Legacy of the Blade

Master Song was unlike the lofty and detached officials who had preceded him. Not only did he avoid isolating himself in his office to cultivate personal refinement, but he also didn't shut his doors to guests or spend his days immersed in scholarly pursuits. Instead, he threw himself into the work of porcelain production. He was even more hands-on than the local kiln workers, spending over a decade directly involved in the craft. The once-refined scholar transformed into a man with sun-darkened skin, wearing simple clothes indistinguishable from the common villagers. His approachable demeanor won people over, but the porcelain produced in the kilns, meant for imperial use, always fell short of expectations. Compared to past standards, the quality had even slightly declined, leaving the experienced kiln masters puzzled.

Eventually, the imperial court seemed to recognize Master Song's diligence. Though his efforts didn't yield success, they couldn't ignore his hard work. A transfer order was issued, summoning him back to the capital with a commendation for his dedication. Before leaving, Master Song used his own money to build a covered bridge, depleting his savings. It wasn't until his departure that the town's influential families realized he left without taking a single child with him, a gesture some interpreted as symbolic. His bond with the town was significant, and the new overseer continued to ensure his son, Song Jiutan, lived comfortably, free from worries.

The maidservant who now went by the name Zhi Kui had an uncertain origin, with many rumors surrounding her past. Some said she was a beggar girl who collapsed at the gates of Song Jiutan's home during a harsh winter. Had she not been discovered in time, she might have perished. Others claimed that she was an orphan Master Song had arranged to bring to the town, perhaps as a way to teach his son empathy and responsibility. Whatever the truth, Zhi Kui eventually became inseparably associated with the father and son. The prominent families noted that Master Song's treasured inkstone bore an inscription of the two characters "Zhi Kui."

Song Jiutan, lost in thought, suddenly brightened with a smile. "For some reason, thinking of that little lizard that wouldn't give up makes me laugh. Zhi Kui, what do you think? I threw it into Chen Ping'an's yard, yet it kept sneaking back to ours. Doesn't that tell you how unlivable Chen Ping'an's place is if even a snake doesn't want to stay there?"

Zhi Kui considered this seriously and replied, "Sometimes things are just about fate, aren't they?"

Song Jiutan gave her a thumbs-up and said cheerfully, "Exactly! Chen Ping'an just doesn't have the luck or blessings. For someone like him, being alive is already a lot."

Zhi Kui remained silent.

Song Jiutan murmured, "When we leave town, we're entrusting our house to Chen Ping'an. Do you think he can be trusted to take care of it?"

In a soft voice, Zhi Kui replied, "Young master, surely it won't come to that?"

Song Jiutan chuckled. "Oh? So you know what it means to 'guard the property only to steal it later,' huh?"

Zhi Kui blinked her bright eyes and innocently asked, "Doesn't it mean exactly what it sounds like?"

He laughed at her simplicity and gazed southward, a wistful look crossing his face. "I heard the libraries in the capital are larger than all the flowers and trees in our town combined!"

Just then, the storyteller under the pagoda tree exclaimed, "Though true dragons no longer exist in this world, their kin—like water dragons, flood dragons, and cloud serpents—still live among us. Who knows? They might even be hiding nearby. The Daoists call this 'hidden dragons in the abyss.'"

Song Jiutan yawned lazily.

A single locust leaf fluttered down from above, landing squarely on his forehead. He reached up, caught it, and held it between his fingers.

Elsewhere, a straw-sandaled boy headed to the eastern gate to collect a debt. Passing under the same locust tree, he saw a leaf floating down and quickened his steps, reaching out to catch it.

A breeze sent the leaf spiraling just out of reach.

The boy adjusted his stance, determined to snatch it. But no matter how he moved, the leaf always evaded him.

Chen Ping'an eventually gave up, watching the leaf drift away.

Nearby, a young scholar skipping lessons strolled by, unaware that a locust leaf had landed on his shoulder.

Chen Ping'an turned his focus back to the road, heading for the eastern gate. Even if he didn't collect the money, asking for it was better than nothing.

From his fortune-telling stall, the young Daoist muttered with closed eyes, "Who says the will of heaven isn't biased?"

At the eastern gate, Chen Ping'an spotted a burly man lounging lazily under a tree by the fence, humming softly with his eyes closed and patting his knees rhythmically.

Chen squatted down beside him, hesitant to bring up the debt. Instead, he stared at the wide eastern road stretching endlessly ahead, its golden hues resembling a massive serpent winding into the horizon.

Instinctively, Chen scooped up a handful of dirt and began kneading it in his palm.

In his youth, he had often accompanied Old Man Yao into the mountains. Laden with heavy tools like knives and hoes, they would trek through wild terrain, stopping to collect soil samples. Under the old man's guidance, Chen learned to identify soil types by taste, often placing a pinch directly into his mouth. Over time, he became adept at assessing the soil's quality with just a touch, even identifying fragments of porcelain by their origin and creator.

Though Old Man Yao was a gruff and unkind teacher, often berating Chen for his perceived lack of talent, the boy persevered. Once, in a fit of frustration, Old Man Yao abandoned him deep in the wilderness. Chen had to trek 60 miles back alone through mud and rain, his body aching and covered in dirt. When he finally saw the distant glow of the kiln's light, he felt a rare and overwhelming urge to cry.