The town wasn't large, home to fewer than seven hundred families, and Zhao An knew most of the impoverished ones. The wealthy clans, however, were as distant as the clouds to a poor boy from the hills. He had never even set foot in the wide, spacious alleys where they lived clustered together. Those streets were paved with massive bluestone slabs, ensuring no one would ever have to slosh through mud, even on the rainiest days. After centuries under the tread of people, horses, and carriages, the high-quality stone had been polished to a mirror-smooth sheen. Lu, Li, Zhao, and Lin were the most prominent surnames in town, the same families who had pooled their funds to establish the private school. Each owned two or three of the large dragon kilns outside the town, and every kiln supervision official in memory had lived on their streets. It was no coincidence that nearly all ten of the letters Zhao An had been tasked with delivering were addressed to these renowned, affluent clans. It was only natural. As the saying went, the children of dragons and phoenixes soar in the heavens, while the children of mice can only burrow in the dirt. Only those from privileged backgrounds had the means, and the courage, to travel to faraway places from which they could send letters home. For nine of the ten letters, Zhao An only had to visit two places: Baifu Deer Street and Peach Leaf Alley. The bluestone slabs paving these lanes were as large as bedframes. Stepping onto them for the first time, he felt a pang of unease. His pace slowed unconsciously, a sense of inferiority washing over him, as if his simple straw sandals were soiling the immaculate ground. The first letter was for the Lu Clan, whose ancestor was once granted a jade scepter by the emperor himself. Standing before the gates of the Lu Manor, Zhao An grew more agitated and uncertain with each passing moment. Wealthy families were particular about everything. The manor was immense, flanked by two stone lions as tall as a grown man—an intimidating sight. According to Lin Zixuan, they were meant to ward off malicious spirits. Zhao An had no idea what those were. He was more intrigued by the round stone balls held in each lion’s mouth, wondering how the sculptors had gotten them in there. Forcibly suppressing the urge to reach out and touch one, he climbed the steps and used the bronze lion-head knockers on the doors. A young man emerged almost immediately. Upon hearing Zhao An was there to deliver a letter, the servant pinched a corner of the envelope between two fingers, his face a mask of indifference. He took it, strode back inside, and shut the heavy doors, which were painted with the colorful face of the god of wealth. The rest of the deliveries proved just as uneventful. At a corner of Peach Leaf Alley, at the home of a lesser-known family, Zhao An was met by a benevolent-looking old man of short and slight stature. The man accepted the letter with a warm smile. "You're working hard, young man. Would you like to come in for some rest and a sip of warm water?" Zhao An shook his head with a bashful smile and jogged away. The old man gently tucked the letter into his sleeve. Instead of returning to his courtyard, he lifted his head, his slightly murky eyes gazing into the distance. His gaze swept up, then down, then out to the horizon before returning. He studied the peach trees lining the alley, and a faint smile touched his lips. As the old man turned to leave, a small, brightly-colored oriole landed on the tip of a peach branch, chirping softly. The final letter Zhao An had to deliver was for the teacher at the private school. On the way, he passed a fortune teller’s stall where a young Daoist priest in an old, worn robe sat ramrod-straight behind a small table. On his head, he wore a tall hat shaped like a blooming lotus. Just as Zhao An jogged past, the priest called out, "Don't pass up your fortune, young man! Pick a stick, and I’ll read your fate. I can predict whether good luck or peril awaits you." Zhao An kept jogging, turning only to wave a hand in refusal. The Daoist priest was not so easily dissuaded. He leaned forward, raising his voice. "How about this, young man? I normally charge ten copper coins for a reading, but today, I'll make an exception for you—just three coppers! Of course, if the stick is favorable, you're free to pay a little extra to secure the good luck. Even if you draw the best stick possible, I'll only charge you five. What do you say?" Zhao An had already run some distance, but his pace clearly faltered. The young priest seized the opportunity, rising to his feet. "It's still early, so you'll be my first customer! For that, I’ll do you one better. Sit for a reading, and I'll write up a yellow paper talisman for you and help you pray to your ancestors to accumulate good karma. With my skills, I can't promise you'll be reborn into a wealthy family, but I can certainly try and bless you with a bit of good fortune." Zhao An hesitated, then turned back with a skeptical look and sat on the bench opposite the stall. And so they sat across from one another, the humble priest and the impoverished boy, each as poor as the other. The priest smiled, gesturing with an open hand toward the bamboo tube filled with fortune sticks. But Zhao An didn't reach for it. "I don't want to draw a stick," he said without hesitation. "I just want you to write me a yellow paper talisman. Can you do that?" He recalled that this young, traveling priest had been in town for at least five or six years. He never seemed to age, and he was always friendly. His usual trade was telling fortunes—reading bones, faces, or bamboo