In Xinghua Alley, there is a well called the Iron Lock Well. A thick iron chain, as wide as a young man's arm, has hung inside the well for years. No one knows when the well and the chain first appeared, nor who installed it or why. Even the oldest residents of the town cannot provide any information about its origins.
There is a legend in the town about someone who once tried to measure the length of the chain. Ignoring the warnings of the elders, who said, "For every foot of the chain pulled out, your life will shorten by a year," the man persisted. After pulling for the duration of a burning incense stick, he had dragged out a large pile of iron chain but still couldn't see the end. Exhausted, he left the extracted chain coiled beside the well, planning to continue the next day. That very night, he bled from all seven orifices and died with his eyes wide open. His family tried everything, but his eyes would not close. Finally, an old man, whose family had lived near the well for generations, suggested they bring the body to the well. When the chain was fully returned to the well, the man's eyes finally closed.
An old man and a young boy were walking slowly toward the Iron Lock Well. The boy, still with two streaks of snot hanging from his nose, was recounting this story with remarkable clarity and detail, unlike what one would expect from a child who had only been learning for half a year. His large, grape-like eyes stared up at the storyteller, who was holding a large white bowl. The boy sniffled, and the snot retracted. "I've finished my story. Now, can you show me what's in your bowl?" he asked, pursing his lips.
The old man laughed and replied, "Don't be impatient. When we sit by the well, I'll let you see."
The boy warned him with mock severity, "You better not go back on your word, or you'll meet a bad end. You might fall into the well, and I won't fish you out. Or lightning might strike you, turning you into a charred corpse, and I'll chip away at you with a stone."
The old man, troubled by the boy's relentless curses, quickly said, "I'll show you, I promise. By the way, who taught you to speak like this?"
The boy answered confidently, "My mother."
The old man sighed, "No wonder. This place truly produces outstanding people."
The boy stopped suddenly and frowned, "Are you mocking me? I know some people like to say nice things backward, like Song Jixin."
The old man quickly denied it and changed the topic, "Do strange things often happen in this town?"
The boy nodded.
"Tell me about them," the old man prompted.
The boy pointed at the old man and said earnestly, "For example, you carry a big white bowl but refuse to let people put coins in it. My mother said your storytelling wasn't bad but a bit confusing, and she wanted me to give you some money, but you refused. What's in the bowl?"
The old man was amused. He had told the boy that the white bowl held something extraordinary to entice him to come along. The boy, naturally curious and energetic, had agreed. Despite the old man's odd request to test the boy's weight by lifting him, which he failed to do, the boy's curiosity about the bowl kept him from saying anything that would embarrass the old man. In their neighborhood, the boy was known for his sharp tongue, second only to Song Jixin and his mother.
When they reached the well, the old man didn't sit on its edge. The ancient well was built with green bricks, and the old man's breathing grew heavier. The boy, however, jumped and sat on the well's edge with his back to the well, causing the old man to break out in a cold sweat at the thought of the boy falling in.
The old man took a few steps closer and inspected the iron chain tied securely at the well's winch. "A prime feng shui location, unparalleled in this land," he muttered. He wondered who would eventually claim this valuable artifact. He extended his left hand and examined his palm. The lines were intricate and worn, but a new line was slowly forming, like a crack in porcelain.
"Divine beings read their palms as they do the mountains and rivers," he thought. However, the old man was only examining his own palm at that moment. He frowned and muttered, "In just half a day, things have deteriorated this much. What about the others?"
The boy was standing on the well's edge, one hand on his hip and the other pointing at the old man. "Are you going to show me the bowl or not?"
The old man sighed, "Alright, come down, and I'll show you the bowl."
The boy jumped down, still skeptical but eager. The old man hesitated, then solemnly said, "Little one, we have a connection. I'll show you the mystery of this bowl, but you must promise not to tell anyone, not even your mother. If you can keep this promise, I will let you see. If not, even if you curse me, I won't show you a glimpse."
The boy nodded eagerly, "Show me."
