Legacy of the Blade

If it were anywhere else—like Zhengyang Mountain or some other remote place—the sudden drying up of a stream or small river wouldn't surprise her at all.

The little girl frowned and asked, "Isn't this a place where all mystical arts, divine abilities, and Daoist techniques are sealed? And the stronger someone's cultivation, the worse the backlash, right? Grandpa Yuan once said that even that legendary figure would struggle here after staying too long. By now, it'd be like a clay Buddha crossing a river—barely able to keep going, let alone stop others from fighting over things."

She shook her head, dismissing the thought.

The little girl turned to look at Grandpa Yuan's tall figure.

Smiling to herself, she thought, Once this place is no longer restricted, I'll ask Grandpa Yuan to move this mountain, Flying Cloud Peak, back to our hometown. It can become my little flower garden.

After returning home, Chen Ping'an couldn't shake a twitching feeling in his eyelids—left for fortune, right for trouble, they said.

To distract himself, Chen Ping'an sat at his doorstep and began miming the motions of shaping clay in the air with his hands. Soon, the straw-sandaled boy was completely immersed in his imaginary work. Shaping clay wasn't just a habit for him; it was also a way to clear his mind and stave off hunger.

Pottery-making relied on luck. Until the kiln was opened, no one could predict the final color or shape of the piece. Whether it met expectations or not was entirely up to fate. Still, the initial shaping of the clay was crucial. Unfortunately, Old Master Yao, the town's pottery master, deemed Chen Ping'an untalented and only assigned him menial tasks. But Chen Ping'an secretly observed and practiced on his own, shaping clay to develop his skills.

From the courtyard next door came the creak of a bamboo gate. It was Song Jixin, returning from school with his maid Zhikui. The handsome boy easily jumped onto the low wall, crouched down, and opened his hand to reveal a collection of small, colorful stones. Some were green as jade, others snowy white, and some a vivid red, like fresh blood.

These stones were common along the town's stream, though the red ones were especially prized. The schoolmaster once carved a seal for Zhao Yao from one, which Song Jixin had tried—and failed—to trade for several times.

Song Jixin tossed one of the stones, aiming it lightly at Chen Ping'an's chest. It hit but drew no reaction.

Another stone followed, grazing Chen Ping'an's straw hat, but still, he remained unmoved.

Growing bored, Song Jixin grabbed a handful of stones and threw them all. While he avoided hitting Chen Ping'an's hands, he hoped to break the boy's focus.

When the last stone was thrown, Song Jixin clapped the dust off his hands and disappeared inside his house. Chen Ping'an exhaled, flexing his wrists, and without even glancing up, returned to shaping clay, his left hand mimicking the strokes of a carving knife.

The "knife-skimming" technique wasn't uncommon among the town's potters, but Old Master Yao's skill with it was legendary. Despite taking on many apprentices, the master wasn't truly satisfied until Liu Tianyang came along. Whenever Liu practiced, Chen Ping'an would watch intently, absorbing every detail.

Liu, proud and boastful, enjoyed showing off, often sharing "secret techniques" he claimed to have learned from Old Master Yao. "For smooth cuts, your hands can't be stiff. But in the end, it's about having a steady heart," Liu would say. But when Chen Ping'an asked what "a steady heart" meant, Liu had no answer.

Zhikui, the maid, tiptoed to peek over the wall. Half of her delicate face was visible, but even so, her beauty was striking. After a moment of hesitation, she softly asked, "Chen Ping'an, could you help me pick up two stones? The red one and the white one—I really like them."

Chen Ping'an slowly looked up, his hands still moving steadily. Nodding slightly, he gestured for her to wait.

Zhikui smiled gently, her expression as lovely as spring's first bloom. But Chen Ping'an had already lowered his gaze, missing the sight entirely.

When he finished shaping the clay, he asked which stones she meant. Zhikui pointed them out with a soft demeanor, calm and gentle like rain-soaked spring earth.

Chen Ping'an picked up the stones as instructed and placed them on the wall for her. She took them and held them tightly in her hands as though they were treasures.

"Won't that little troublemaker scold you for keeping those?" Chen Ping'an asked with a grin.

Zhikui didn't confirm or deny that her young master had stolen the stones. Instead, she smiled quietly and said nothing.

In this small alley, a certain mother and son were notorious for their sharp tongues. Only Song Jixin dared to exchange barbs with them. The boy in particular was mischievous, often collecting fish and stones from the stream. The fish were kept in a large water basin, and the stones were stacked nearby. But Song Jixin liked to take a few stones every now and then, much to the boy's annoyance.