The young Daoist had already prepared a slew of responses to the inevitable question from the straw-sandaled youth—"Who is she?" Unexpectedly, the courtyard door swung open swiftly, and to his surprise, the boy from the narrow alley bypassed the inquiry entirely.
Ni Ping Alley was among the most cramped and oppressive alleys in the town. The Daoist's wooden pushcart with dual wheels had no place to remain outside without blocking the way. Fortunately, though Chen Ping'an appeared frail and skinny, as if lacking any strength, he was in fact quite sturdy. He helped the young Daoist move the rather heavy cart into the courtyard without much difficulty.
Throughout the entire process, the youth remained silent, which left the Daoist feeling somewhat awkward once the door closed behind them. It felt like a man thick-skinned enough to borrow money knocking at someone's door, only to be greeted with the best tea, wine, and meat. In such a situation, even a half-decent man would find it increasingly hard to voice his request.
The Daoist, having resolved that awkwardness was unavoidable, chose to confront it head-on. He lifted a thick cotton blanket draped over the cart, revealing a black-clad young girl curled up on her side. Her veiled hat sat askew on her head yet stubbornly shielded her face. The moment the cloth was removed, a strong stench of blood wafted out. Only then did Chen Ping'an notice the dark clothes of the girl were faintly soaked with blood.
He hadn't expected such a thin layer of bedding to conceal such a pungent scent. Taking several steps back, he asked, "Daoist, what exactly are you trying to do?"
"To save a life," the young Daoist replied solemnly. "She's gravely injured, and no one in town is willing to help. But can I really blame them? Each looks only to his own doorstep. After much consideration, I thought perhaps you might be the exception."
Chen Ping'an asked the most crucial question without hesitation, "How was she injured?"
The Daoist, utterly calm, answered, "As I was passing by the Paifang Pavilion, I saw this young woman—a stranger to this town—attempting to make a rubbing of the 'Qi Rises to the Heavens' inscription. She carried ink tools and a brush, and without hesitation, she climbed right up. A rubbing, by the way, is a scholar's pastime—tracing ancient carvings and inscriptions. I can't really explain it well, just something people do when too full and idle."
"She climbed onto the crossbeam and sat hunched over with her tools. It made my heart race just watching. I stopped and occasionally called out for her to be careful, but she was far too engrossed. Without warning, she slipped and fell. You know how hard the ground is beneath the Paifang—not like your muddy alley here. It's as hard as the bluestone slabs on Fulou Street. She landed hard—hard enough that I fear her internal organs are all damaged."
"I'm a man of the Dao, bound by compassion. I couldn't just turn a blind eye. But every household turned her away. Bloodied and ominous so soon after the new year—who would let such misfortune through their door? I can't blame them. But I had nowhere else to go, so I came to you. If you won't take her in either, then I'm no immortal who can pull a soul from the gates of death. All I can do is dig a pit and raise a small headstone for her."
The Daoist spoke rapidly and unclearly, clearly hoping to confuse the boy into compliance. The hardest part was the beginning—if he could just get through this initial hurdle, the rest could be improvised. Heaven never seals all paths; even in deep gloom, there is always light at the end.
Chen Ping'an's gaze grew complex. He glanced at the hopeful Daoist, then at the girl, whose body was barely clinging to life. After an inner struggle, he nodded. "What do we need to do?"
The Daoist's face lit up. "Splendid! With those words, half the battle is won. Her wounds look dreadful, as though her name has already been marked off in the Book of Life and Death, but it's not as hopeless as it seems. Everything I said earlier is true. She's got a fierce will to live and, I believe, some family-taught arts protecting her vital meridians and core."
"Besides," he added with a mysterious grin, "our town is full of peculiarities—strange herbs and odd creatures. Some, if consumed or applied, might work wonders."
Realizing he had revealed too much, the Daoist gave a sheepish chuckle. "Not that you'd understand, right?"
"I don't understand most of it," Chen Ping'an said seriously, "but I can remember it all."
The Daoist tested him, "So you knew it was me at the door, just from the sound of the knock?"
Chen Ping'an hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
"Do you have a good memory? Just how good?" the Daoist asked, intrigued.
Chen Ping'an glanced at the unconscious girl. The Daoist quickly explained, "She's in a delicate and mysterious state right now. It's best not to move her just yet."
"I remember things I see better than things I hear," Chen Ping'an replied cautiously.
"Give me an example."
"Take Master Yao at the dragon kiln," he said after a moment's thought. "His blade-skipping technique is the best in town. I only had to see it once to remember every detail. But..."
"But your hands can't keep up, right?" the Daoist finished with a grin.
Chen Ping'an's eyes lit up, nodding vigorously.
The Daoist gave a knowing smile. "Have you ever considered what makes Master Yao's skill truly exceptional?"
Chen Ping'an's expression darkened. "I never understood, until Liu Xianyang told me Master Yao once said that to master the blade-skip, it's not just about steady hands—you must have a steady heart. That made me realize: I was always too anxious. The more anxious I became, the more mistakes I made. I could clearly see where I went wrong, and that made me even more anxious. So I was always the worst apprentice at the kiln."
The Daoist said calmly, "There's an old saying—'A master can lead you to the door, but cultivation is your own affair.' But if the master never intends to lead you through that door, how can you possibly begin your cultivation?"
Chen Ping'an shook his head. "I've always been clumsy. Not just compared to Liu Xianyang—compared to any apprentice. It's no wonder Master Yao doesn't think highly of me."
The Daoist suddenly smiled. "Chen Ping'an, do you have any idea how hard it is to grasp the meaning of a 'steady heart'? It's not something easily understood. Don't underestimate yourself."
Chen Ping'an shook his head again. "It's like catching fish in a shallow stream. I stand in water barely reaching my knees and bend down to catch one—that's catching a fish. But some people are good swimmers. They dive into the deep and stay under for a long time before surfacing with one. Both catch fish, but it's not the same, is it?"
The Daoist burst into laughter and made no comment. Suddenly, he said, "We can save her now."
Chen Ping'an stood still, puzzled. The Daoist blinked. "Why are you frozen? Carry the girl to the bed inside!"
Still unmoving, Chen Ping'an asked, "Then what?"
"Of course we first change her into clean clothes, then head to the apothecary for some restorative herbs. At that point, I'll take over."
Chen Ping'an's face darkened. "And when she wakes up… will she beat me to death?"
The Daoist declared confidently, "Nonsense! You're her savior. No one could be so heartless!"
Chen Ping'an remained silent. The Daoist coughed, suddenly less certain. "Probably not?"
Chen Ping'an sighed. "There's a girl next door—Zhi Gui. Can we ask her to help?"
The Daoist shook his head. "That's exactly where the problem lies."
Chen Ping'an didn't press. He squatted down, scratching his head.
The Daoist asked, "Isn't there something you'd like to ask me? I might not answer everything, but I'll try."
Chen Ping'an exhaled deeply, rose to his feet, and said: "..."