The old man approached the well, holding the bowl bottom with one hand. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he tilted his palm. The boy waited impatiently, but nothing seemed to happen. Just as he was about to complain, a thin stream of water began to flow from the bowl into the well. It seemed to pour endlessly, more than a large water tank's worth.
The boy was shocked, then terrified. He turned and ran home, believing he had seen a ghost in broad daylight. The water in the bowl never stopped flowing, and he was sure something was wrong.
---
Liu Xianyang broke off a budding branch from the roadside and began to practice his swordsmanship. Spinning like a rolling wheel, he didn't care about scuffing his new boots as he kicked up dust along the path. The tall boy headed south out of town. Once he crossed the covered bridge built by Lord Song, a few more miles would bring him to the blacksmith shop run by Ruan and his daughter. Though Liu Xianyang was proud, Ruan's simple statement, "We are here to forge swords," won his admiration.
Thinking about having a real sword in the future excited Liu Xianyang. He threw away the branch and started running and shouting. Recalling the martial arts forms Ruan had taught him, he began practicing with enthusiasm. The boy grew closer to the bridge, where four people sat: a graceful, plump woman holding a boy in a red robe, who looked triumphant, and an old man with snow-white hair beside a pouting little girl. The young man standing below was Lu Zhengchun, the grandson of the Lu family head, who appeared pale and anxious.
The boy in the red robe spoke a dialect the townspeople couldn't understand. "Mother, is this Liu truly descended from that person?"
The woman covered his mouth, "Didn't your father warn you not to name names here?"
The boy, releasing his mother's hand, asked eagerly, "Did his family really inherit the treasure armor and sword manual?"
The woman caressed his head, "The Lu family guarantees it. Both items are hidden in that boy's house."
The boy whined, "Mother, can't we trade our treasure for that sword manual? It's so ugly, and the manual would let us take heads in our dreams without anyone knowing. Isn't that better than armor?"
Before she could explain, the girl angrily retorted, "You want our long-lost mountain treasure? We're here to rightfully reclaim it, not like some thieves or beggars!"
The boy made a face at her and mocked, "It's a 'mountain' treasure, only about sect hierarchy. So what?"
He then changed his tone, standing tall and lecturing the girl, "The path to immortality defies the heavens. You need to understand this if you are to inherit your family legacy. Do you think it's easy for your father and grandfather to raise your mountain every thirty years?"
The girl, losing her momentum, looked down dejectedly. The old man by her side sternly warned, "Lady, children's words may be harmless, but they can affect our young master's heart."
The woman smiled, pulling her son back, "Children's quarrels shouldn't harm our thousand-year alliance."
The old man, fiery by nature, replied, "Our Zhengyang Mountain repays both kindness and enmity, never forgetting."
The woman smiled but didn't argue further. This visit was crucial for her, risking everything for her son and her family's future.
Lu Zhengchun, still facing away from the bridge steps, recalled seeing these guests for the first time at his family's mansion. His brother had been killed for a momentary lapse, staring at the woman's chest. From that moment, Lu Zhengchun felt only fear around these guests. His grandfather had promised that working with them would bring great rewards, but the young man was terrified of making a mistake.
Seeing Liu Xianyang approach, Lu Zhengchun felt a surge of hatred. He hoped for his death, though he wouldn't admit it even to himself. He dreaded being brought low to Liu Xianyang's level.
The woman calmly ordered, "Tell the boy what he wants to give up the treasures."
Lu Zhengchun, bowing, replied in their dialect, "Yes, madam."
The boy added a threat, "If you fail, I'll flay and torture you."
Lu Zhengchun,
trembling, vowed not to disappoint.
The girl, feeling triumphant, mocked, "You act tough here but were silent when insulted on the road."
The old man added, "She's right. You didn't even dare to retort."
The boy glared but said nothing, smiling eventually. The woman remained indifferent, focused on their goal.
The girl went to the stream, watching the fish. Local legends spoke of a golden carp seen under the bridge during storms, but the details varied.
The girl, pondering the rising water in the stream, questioned the supposed magical seal of the town. She eventually gave up thinking about it, planning to ask her grandfather to move a mountain back home for her garden.