave the ground a light tap with his pipe, then raised his head to look toward the old locust tree in the distance. He clicked his tongue: "The tree has fallen, and the monkeys have scattered."
---
Three carriages rolled one after another toward Mud Vase Lane.
The Great Sui prince could not fathom why his nephew insisted on rivaling a boy from a wretched alley. The boy had even developed a heart-knot over it.
Song Changjing smiled: "Whatever tangled debt exists between you and Chen Ping'an, I have interfered once and will not do so again. You may settle it yourself."
Finally, Song Changjing reminded him: "You may have private ties with Zhengyang Mountain, but do not entangle yourself too deeply."
Song Jixin grinned: "Private ties? You mean that little girl? Ha—it's just for fun. Nothing more than amusement."
Song Changjing smiled: "Just for fun? And you casually gave away a sword-nurturing gourd?"
Song Jixin fell silent, somewhat deflated.
The carriages could not enter the narrow alley. Song Changjing did not wish to alight. Song Jixin stepped out alone, only to find that it had begun to rain. The spring rain fell in a fine drizzle, misty and delicate, but with the promise of growing heavier.
He hurried into Mud Vase Lane, reached his own courtyard, and pushed open the gate. Zhigui sat on the threshold of the main room, staring into space.
Song Jixin called cheerfully: "Let's go—your young master will take you to the Great Sui capital to broaden your horizons!"
Zhigui came back to herself: "What? We're leaving so soon?"
Song Jixin nodded: "Everything was packed long ago. My two big chests, plus your small one—we've packed everything worth taking. There's no difference between leaving early or late."
Zhigui rested her chin on her knees and said sadly: "You're right. This is our home."
Song Jixin sighed and sat with her on the threshold, wiping the rain from his forehead. He said gently: "What—can't bear to leave? If you really can't, we'll delay a while. It's fine—I'll let them know."
Zhigui suddenly laughed, shaking her small fist emphatically: "No need! We're going. Who's afraid?"
Song Jixin reminded her: "Don't forget that four-legged lizard."
Zhigui's anger flared immediately: "That damned fool! He snuck into the bottom of my chest yesterday and lay there—I spent half the day looking for him. When I finally found him, the rouge boxes at the bottom were all filthy! A crime beyond pardon—unforgivable!"
Song Jixin began to worry about the lizard's fate: "You didn't... kill that fool, did you?"
Zhigui shook her head: "Not yet. I'm sparing his wretched life for now. We'll settle the score once we reach the capital. Oh, and Young Master—when we get there, let's raise a few more old hens, all right? At least five!"
Song Jixin asked, puzzled: "We have enough eggs—why buy more? Didn't you always complain that our old hen was too noisy?"
Zhigui replied with complete seriousness: "I'll tie a string to each hen's leg, then attach the other ends to the fool's four legs and head. Whenever I'm unhappy, I can chase the hens around. Otherwise, that four-legged fool may be stupid, but he runs fast. Every time before, I exhausted myself chasing him, which only made me angrier..."
Listening to his maidservant's earnest scheming, Song Jixin's mind filled with the image of the execution. He murmured: "Wouldn't that be death by five hens... oh wait—dissection by five hens."
Song Jixin clutched his belly and burst out laughing.
Zhigui was accustomed to her young master's wild imagination and took it in stride. She simply asked: "Young Master, the chests are so heavy—how will we carry them? And there are still things we haven't thrown out that should be."
Song Jixin stood and snapped his fingers: "Come out. I know you're hiding nearby. Please carry the chests to the carriages."
There was no response from the surroundings.
Song Jixin was silent for a long time, then said with a dark expression: "Get out! Or shall I have my uncle come fetch you himself?"
After a moment, several concealed figures dropped from the rooftops across Mud Vase Lane or appeared silently in the alley outside the courtyard gate. Five black-clad assassins in total filed in after the leader pushed open the door.
The lead figure hesitated, then clasped his fists and said in a muffled voice: "We were bound by duty before, Your Highness, and dared not reveal ourselves. We ask your forgiveness."
Song Jixin said flatly: "Get on with it."
The man kept his head lowered: "This subordinate humbly asks that Your Highness explain the situation to the prince on our behalf."
