If he hadn’t seen Baifu Deer Street and Peach Leaf Alley, perhaps Zhao An would never have realized just how dark and cramped his own Porcelain Bowl Alley was. Yet, the thought didn’t dishearten him; instead, it brought a strange sense of comfort. He smiled and stretched out his arms, his wingspan just wide enough to brush the earthen walls on either side. He remembered a time, only three or four years ago, when he could only touch them with the very tips of his fingers.
Returning home, he found the courtyard gate wide open. A thief, he thought, his heart jumping, and he rushed inside. But instead of a ransacked home, he found a tall, broad-shouldered young man sitting on the doorstep. He was leaning back against the locked main door, yawning with boredom, but shot to his feet the moment he saw Zhao An, as if the step had suddenly become searing hot. He lunged forward, grabbed Zhao An’s arm in a vise-like grip, and dragged him toward the room. "Open the door!" he hissed. "I have something important to tell you!"
Zhao An couldn't struggle free and was half-pulled, half-pushed to the door. The young man was two years older and far more powerfully built. Once the door was unlocked, he shoved Zhao An aside, scrambled onto the plank bed, and pressed his ear tightly against the wall, listening intently to the sounds from next door.
"What are you doing, Wei Junjie?" Zhao An asked, rubbing his arm.
Wei Junjie ignored him. After seven or eight minutes, he finally relaxed, a peculiar mixture of relief and disappointment on his face as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Only then did he notice what Zhao An was doing. The younger boy was crouched in the doorway, leaning forward to burn a slip of yellow paper in the flame of a candle stub. The candle was barely a thumb’s length high, and he made sure all the ash from the paper drifted outside the threshold. Wei Junjie thought he could hear a low murmur, but he was too far away to make out the words.
Wei Junjie was Old Man Sun’s best disciple. As for Zhao An, Old Man Sun had never truly accepted him, citing his mediocre aptitude. Local tradition was strict: no master-disciple relationship was official until the student offered a formal cup of tea and the master accepted and drank it.
The two boys weren't neighbors; their ancestral homes were on opposite sides of town. Wei Junjie had brought Zhao An to Old Man Sun because of their shared past. Wei Junjie had once been the town's most notorious delinquent. While his grandfather was alive, there was at least someone to keep him in line, but after the old man fell ill and passed away, Wei Junjie became a terror to his neighbors.
He was only twelve or thirteen at the time, but already built like a young man. One day, he ran afoul of a group of boys from the Lu Family.
They cornered him in Porcelain Bowl Alley and beat him savagely. They were just boys, not thinking of consequences, and soon Wei Junjie was on the ground, coughing up blood. The dozen or so families in Porcelain Bowl Alley, all poor potters who worked at the small dragon kilns, were too afraid to intervene.
At the time, not only was Lin Zixuan unafraid, he was perched on a nearby wall, watching the brutal scene with undisguised glee.
In the end, only one person did anything. A scrawny, underfed child slipped out of his yard, ran to the mouth of the alley, and screamed at the top of his lungs, "Help! Someone's going to die in here!"
The word "die" shocked the Lu Family boys back to their senses. They looked down at Wei Junjie, who was a bloody mess on the ground and barely breathing. Fear finally struck them. After a panicked exchange of glances, they fled down the other end of the alley.
But after that, Wei Junjie wasn't grateful to the child who saved him. Instead, he made a habit of coming over to bully him. The child was an orphan, and stubbornly refused to cry no matter what Wei Junjie did, which only made him angrier.
One year, seeing that the little orphan looked as though he might not survive the winter, Wei Junjie was finally struck by a pang of conscience. He had already become Old Man Sun’s disciple, so he took the boy to the dragon kiln beside Treasure Creek.
They walked west out of town, trekking dozens of kilometers over rugged mountain trails in a heavy snowstorm. To this day, Wei Junjie couldn’t understand how the emaciated boy, with legs as thin as bamboo shoots, had managed to make it all the way to the kiln.
Although Old Man Sun took Zhao An in, he treated the two boys as differently as night and day. Wei Junjie, his prized disciple, was not spared beatings or curses, but anyone could see the old man's good intentions behind the harshness.
Once, for example, Old Man Sun went too far and opened a bleeding gash on Wei Junjie’s forehead. The tough young man didn’t think much of it, but Old Man Sun was consumed with remorse. He was too proud and stern to apologize or ask about the wound directly.
He paced his room for nearly the entire night, restless with worry. Finally, he swallowed his pride and called Zhao An over, giving him a bottle of ointment to deliver to Wei Junjie.
Over the years, Zhao An had always envied Wei Junjie.
It wasn't his remarkable aptitude, his strength, or his charisma. It was his fearlessness. Wei Junjie seemed at home everywhere, never fazed by anything, and never felt that being alone was a bad thing.
He could make friends anywhere he went, quickly becoming sworn brothers with strangers over cups of wine and drinking games. Because his grandfather had been so ill, Wei Junjie had been forced to be self-reliant from a young age, making him a natural leader among the other children.
