Had he never ventured to Fulu Street or Taoye Alley, Chen Ping'an might have remained oblivious his entire life to the murky narrowness of Niping Alley. Yet, far from feeling despondent, the straw-sandal-wearing youth found an unexpected solace. Smiling, he stretched out both hands, palms just brushing the earthen walls on either side. He recalled that some three or four years ago, he could only reach the walls with his fingertips.
Upon arriving at his home, Chen Ping'an found the courtyard gate wide open. Fearing a theft, he hurried inside, only to see a tall youth perched on the doorstep, leaning against the locked door, yawning out of boredom. Spotting Chen Ping'an, the youth sprang up as if his backside were aflame, rushing over and seizing Chen Ping'an's arm tightly, dragging him inside. Lowering his voice, he urged, "Hurry and open the door, there's urgent news to tell you!"
Chen Ping'an could not break free, so he was compelled to open the door. The robust youth, two years his senior, quickly released Chen Ping'an, then tiptoed to the wooden bed and pressed his ear firmly against the adjoining wall, listening intently at its base. Curious, Chen Ping'an asked, "Liu Xianyang, what are you doing?"
Liu Xianyang ignored the question. After about half an incense stick's time, he returned to normal, sitting on the edge of the bed with a complex expression—part relief, part regret.
Only then did Liu Xianyang notice Chen Ping'an performing a peculiar ritual: crouched inside the doorway, leaning outward, burning a yellow paper with a candle stub no thicker than a thumb, letting the ashes fall outside the threshold. Chen Ping'an murmured some incantation, though Liu Xianyang could barely catch the words.
Liu Xianyang was the sole heir of the venerable Long Kiln master Yao Laotou. As for Chen Ping'an, of dull talent and weak constitution, the old master never truly accepted him as a disciple. In this town, without the ritual of tea worship between master and apprentice, no official bond was recognized.
Though not neighbors—each living far apart—the two youths' paths crossed due to a shared bitter past. Once infamous for his wildness, Liu Xianyang became a torment to his neighbors after his grandfather's death. At twelve or thirteen, towering over men twice his age, he was a menace nobody dared confront.
One day, after provoking a group of Lu family youths, Liu Xianyang was cornered and savagely beaten in Niping Alley. The attackers, fiery youths, showed no mercy, and Liu Xianyang soon spat blood, barely alive. The dozen or so impoverished households of Long Kiln workers in the alley dared not intervene.
Only one frail boy slipped out secretly, reaching the alley entrance to scream heart-wrenchingly into the street, "Someone's dying! Someone's dying!" The Lu youths, startled by the word "dead," finally retreated when confronted with Liu Xianyang's battered, bloodied form.
Yet, Liu Xianyang bore no gratitude for his savior. Instead, he frequently returned to torment the orphan boy, whose stubbornness refused tears despite the bullying, fueling Liu's frustration.
Years later, seeing the boy nearly succumb to winter's chill, Liu Xianyang's conscience stirred. Already apprenticed at the Long Kiln, he led the orphan to the kiln beside the Baoxi River, several snowy miles west of town. To this day, Liu wonders how that charcoal-hued, bamboo-like slender child managed the arduous journey.
Though Master Yao eventually accepted Chen Ping'an, the two were treated worlds apart. Liu Xianyang endured both harsh discipline and harsh words, yet even a blind man could sense the master's good intentions. Once, after striking Liu's forehead until it bled, Yao regretted his harshness deeply. Though stern and taciturn, he couldn't bring himself to admit fault directly. Instead, he paced his home all night, finally summoning Chen Ping'an to deliver healing ointment to Liu.
Over the years, Chen Ping'an envied Liu—not for his strength or talent, but for his fearless spirit, his lightheartedness, and his unfailing ability to forge bonds wherever he went. Liu's early hardships made him self-reliant and a natural leader among children—skilled in snake catching, fishing, and setting traps. Among all youths in town, he was unmatched in mudfish and eel hunting.
When Liu dropped out of village school, Mr. Qi even offered to waive fees, suggesting Liu become his personal assistant. Liu refused, determined only to earn money, not study.
Despite the kiln's closure after Yao's death, Liu was quickly taken in by the blacksmith of Qilong Alley, busy building a new hut and furnace in the southern town.
As Chen Ping'an blew out the candle and set it on the table, Liu asked in a low voice, "Have you ever heard strange sounds early in the morning, like…"
Chen Ping'an sat quietly, waiting.
After a moment's hesitation, Liu blushed faintly, breaking his usual stoic demeanor: "Like a cat crying in spring."
Chen Ping'an inquired, "Was it Song Jixin imitating a cat, or Zhi Gui?"
Liu rolled his eyes, dismissing the question, then stretched his arms and lifted his rear off the bed, feet leaving the floor. Suspended, he sneered, "Zhi Gui? Clearly it's Wang Zhu. That Song fellow has always liked showing off, misusing 'Zhi Gui' without knowing its meaning. Poor Wang Zhu—must have sinned in a past life to suffer beside Song Jixin."
Chen Ping'an said nothing.
Still hanging in the air, Liu snorted, "Don't you understand why after you helped Wang Zhu with a bucket, she never spoke to you again? Song Jixin, petty as ever, probably threatened her with family punishment if she dared flirt with you—breaking her legs and dumping her in Niping Alley…"
Unable to listen further, Chen Ping'an interrupted, "Song Jixin isn't that cruel to her."
Liu blazed with indignation, "What do you know of cruelty or kindness?"
Chen Ping'an's eyes shone clear and soft: "Sometimes when she works in the yard, Song Jixin sits on the bench reading some county record. When she looks at him, she often smiles."
Liu stared blankly. Suddenly, the frail wooden bed split beneath his weight. He landed hard on the floor.
Chen Ping'an crouched, hands pressing his head, sighing in headache.
Liu scratched his head, stood, said nothing of regret, but playfully kicked Chen Ping'an's shin, grinning: "Forget it. It's just a lousy bed. I came bearing great news, far worthier than that wreck."
Chen Ping'an looked up.
Liu boasted, "After leaving town, my master Ruan said he wanted to dig some wells by the southern stream. They lacked hands, so I mentioned you—short, but decent strength. Master agreed, so you should go in the next few days."
Chen Ping'an leapt to thank him.
Liu raised a hand, "No need. Keep it in your heart."
Liu glanced around—the corner held a fishing rod, a slingshot lay by the window, a wooden bow hung on the wall. He seemed about to speak but held back.
Stepping over the threshold, his boots deliberately avoided the candle ashes.
Chen Ping'an watched Liu's broad back.
Suddenly, Liu turned, faced the threshold, bounced a few steps back, then threw a heavy punch, withdrawing his fist with a proud laugh: "Master Ruan told me, if I train this boxing style for a year, I can kill a man!"
Not satisfied, Liu executed a peculiar kick, chuckling, "This is called the 'Good Leg to the Groin'—it'll knock out even the toughest mule!"
He then thumped his chest with a thumb, swaggering, "When Master Ruan taught me, I shared insights—like my thoughts on Master Yao's secret ceramic skill, the 'Jumping Knife.' He called me a once-in-a-century martial prodigy. Just follow me, and you'll have a life of plenty!"
Catching sight of a servant girl entering next door, Liu's heroics waned. He casually said, "By the old locust tree, a self-styled storyteller has set up shop, claiming to have a treasury of strange tales. When you have time, go listen."
Chen Ping'an nodded.
Liu strode out of Niping Alley.
Rumors swirled about this lone, defiant youth—who fancied himself descended from a general, hence the ancestral treasured armor passed down through generations. Chen Ping'an had seen that armor with his own eyes…