At dusk, as Chen Ping'an made his way back to the town and passed the East Gate, the slovenly gatekeeper was still humming a tune, just reaching the line: "Not a moment of time should be taken lightly, for riches and glory are but fleeting dreams." Perhaps startled by the hurried footsteps of the straw-sandaled youth, the man opened his eyes just in time to meet the boy's gaze as he dashed through the gate. Recognizing the notorious debt-collector, the man's spirits plummeted, and he waved his hand impatiently.
"Shoo, shoo! Your time's not even worth a damn feather. Riches and glory? If you ever get even a whiff of either, light a whole incense stick in gratitude!"
As Chen Ping'an ran past, he raised his hand high, fingers spread wide, and shook it vigorously—clearly reminding the gatekeeper of the five copper coins that still tied them in a thread of karmic obligation.
The man spat on the ground with disgust. "What a damn little pest."
The boy's figure soon vanished from sight. The man lifted his head to gaze at the vast, cloudless blue sky, clear as a layer of fine glaze. Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he clicked his tongue and muttered, "Mister Qi once recited a line of poetry… something about fine things and colored glass?"
Just then, a bullock cart slowly rolled out of the town. Sitting on it was the famed young scholar in green robes, Zhao Yao, while the driver was a dull-eyed, expressionless middle-aged man.
The gatekeeper immediately waved and called out with a hearty laugh, "Yao boy, don't rush off just yet! There's a phrase stuck in my belly—I only remember something about 'fine things' and 'colored glaze'—but the rest just won't come to me. You're a man of learning. Enlighten me!"
Zhao Yao, radiant with youthful vigor and cradling his travel bundle, replied with a clear voice: "The finest things in the world are never built to last—rosy clouds scatter, and colored glass shatters."
The man gave a hearty thumbs-up. "Well said, Yao boy. Your learning's top-notch! When you make something of yourself, don't forget to visit this old fellow. Who knows, you might even take your master's place someday, teaching the town's children—wouldn't that be grand?"
Zhao Yao paused, then cupped his fists and smiled. "May your words prove true, elder."
Overjoyed, the man pulled a small embroidered pouch from his sleeve, gave his wrist a twist, and tossed it high to the scholarly youth. With a wide grin, he said, "You wrote all those couplets for us through the years without complaint—always generous and never weary of our pestering. I've got a good eye for people. Here, a little something for the road. Safe travels!"
Zhao Yao caught the pouch quickly and replied, "Until we meet again!"
The man smiled and nodded, waving at the departing cart, though he quietly murmured to himself, "That'll be a tough one."
While the boy in straw sandals headed deeper into the town, Zhao Yao's bullock cart rolled toward the wider world beyond. The two crossed paths—one walking into the familiar, the other leaving it behind.
Sitting atop a tree stump, the man counted on his fingers. "The boy from the Great Sui with the golden carp in the bamboo basket… the widow Gu's son from Clay Bottle Alley… and now Yao boy from Fortune Street—that makes three. But more are bound to come, each crashing in like waves. What's left for the rest of us? Scraps and broken dreams?"
He scratched his wrinkled, sun-darkened cheek and chuckled. "Maybe it's time I found a dutiful apprentice—someone to knead my shoulders and thump my back. Best if she's a pretty little thing, with a fair face and long legs. Hah, even if the face isn't much, long legs are a must."
The town's most notorious bachelor reclined, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky with a secret smile. Thinking such pleasant thoughts, all his worries seemed to melt away, and the world felt suddenly full of beauty.
Before leaving Clay Bottle Alley, Chen Ping'an had already agreed to meet Liu Xianyang and the girl in black at Liu's house. When he arrived, the door was unlocked. He pushed it open and walked into the main hall, where he saw Liu Xianyang meticulously cleaning an old family heirloom—a set of armor—with a soft cotton cloth.
The girl in black, Miss Ning, had once more donned her translucent veiled hat, with a sword at her waist and the snowy-white scabbard of her long blade casually dangling from her hand. For some reason, Chen Ping'an couldn't shake the feeling that she rather disliked the sword.
On the table lay the Liu family's famed heirloom armor. To Chen Ping'an, it looked hideous—like a lump of scorched coal. The massive breastplate was knotted with iron ridges that resembled gnarled tree tumors. Five deep claw marks slashed across the armor, from the left shoulder diagonally down to the right hip.
The two boys had long pondered what kind of fearsome beast could have inflicted such damage, but they could never imagine it. Perhaps that was part of the reason why the imperial court later banned all entry into certain mountain ranges for woodcutting or charcoal-burning. Chen Ping'an and Liu Xianyang had almost never violated that edict.
What puzzled Chen Ping'an more was that despite its grotesque appearance, Liu Xianyang genuinely revered the armor as a treasured heirloom. Even with their close friendship, Chen had only ever been allowed one brief look at it—less than half a stick of incense's time—before it was carefully returned to its red-lacquered box for safekeeping.
But now, watching Liu Xianyang steal frequent glances at the black-clad girl, Chen Ping'an understood. Liu Xianyang had always been like this—whenever a pretty girl was around, he couldn't help but show off.
Back in the day, during summer at the covered bridge, he would often bathe shirtless in the stream. If any young village girls passed by with rice seedlings or leading a cow, he would immediately leap onto the biggest boulder, cough loudly (as Song Jixin put it, "to announce his presence to the heavens"), and then dive in with great flair.
Chen Ping'an, with his keen eye, had long noticed the girls' reactions: some rolled their eyes, some muttered complaints, and most simply ignored him. None ever looked impressed or enchanted.
Of course, all that changed when Liu Xianyang fell for Song Jixin's maid, Zhi Gui. From then on, it seemed as though no other girl existed in his world.
Even now, showing off in front of the aloof sword-wielding girl, it wasn't so much romantic interest as pride. He simply didn't want her to look down on him—didn't want her to think that just because she carried a blade, she could act like the king of heaven himself. That suit of armor? It was one of a kind in their whole town.
After Chen Ping'an arrived, the veiled girl scanned the room and finally laid her sword across an old painted cabinet adorned with floral inlays. The lacquer was chipped and cracked. To make room for the blade, she moved aside jars and bottles and discovered a hidden inlay on the cabinet's back wall—a golden laurel tree beneath a full moon.
She turned and said, "The sword stays here. Don't touch it. I'm not joking—bear the consequences if you do."
Liu Xianyang was fully absorbed in polishing the armor. He occasionally blew warm breath on it and rubbed it gently with his sleeve, clearly lost in the joy of it.
Chen Ping'an promised, "We won't touch it."
The girl added, "This cabinet may not be worth much, but the inlay of the laurel tree and moon—don't sell it off carelessly."
Without even glancing up, Liu Xianyang replied, "Never liked the thing. If you fancy it, peel it off and take it."
Of course, the black-clad girl wouldn't commit such vandalism. She was simply curious. "What's it made of?"
Liu Xianyang glanced back. "Old stuff—hundreds of years old. Not even my grandfather knew exactly."
Chen Ping'an spoke softly, "It's probably made from pebbles collected from the creek. There are many colors, but Liu Xianyang's elders must've only picked the golden ones—crushed them and glued them together. We call that kind of stone 'snake-gall stones.'"
The girl asked, "Are they common in the stream?"
Chen Ping'an smiled. "If you like them, I can fill a whole basket for you in a day. Around here, no one really cares for them—except Gu Can. He loves them and often collects them alone."
The girl sighed deeply and looked intently at the poor boy from Clay Bottle Alley...