After hoisting the basket onto his back, Chen Ping'an stepped ashore and made his way toward the Azure Ox Ridge. He wasn't sure if it was merely an illusion, but the boy felt as though the creek's water level had dropped slightly. As he neared the blue-hued cliff face, he abruptly halted—across the stream stood several figures, their appearances so vivid and distinct, it was as though every line and detail had been etched into crystal.
It wasn't due to the star-speckled sky, but rather the creature atop the Azure Ox's back—a snow-white stag, translucent and radiant, exuding delicate threads of pure white light that resembled water weeds swaying in a stream. The stag lowered its majestic head as a little girl, clad in a bright red cotton jacket, tiptoed with all her might, reaching up to caress its antlers.
Beside her stood a young man and woman garbed in Daoist robes. Perhaps due to the white stag's glow, their skin appeared more lustrous than freshly fallen snow—immaculate and translucent. Compared to the townsfolk, who seemed like clay figures molded from earth, these two outsiders were like porcelain masterpieces, fired to perfection—utterly worlds apart. Though their robes shared similarities with those worn by Daoist Lu, who manned the fortune-telling stall in town, subtle distinctions marked every detail. Most notably, their Daoist crowns were not the lotus crowns like Lu's, but rather shaped like fish tails.
The straw-sandaled boy stood frozen, transfixed. The man and woman by the stag seemed like immortals who had just stepped out from a divine scroll—beings who, at any moment, could ascend to the heavens, pluck stars, or capture moons as easily as reaching out a hand.
Two others stood a little further off. One of them Chen Ping'an recognized—it was the swordsmith Master Ruan's daughter. The girl in green carried no food parcel this time; she held a small embroidered cloth bearing a few exquisite, delicate pastries. She looked down, hesitant and uncertain, unable to decide which treat to eat first. Beside her stood a man in his thirties, a longsword strapped to his back, a strange ornament hanging from his waist.
As Chen Ping'an laid eyes on them, nearly everyone else seemed to sense the sudden presence of the boy in straw sandals. The young Daoist nun appeared surprised. She bent down to rub the red-jacketed girl's head, gestured toward Chen Ping'an, and whispered something softly. The little girl perked up her ears and widened her eyes, peering carefully in his direction. Once she recognized the boy, she began to chatter away like beans spilling from a bamboo tube, likely explaining to the white stag's master who Chen Ping'an was.
And Chen Ping'an, in that moment, recognized the eight- or nine-year-old girl. He had first seen her before heading to the dragon kiln, in the alley of Mud Bottle Lane—a tiny girl with twin buns, swift as the wind, darting through the streets with a paper kite in hand and legs like slender bamboo rods. That vivid image had remained etched in his memory.
They had crossed paths a few more times since. Once, he'd caught her tossing pebbles into Iron Lock Well. Startled by his sudden appearance, she had bolted in fear, only to return moments later upon realizing she'd left behind her candied hawthorn. Her hasty return had ended in a fall. Scraping herself off the ground, she grabbed the candied treat, yanked out a wobbly tooth without a word, tucked it into her pocket, and resumed her escape—no tears, no complaint.
He last saw her one autumn dusk the previous year, amidst a field overgrown with weeds and broken statues. She was chasing crickets, tumbling and leaping through the tall grass. Upon seeing him, she'd clearly recognized him too—then fled like a gust of wind.
Later, Gu Can told him that this grubby little girl, despite appearing like a wild child left to fend for herself, actually belonged to the prestigious Li family on Fulou Street—not a servant, but of the main household. For some unknown reason, she simply preferred to roam freely, and her family didn't stop her. Gu Can had spoken of her with a mix of pride and scorn, saying she was fast but hopelessly foolish. Once, they'd caught fish together in the stream. She'd spent the entire afternoon only to catch a single crab, which had latched onto her finger with its pincer. Gu Can had recounted the story while laughing on Chen Ping'an's wooden bed, rolling with mirth, saying she even proudly flaunted the crab like it was a grand victory, despite being on the verge of tears from the pain.
The handsome young Daoist glanced at the white stag and spoke with a wry smile to the young Daoist nun, "Senior Sister He, I warned you not to spoil it too much. It's only been a few days, and that little illusion trick doesn't even restrict its movement. But you wouldn't listen, and now it's been caught red-handed by a mortal. What now?"
The Daoist nun, beautiful enough to topple cities, merely smiled after hearing the child's explanation and said, "Let things take their course."
The young Daoist frowned and looked again toward the boy. After studying him closely, he saw no hint of extraordinary aura in the straw-sandaled youth with the basket on his back. Their sect, though not the foremost in the continent for reading fortunes, sensing qi, or identifying ley lines, was nonetheless quite adept in such arts. That this youth was entrusted with retrieving a powerful protective artifact and would later return it to the higher sect proved he was no ordinary person. Still, the Daoist, convinced of his own keen judgment, saw nothing worth noting in Chen Ping'an, and thus dismissed the notion of recruiting him into their ranks.
Their sect was one of the three great Daoist sects of Eastern Baoping Continent—its prestige unrivaled. He and Senior Sister He had descended the mountain this time with the honor of selecting one true disciple each—a privilege rarely granted, and one not to be squandered. Everyone in the sect knew that Senior Sister He had chosen to begin her cultivation anew, so her casual "let things take their course" might very well be a sign of intent to take on a disciple.
He and He Xiaoliang were hailed as the "golden boy and jade maiden" of Eastern Baoping's Daoist world—geniuses among the cultivators, revered by even mortal kings as if they were nobility. Their ceremonial rites matched those afforded to true sovereigns of great nations. Both were widely regarded as the most likely to ascend to the realm of the Five Supremes.
As the young Daoist nun took the little girl's hand and descended the Azure Ox's back, the stag followed closely behind, now revealing a form far more intelligent than any mere beast. The Daoist youth was not the only one left astonished. The martial giant—the one bearing the tiger tally and the sword—also showed a rare expression of surprise.
Chen Ping'an felt a headache blooming. He truly did not wish to get entangled with these immortals from beyond the town, for he knew well—these celestial beings' whims could determine a mortal's fate in an instant. And with his luck being what it was, he'd rather not take that risk.
Still, he did not flee. Instead, he took a few steps forward, just enough to maintain appearances. From the sidelines, he would not seem rude.
The white stag trotted over, circled the straw-sandaled youth once, then gently nuzzled against his worn, patched robe. When it returned to its mistress's side, she caressed its back, and in the blink of an eye, it transformed into a stately steed.
Calling a deer a horse.
The young Daoist nun looked toward Chen Ping'an and, with a soft sigh and a smile, spoke a single sentence. Then she turned to the little girl in red. The girl interpreted the words into the town's dialect and timidly said, "Sister He said, 'You are one who cherishes fortune. A pity our fates are thin—we are not destined to walk the Dao together.'"
Chen Ping'an was left speechless, not knowing how to reply without sounding rude. Carrying his basket, barefoot in straw sandals, trousers rolled, the youth stood…