Song Jixin said impatiently: "Do you think my uncle would trouble himself over such trifles?"
The five men stood motionless in the courtyard, letting the light rain fall on them. They would not budge until they received an answer.
Song Jixin relented: "Fine. I'll explain."
Only then did the five enter the room. Three black-clad men each lifted a chest with ease, while the other two flanked them empty-handed as escort. They walked back into Mud Vase Lane and then broke into a sprint.
Song Jixin looked thoughtful.
Zhigui opened an oil-paper umbrella and handed a slightly larger one to Song Jixin. After locking the doors of the main room, the kitchen, and the courtyard gate, master and servant stood at the entrance with their umbrellas. Song Jixin gazed at the red-and-black spring couplets and the painted door gods.
He said softly: "I wonder if we'll still see these couplets next time we return."
Zhigui said: "Once we've left, why would we come back?"
Song Jixin smiled self-deprecatingly: "True. If I do well, there's no one here to boast to. If I do badly, there will be plenty of people to laugh at me."
The rain did not let up. The alley grew steadily muddier. Zhigui was unwilling to linger and urged: "Let's go, let's go."
Song Jixin nodded. The two walked one after the other toward the mouth of Mud Vase Lane.
Zhigui led the way, her steps quick.
Song Jixin followed behind, his pace slow. As he passed a stretch of high mud wall opposite a household's courtyard gate, he stopped, umbrella in hand, and turned to look.
The boy stared at the unremarkable yellow mud wall, lost in thought.
Up ahead, Zhigui turned and could not help but complain: "Young Master, if you don't walk faster, the rain is really going to pour!"
Under the umbrella, the boy's expression was unreadable. He raised his arm in a gesture, then answered his maidservant's call and finally quickened his pace.
---
Inside the carriage on the street outside Mud Vase Lane, the Great Sui prince Song Changjing sat with his eyes closed, resting.
The Supervisory Bureau maintained a secret dossier on a daily basis, compiled by nine of the Great Sui's finest intelligence operatives. Everything they observed and recorded pertained to the "illegitimate son of Prefect Song": what streets he visited with his maid, how much money he spent on what food or goods, which sage's text he recited at dawn, when he first drank in secret, who went with him outside the town to fly kites or catch crickets, and with whom and where and over what he quarreled. No detail, however trivial, was omitted. The dossier was dispatched to the capital every three months and placed on the desk of the imperial study, where it was compiled and bound. The elder brother—the one most fond of literary pursuits—had personally titled it "The Little Record of Daily Life." From The Little Record, Volume One, to The Little Record, Volume Fifteen: fifteen years of a wretched-alley boy's every moment, written into fifteen books.
Before coming to the town, Song Changjing had leafed through these volumes of tedious trivialities. But he had keenly noticed that in one volume, titled "Seven," a page was missing—clearly torn out. This should mean that during the summer and autumn of Song Jixin's twelfth year, some great upheaval had occurred.
Before arriving, Song Changjing had assumed it was a bloody assassination originating in the Great Sui capital, involving certain figures to whom even his brother had to swallow his grievances. But later he realized that the story on that missing page was almost certainly no pleasant memory for the young Song Jixin—and it was undoubtedly connected to Chen Ping'an of Mud Vase Lane.
Song Changjing began to sort through his thoughts. This prince, rarely afforded a moment of leisure, carefully recalled the recorded conversations and scenes of the two boys.
He opened his eyes, pushed aside the carriage curtain, and first glimpsed the slender silhouette of the maid holding an umbrella. Then came his nephew Song Jixin. Master and servant walked toward the second carriage, while all three chests had already been loaded onto the last.
Song Changjing said softly: "Move out."
The carriages rolled forward.
They came to an abrupt halt. Before long, Song Jixin burst into the carriage, his face flushed with fury: "What is the meaning of this?!"
Song Changjing asked: "Are you referring to the corpse in your carriage?"
Song Jixin's face turned ashen, his eyes fixed on Song Changjing.