He was good at everything: catching snakes, fishing, raiding birds’ nests, making bows, fishing rods, slingshots, birdcages… there was nothing he couldn't do. He was the undisputed king when it came to catching catfish and eels in the irrigation channels between the farm fields.
When Wei Junjie had dropped out of the local private school, the teacher, Mr. Xu, had visited his grandfather’s sickbed and offered to teach the boy for free.
But Wei Junjie refused to go back. He told the teacher he was only interested in earning money, not in an education. When Mr. Xu then offered him a paid position as a scholarly attendant, Wei Junjie turned that down too.
As it turned out, Wei Junjie was doing just fine. Even with Old Man Sun gone and the dragon kilns shut down, he had quickly caught the eye of the blacksmith in Hidden Dragon Alley. He was now busy helping build a new forge in the southern part of town.
Wei Junjie watched as Zhao An blew out the candle and set it on the table. "Did you hear any strange sounds this morning?" he asked. "Like…"
Zhao An sat on a bench, waiting.
Wei Junjie hesitated. In a rare display of awkwardness, a faint blush rose on his cheeks. "Like cats in the spring?"
"Are you saying Lin Zixuan was imitating a cat? Or are you talking about Yuechan?" Zhao An asked.
Wei Junjie rolled his eyes, giving up on someone so oblivious. He placed his palms flat on the plank bed, bent his elbows, and then pushed up, lifting his entire body off the bed so that his feet dangled above the ground.
He pursed his lips and sneered, "What kind of name is Yuechan anyway? Her real name is Wang Zhu. That little Lin brat has always been a show-off, even when he was a pipsqueak. He probably saw those characters somewhere and just slapped them on her without even knowing if they were auspicious. Wang Zhu must have had some terrible karma in her past life to end up as his servant."
Zhao An didn’t reply.
Still holding himself up with his arms, Wei Junjie huffed, "You really don't get it, do you? Why do you think Wang Zhu never spoke to you again after you helped her with her water bucket that one time? It’s because that petty little Lin brat got jealous. He probably threatened to break her legs and dump her body in Porcelain Bowl Alley if she ever talked to you again."
Zhao An could no longer stay silent. "Lin Zixuan doesn't treat her badly."
The words infuriated Wei Junjie. "How would you know? You can't even tell good from bad!"
Zhao An's eyes were clear and steady. "Sometimes, when she's working in the yard, Lin Zixuan sits on a stool and reads from that Local County Chronicles book. She often looks over at him and smiles."
Wei Junjie was so taken aback that his concentration wavered.
Suddenly, with a sharp crack, the thin plank bed split down the middle. Unable to support his weight any longer, it gave way, and he landed hard on the floor.
Zhao An put his head in his hands and squatted down with a long, exasperated sigh.
Wei Junjie stood up, scratching his head. He offered no apology, just aimed a playful kick at Zhao An's side. "Get over it," he grinned. "It's just a crappy bed. I'm here with a piece of good news for you, something worth way more than this piece of junk!"
At that, Zhao An looked up.
A smug expression spread across Wei Junjie's face. "Master Tang was passing by the creek to the south and decided he wants to dig a few wells. He's short on help, so I mentioned you. I told him I knew a short kid who's stronger than he looks, and Master Tang agreed. He wants you to go see him in the next couple of days."
Zhao An shot to his feet, about to thank him, but Wei Junjie held up a hand. "Stop. No need to thank me. Just remember I did this for you."
Zhao An could only manage a wry smile.
Wei Junjie’s gaze swept around the small room, taking in the fishing rod leaning in a corner, the slingshot on the windowsill, the wooden bow hanging on the wall. He looked like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it.
He strode toward the door, taking care to step over the patch of ash from the burned paper.
Zhao An watched him go. But just as he reached the courtyard, Wei Junjie suddenly spun around.
He dropped into a low horse stance, shuffled forward a few steps, and threw a heavy, slow-motion punch in Zhao An's direction. Then he straightened up, pulling his fist back. "Master Tang told me in private," he crowed, "that if I practice this fist for a year, I'll be able to kill a man with a single punch!"
Not satisfied, he followed it with a clumsy-looking kick. "And as the saying goes, a good kick to the crotch can kill a drunk donkey!"
Finally, Wei Junjie jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "While he was teaching me, I came up with some of my own theories. I told him about my insights on the 'jumping burin'—you know, Old Man Sun's master technique. Master Tang praised me! Said I'm a once-in-a-generation martial arts talent. You just stick with me, kid, and you'll be set for life!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Junjie saw Yuechan enter the neighboring courtyard. His heroic posture instantly dissolved.
He turned back to Zhao An and said casually, "By the way, when I was passing the old locust tree, I saw an old man set up a new stall. Said he's a storyteller with a bunch of interesting tales. You should go have a look when you're free."
Zhao An nodded. Wei Junjie gave a final wave and left Porcelain Bowl Alley.