sticks—and he sometimes worked as a scribe for those who couldn't write letters. What was interesting was that in the tube on his table were one hundred and eight bamboo sticks, yet in all his years here, no one had ever drawn the best possible stick, nor had anyone ever drawn the worst. It seemed the tube contained only good or neutral fortunes. Because of this, residents were willing to part with ten copper coins for a reading during festivals, purely for the sake of good luck. But no one in real trouble would waste their money here. Still, it would be unfair to call the priest a complete fraud. The town was too small a place. If all he did was cheat people, he would have been run out long ago. The young priest's real forte wasn't fortune-telling; he was better known for his amulet water, which had consistently cured many townspeople of minor ailments over the years. The young priest shook his head. "I don't go back on my word. I promised a fortune reading and a yellow paper talisman for five copper coins." "It's three copper coins," Zhao An argued quietly. "But five if you manage to pull the best stick," the priest chuckled. Having made up his mind, Zhao An reached for the tube, then paused, looking up. "How did you know I have exactly five copper coins on me?" The priest's expression turned serious. "I can see a person's fortune, or lack thereof. I have always been particularly accurate when it comes to matters of wealth." After a moment of thought, Zhao An picked up the tube. The priest smiled. "Don't be nervous, young man. What is meant to be, will be. What is not, cannot be forced. Accepting fate with a peaceful heart is the answer to all things." Zhao An set the tube back down. "How about this?" he asked, his expression earnest. "I'll give you the five copper coins, and I won't draw a stick. Just... put a little more care into the yellow paper talisman than you normally do. Is that possible?" The priest’s smile didn't waver. He considered it, then nodded. "Sure." A set of writing tools was already prepared on the table. The priest carefully asked Zhao An for his parents’ names, birthplaces, and the dates and times of their births. He then took out a slip of yellow paper and quickly inscribed something on it. What he wrote, Zhao An couldn't begin to guess. The young priest set down his brush, picked up the talisman, and blew on the ink to dry it. "Take this home. Stand inside your doorway and burn it just outside." Zhao An accepted the talisman with a solemn expression, stowing it away carefully as if it were a priceless treasure. He placed five copper coins on the table and bowed in gratitude. The priest waved a dismissive hand, and Zhao An immediately hurried off to deliver his final letter. The priest leaned back lazily in his chair. He glanced at the coins, then bent over to scoop them toward him. Just then, the small oriole flew down from the sky and landed on the table. It pecked gently at one of the copper coins before losing interest and flying away. "The oriole wants a flower, but the peach has yet to blossom." After reciting the line of poetry to himself, he flicked his sleeve with a carefree sigh. "If it's not meant to be, there's no point in forcing things." As his sleeve moved, two bamboo sticks clattered out onto the ground. The priest yelped, snatching them up. He glanced around sheepishly and sagged with relief when he saw no one had noticed. He quickly tucked the pair of sticks back into his loose, baggy sleeve. He cleared his throat, put on a serious expression, and waited for his next customer. At the same time, he couldn't help but muse to himself that women were far easier customers. As it turned out, the priest kept two sticks hidden up his sleeve: the best possible fortune and the worst. Both were reserved for a big payout. But he never revealed this to anyone, and Zhao An, of course, was oblivious to such machinations. He jogged lightly toward the private school, which was situated near a lush, vibrant bamboo forest. As he slowed his steps outside the school, the mellow voice of a middle-aged man drifted out. "The radiant sun shines down upon the pristine woolen coat." A chorus of young voices repeated the line in unison: "The radiant sun shines down upon the pristine woolen coat." Zhao An raised his head. The sun was only just beginning to rise in the east. He stood dazed for a moment. When he came to his senses, the children inside were reciting a new passage at their teacher's direction. "At the time of Jingzhe, heaven and earth stir, and all living things begin to flourish. Sleep late and wake early, take regular strolls, do so slowly, for good health and vitality." Standing at the entrance, Zhao An wanted to say something, but held his tongue. The teacher, a middle-aged scholar with graying sideburns, walked gently out of the room. Zhao An offered the letter with both hands. "A letter for you, Sir," he said respectfully. The man accepted it and encouraged him in a warm voice, "If you have some free time, you are welcome to come and listen to my lessons." Zhao An was reluctant to make a promise he couldn't keep. He didn't want to lie to the teacher, so he said nothing. The man smiled, his expression understanding. "It's alright. Knowledge is found in books, but the way to be a good person must be learned outside of them. You can go now." Zhao An let out a faint sigh of relief and took his leave. After a while, though he was already far from the school, some urge made him turn back for one last look. The teacher was still standing at the entrance. Bathed in the morning sun, he seemed less a man than a deity.

Chapter 3: The Bluestone Divide