Song Changjing's expression was placid: "Do you know who the corpse belongs to? The Great Sui has seven intelligence agencies. I control three of them—they specialize in infiltrating foreign courts, gathering vital military intelligence, and bribing enemy generals and ministers. The National Preceptor's Embroidered Tiger controls another three, focused on domestic public opinion and jianghu movements, especially keeping watch on the capital's every tremor. The last one is dedicated to dealing with cultivators on the mountains, answering directly to... a certain person. This town has nine Great Sui agents, drawn from all seven agencies, specifically to guarantee your safety—to ensure that not the slightest thing goes wrong."
Song Jixin said in a low voice: "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Song Changjing smiled: "The tangled loyalties within—who that man truly serves—the heap of foul truths inside: laying it all out clearly for you would be difficult. Suffice it to say he deserved his death. But you must remember one thing: right now outsiders see you as the Great Sui prince, a personage of noble blood. Whether they treat you with awe or flattery, you may accept it all—but do not forget why they do so."
Song Jixin sneered: "Oh? And why is that?"
Song Changjing smiled: "Do you think it's truly because of how important you are? It is all only because I am standing beside you. I worry you might forget this, so I am using this opportunity to open your eyes a little. Being near a dead body is unpleasant. But it is still preferable to the next time—when I must stand beside yours."
Song Jixin's face flushed crimson.
Song Changjing glanced at the boy and said coldly: "Get out."
Song Jixin swallowed the words that had risen to his lips, turned in silence, and left through gritted teeth.
Once the boy had disembarked, Song Changjing smiled faintly to himself: "With so little backbone, once you reach the capital, those toothless old tigers and foxes will pounce on you instantly—ravenous to tear a few chunks of flesh from your bones."
The prince, for his part, dreaded the prospect of going to the capital.
---
Inside the carriage, it was the dead man who took up the most space.
Song Jixin found the arrangement deeply uncomfortable. Zhigui, however, looked perfectly composed. He asked casually: "By the way, Zhigui—did you bring our old house key?"
She looked puzzled: "No. I left it in my room. I have no intention of going back. Why do you ask? Besides, don't you also have a set of house keys?"
Song Jixin said "Oh" and smiled: "I left mine inside too."
---
Three carriages rolled past the old locust tree, exited the town, and jolted along the muddy road heading east.
As they passed the wooden gate on the east side of the town, Zheng Dafeng—the gatekeeper, sheltering from the rain in his mud hut—squatted at the doorway with his hands tucked in his sleeves, watching the three carriages. The old bachelor yawned.
About half an hour later, Song Changjing said sharply: "Stop!"
Song Changjing descended from the carriage. In the carriage behind, Song Jixin and Zhigui pushed aside the curtain and craned their heads together, curiously watching.
Song Changjing waved them back, and Song Jixin pulled Zhigui inside.
Song Changjing walked forward. Not far ahead, a plain-looking, sturdy middle-aged man stood blocking the road, his straw shoes and trouser legs caked in mud.
Song Changjing walked on and spoke with a smile: "I truly did not expect the town to harbor someone like you. It seems our Great Sui operatives do nothing but eat shit and skip their meals."
The prince's once-pristine white robe was now splattered with mud, his boots no better.
Song Changjing finally stopped ten paces from the man: "Since you didn't attack the moment we met, you might as well tell me—what exactly do you want?"
The townsperson—whose own roof had been crushed by the mountain-moving ape—stood before the Great Sui prince with none of his former cowering demeanor. He said in a deep voice: "Song Changjing, once we've fought and you're still alive, you'll naturally have your answer."
Song Changjing frowned slightly. The man understood: "Let the carriages pass first."
Song Changjing nodded with a smile, not turning around, keeping his eyes on the man, and called out: "Carriages—move forward! Don't stop!"
The man stepped to the side of the road and let the three carriages pass unimpeded.
Song Changjing waited until they had completely vanished from sight before turning back to the patient man.
This man's cultivation was equal to his own or higher.
But the gap was narrow.
Song Changjing felt no fear—on the contrary, his fighting spirit surged and his blood ran hot. He tugged at his collar.
Before him stood a man whose name was known to none, but who would serve as the finest whetstone for tempering the martial path.
Song Changjing's instincts told him: whether today ended in death or survival, whether tomorrow brought the nine of fortune or the ten of calamity—it all came down to this single encounter.