Many stories about the unruly young man circulated through town. The one he liked to tell himself was that his ancestor had been a great general, which was why his family possessed a prized suit of heirloom armor.
Zhao An had seen this armor once. It was hideous, covered in bumps and knobs like a toad’s skin, or the gnarled bark of an ancient tree.
Wei Junjie’s peers, however, told a different story. They claimed his ancestor was a deserter who had fled to their town and married into a local family, avoiding capture only by a stroke of dumb luck. They told the tale with such conviction, one might think they had witnessed the man’s flight from the battlefield themselves.
After a moment's thought, Zhao An crouched by his doorstep and gently blew the last of the paper ashes away.
He looked up to see Lin Zixuan and Yuechan on the other side of the wall. "Wanna come play by the locust tree?" Lin Zixuan called out.
"I'll pass," Zhao An replied.
"What a spoilsport," Lin Zixuan grumbled.
Then his expression brightened as he turned to Yuechan. "Let's go, Yuechan. I'll buy you a whole temple jar of peach blossom powder."
"Just a small cricket jar's worth is enough," she said shyly.
Lin Zixuan clasped his hands behind his back and puffed out his chest, striding forward with his head held high. "Our Lin Family has lived in luxury for generations! It would bring shame upon my ancestors to be so stingy!"
Zhao An sat on his doorstep, rubbing his forehead. When he wasn't spouting nonsense, Lin Zixuan wasn't so bad. At times like this, however, if Wei Junjie had been there, he would have muttered about wanting to smash a brick into the back of Lin Zixuan’s head.
Leaning against the doorframe, Zhao An thought about tomorrow. It would probably be just like today. And the day after that would be just like tomorrow. He imagined living out his entire life in this cycle, until he died, just like Old Man Sun.
Everyone lived off the earth their whole life, only to be devoured by it in the end.
When you closed your eyes for the last time, maybe the next time you opened them, it would be in another life.
Zhao An looked down at the straw sandals on his feet. A slow smile spread across his face.
Stepping on smooth bluestone was a different feeling from stepping in wet mud. A much better feeling.
After leaving the alley, Wei Junjie was passing the fortune teller's stall when the young daoist priest called out to him. "Come, young man! I see your complexion is like a fire fed by oil. It is not a good omen! But do not fear, I have a way to help you avert disaster!"
Wei Junjie was surprised. He knew this priest always told fortunes based on drawn sticks. Accurate or not, he'd never seen the man actively solicit customers before. Had the closing of the dragon kilns hurt his business so badly that he was now desperate?
He chuckled in disdain. "The way you help me is by having me give you money, right? Piss off! You'll never get a single copper coin from me!"
The young daoist remained calm. "Everyone hopes for fortune, but who can predict life's troubles?" he called after him. "People only turn to the gods when things go wrong, but a safe life requires the regular burning of incense."
Wei Junjie whirled around and stormed back toward the stall. "You want me to burn incense?" he scoffed, looming over the table. "How about I burn your stall down first!"
The priest, genuinely frightened, scrambled up and fled, abandoning his post.
Wei Junjie stood by the stall, laughing at the man's cowardice. He spotted the bamboo tube on the table and casually knocked it over. The fortune-telling sticks spilled out, fanning across the tabletop.
He pointed at the daoist, who had stopped a safe distance away. "From now on, I see you, I beat you!" he threatened.
The young daoist priest could only cup his fist and bow, begging for mercy.
Satisfied, Wei Junjie finally left him alone.
Only when he was long gone did the daoist dare to return. He sighed, righting the bamboo tube. "These are difficult times. People are not as kind as they used to be. It is getting harder and harder to make a living."
Just then, his eyes lit up. He quickly shut them and began to recite, "One blames external distractions for spoiling their peace, but the true distraction comes from within. Achievements are but lily pads on water, blown about by the wind."
The pair of youths passing by heard him clearly, but showed no sign of stopping.
The daoist priest cracked an eye open. Seeing them about to pass, he slammed a palm on his table and raised his voice. "Champion scholars and prime ministers were once common men! With great knowledge comes great renown and confidence!"
Lin Zixuan and Yuechan walked on without a pause.
The daoist’s shoulders slumped. "It's over," he murmured to himself.
Suddenly, Lin Zixuan turned and, with a bright smile, tossed a copper coin from across the path. "Thanks for your blessings!"
The daoist scrambled to catch it. He opened his hand and saw it was the smallest denomination possible. His mood did not improve.
He placed the coin on the table. In a flash of green and yellow, an oriole swooped down, pecked gently at the coin, and picked it up in its beak. It looked up at the daoist with bright, intelligent eyes that seemed almost human.
The daoist sighed. "Go on. This is not the place for you."
The oriole was gone in a blur.
The daoist priest swept his gaze across the town. His eyes finally settled on the tall memorial archway in the distance. He was facing the plaque that bore the words "Unmatched Aura." "What a pity," he mused.
He then added, "If I could take that outside to sell, surely it would fetch at least eight hundred to a thousand taels of silver."