Song Jixin and his maid Zhi Gui arrived under the old locust tree, finding the shade filled with nearly fifty people, sitting on benches and chairs they had brought from home. Children continued to pull their elders to join the crowd.
Standing at the edge of the shade, Song Jixin saw an old man under the tree, holding a large white bowl in one hand and gesturing with the other. He spoke passionately, "As I mentioned earlier about the dragon vein's trajectory, let me now tell you about the true dragon. Ah, this is truly extraordinary! About three thousand years ago, there emerged an unparalleled immortal who, after practicing in a certain blessed land, attained the Great Dao. He then traveled the world alone with a three-foot sword, radiating with heroic spirit. For some reason, he harbored a deep enmity against flood dragons, and for three hundred years, wherever there were flood dragons, he would slay them until none were left in the world. Only then did he stop, and his whereabouts became unknown. Some say he went to the highest place to discuss the Dao with the Dao Ancestor, others say he went to the Western Pure Land of the Buddha to debate scriptures, and some believe he is guarding the gates of the underworld to prevent evil spirits from harming the living..."
The old man spoke with such fervor that spittle flew from his mouth, but the townspeople remained indifferent, their faces blank.
The maid asked softly, "What is a 'three-foot heroic spirit'?"
Song Jixin smiled, "It's a sword."
The maid replied with irritation, "Master, this old man loves to show off his knowledge, but he doesn't speak plainly."
Song Jixin glanced at the old man and said with schadenfreude, "There aren't many literate people in our town, so this storyteller is wasting his effort."
The maid asked again, "What is a blessed land? Can someone really live for three hundred years? And isn't the underworld a place for the dead?"
Song Jixin, caught off guard by the questions but unwilling to appear ignorant, replied dismissively, "It's all nonsense. He probably read some obscure historical anecdotes and is using them to fool the villagers."
At that moment, Song Jixin keenly noticed the old man glancing at him. Although the gaze was brief, Song Jixin caught it and dismissed it as a coincidence.
The maid looked up at the old locust tree, squinting as the fragmented light filtered through the leaves.
Song Jixin turned to look at her and was suddenly taken aback. His maid, who used to be a skinny, scrawny little girl, now had a face just starting to lose its baby fat.
According to the town's customs, when a girl marries, they invite a woman with a blessed life to trim her facial hair and even out her hairline, a process called "opening the face" or "raising the eyebrows."
Song Jixin had read about a custom not practiced in their town. When Zhi Gui turned twelve, he bought the best new wine in town, poured it into a beautiful porcelain bottle he had secretly kept, and buried it.
Suddenly, Song Jixin said, "Zhi Gui, even though that Chen guy is, as our scholars say, 'rotten wood that can't be carved and a wall of dung that can't be plastered,' he has done at least one meaningful thing in his life."
The maid lowered her gaze, her eyelashes trembling slightly.
Song Jixin continued, "Chen Ping'an is not a bad person, but he's too stubborn. He always sticks to his ways, so even if he works hard at the kiln, he'll never produce anything of true quality. That's why Liu Xianyang's master, Old Yao, never looked favorably on him. It's called 'rotten wood that can't be carved.' As for the 'wall of dung,' it means no matter how you dress him up, he's still a peasant at heart..."
Song Jixin added self-deprecatingly, "Actually, I'm worse off than Chen Ping'an."
The maid didn't know how to comfort her master.
Song Jixin and his maid were the talk of the town's wealthy neighborhoods, thanks to Song Jixin's "cheap father," Master Song. In a town with no big figures or turmoil, the kiln supervisor sent by the court was like the benevolent official in plays. Among the many supervisors, Master Song was the most beloved. Unlike his aloof predecessors, he actively participated in kiln matters, even more so than the craftsmen. Over a decade, he tanned from the sun, dressed like a farmer, and treated everyone equally. Unfortunately, the porcelain produced under his supervision was still subpar, puzzling the old kiln masters.
Eventually, the court transferred Master Song back to the capital, giving him a decent evaluation. Before leaving, he spent his wealth to build a bridge and left the town without taking Song Jixin, confirming the rumors. Thanks to Master Song's goodwill and the current supervisor's care, Song Jixin lived comfortably. Zhi Gui, renamed by Song Jixin, had a mysterious background. Some said she was an orphan found by Master Song to care for his illegitimate son. Others believed she was a girl who collapsed in their courtyard one snowy winter and was saved just in time.
Regardless, renaming her to "Zhi Gui" solidified their father-son relationship because everyone knew Master Song's favorite inkstone was inscribed with "Zhi Gui."
Song Jixin snapped out of his thoughts and smiled, "For some reason, I remembered that pesky lizard. Even after I threw it into Chen Ping'an's yard, it kept coming back. What kind of miserable place must Chen Ping'an's house be if even a lizard doesn't want to stay?"
The maid thought for a moment and said, "Maybe some things are just fate?"
Song Jixin gave a thumbs-up, "Exactly! Chen Ping'an is just a person with shallow fortune. He should be content just to be alive."
She said nothing.
Song Jixin mused, "When we leave town, what if Chen Ping'an steals from our house?"
The maid whispered, "Master, he wouldn't do that."
Song Jixin teased, "Oh, Zhi Gui, you even know what 'stealing from one's own house' means?"
The maid blinked her clear eyes, "Isn't it just what it says?"
Song Jixin laughed, looking south with longing, "I heard the capital has more books than we have flowers and trees in this town!"
At that moment, the storyteller said, "Although there are no true dragons left, their kin, like flood dragons, horned dragons, and chi dragons, still live among us. They may be hidden among us, what Daoist immortals call 'hidden dragons in the deep.'"
Song Jixin yawned.
A green locust leaf floated down, landing perfectly on his forehead.
Song Jixin caught the leaf, twisting the stem with his fingers.
---
Thinking about collecting his debt at the East Gate, Chen Ping'an, nearing the old locust tree, saw a leaf fall. He quickened his pace, trying to catch it.
A gust of wind blew the leaf past his hand.
With agile movements, he sidestepped, trying to intercept the leaf.
But the leaf spun away in the air.
Refusing to give up, Chen Ping'an moved several times but couldn't catch it.
Frustrated, Chen Ping'an sighed.
A boy in a green robe, skipping school, passed by Chen Ping'an.
The green-robed boy didn't notice a locust leaf on his shoulder.
Chen Ping'an continued to the East Gate, hoping to collect or at least remind about the debt.
---
At the fortune-telling stall, the young Taoist priest muttered, "Who said fate is impartial?"
---
Arriving at the East Gate, Chen Ping'an saw the gatekeeper, who glared at him, "Here to collect again? Go away, no money for you!"
Chen Ping'an didn't argue, standing quietly, hoping to pressure him.
The gatekeeper, annoyed, threw a copper coin at him, "Here, take this and leave!"
Chen Ping'an caught the coin, thanked him, and left.
---
Meanwhile, the young Taoist priest continued to muse, "Is there anyone who truly understands the cycles of fate?"
---
On his way back, Chen Ping'an decided to check the storyteller under the locust tree.
He saw Song Jixin and Zhi Gui listening intently. Chen Ping'an hesitated but continued on his way, feeling a strange mix of emotions.
Reaching his house, he sat on the threshold, pondering his future. He thought about the repetitive nature of his days, imagining his life would be just like old Yao's—working with earth until he returned to it.
Smiling, he looked at his straw sandals, realizing that walking on bluestone felt different from walking in mud.