When Lin Zixuan arrived at the locust tree with Yuechan, he found it thronged with people. Nearly a hundred had gathered in its shade. He unfolded the stool he’d brought from home and sat down, even as more children arrived, tugging their parents along to join the spectacle. Lin Zixuan and Yuechan stood side by side at the edge of the tree’s shadow. He watched an old man at the foot of the trunk, a large white bowl in one hand, the other clasped behind his back. The man’s expression was fierce as he boomed, "I have just spoken of the great dragon vein’s path. Now, I will tell you of the true dragons. This is a tale for the ages. “Some three thousand years ago, a mighty deity walked the earth. He first cultivated in a hallowed, hidden paradise, and upon attaining the great Dao, he set out to roam the world with his sword. Wielding his three-foot mettle, his power was unrivaled. For reasons unknown, he held a vendetta against dragonkind, and for three full centuries he hunted them, ceasing only when not a single true dragon was left in the world. After this, he vanished without a trace. “Some say he ascended to the highest plane where the Great Dao was born, to debate the Dao with its very patriarch. Others claim he traveled to the distant western pure land of Western Paradise, to recite the sutras with the Golden Sovereign himself. And there are those who whisper that he stands eternal guard at the gates of the underworld, preventing vengeful spirits from plaguing the mortal realm…” He spoke with such passion that flecks of spittle flew from his lips, but the townsfolk around him stared back with blank, uncomprehending faces. “What’s a three-foot mettle?” Yuechan asked, her curiosity piqued. “A sword,” Lin Zixuan replied with a smile. “This old man is so full of himself,” Yuechan grumbled. “He doesn’t even use plain words!” A smirk played on Lin Zixuan’s lips as he watched the storyteller. “Barely anyone in this town can read,” he said. “His efforts are utterly wasted here.” “What is a blessed paradise?” Yuechan asked. “Can anyone really live for three hundred years? And isn’t the underworld for people who have already died?” The questions stumped Lin Zixuan, but not wanting to appear ignorant, he waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all nonsense. He’s just spitting out things he read in some obscure book to trick a bunch of uneducated country folk.” Just then, Lin Zixuan felt the old man’s gaze fall upon him. It was impossible to say if it was intentional, and it was gone in an instant, but he was sharp enough to have caught it. He thought nothing more of it, dismissing it as a coincidence. Yuechan tilted her head back to look up at the ancient locust tree, squinting against the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves. Lin Zixuan turned to her and found himself suddenly captivated. In profile, her face was just beginning to shed the last of its childish roundness, a far cry from the scrawny, hollow-cheeked girl of his memories. According to town tradition, when a woman married, a woman of complete fortune—one whose parents and children were all still living—would be invited to shave the fine hairs from the bride’s face and trim her bangs and temples. The ritual was called “face opening,” or sometimes “brow elevating.” Lin Zixuan had also read in a book of a custom not practiced in their town. And so, when Yuechan had turned twelve, he’d bought the finest new wine in town and retrieved a porcelain vase he kept hidden away. The vase’s glaze was a stunning, delicate shade of greengage. He had poured the wine into it, sealed it carefully with clay, and buried it in the earth. Lin Zixuan said suddenly, “My scholar ancestors would have called Zhao An a piece of rotten wood that can’t be carved, or a pile of manure that can’t be built up into a wall. But I suppose he’s done one meaningful thing in his life.” Yuechan said nothing, only lowering her head. He could see her eyelashes tremble. Lin Zixuan continued, as if speaking to himself now. “Zhao An isn’t a bad person, just too rigid. He’s inflexible. That’s why when he became a potter, no matter how hard he toiled, it was destined he would never produce a piece with any real life or soul. It’s also why Old Man Sun never took a liking to him. “The old man had a sharp eye; he knew Zhao An wasn’t cut out for it. That’s your ‘rotten wood that can’t be carved.’ As for being a ‘pile of manure that can’t be molded into a wall’… that just means someone like Zhao An is destined for poverty. You could dress him in the emperor’s dragon robes and he’d still be a worthless country bumpkin.” A self-deprecating look crossed his face. He sighed. “In truth, I’m even more pitiful than he is.” Yuechan didn’t know how to comfort him. The two of them had long been a favorite topic of gossip among the wealthy families on Baifu Deer Street and Peach Leaf Alley, thanks primarily to Master Lin, Lin Zixuan’s illegitimate father. The town had no great figures and little excitement, so the kiln supervision official sent by the imperial court naturally became its most prominent man, like a powerful judge from a stage play. Of the dozens of officials assigned here over the years, Master Lin had been the most popular. He wasn’t like the haughty officials before him. He didn’t shut himself away in his manor to cultivate or study. Instead, he personally oversaw every matter related to the imperial ware, becoming more like a commoner than the potters themselves. In his decade here, the years had weathered his scholarly complexion to a deep tan, and he dressed no differently than the men who worked the fields. He never put on airs, but unfortunately, the imperial ware fired in the town’s dragon kilns was never up to par. Whether in shape, color, or glaze, the quality actually declined, baffling the old kiln masters. In the end, the imperial court must have found his efforts commendable, if not his results, for the official summons from the Ministry of Personnel that called him back to the capital included a decent evaluation. Before leaving, Master Lin used all his savings to fund the construction of a covered bridge. Only after his convoy departed was it discovered that a certain child had not gone with him. The town’s most affluent clans immediately understood the implication. It could be said Master Lin had accumulated a great deal of goodwill in the town. Coupled with the fact that his successor looked after Lin Zixuan, the boy wanted for nothing in food, clothing, or shelter, and lived a life of ease. As for his maidservant, now named Yuechan, her origins were a matter of debate. The residents of Porcelain Bowl Alley claimed she was a little beggar from out of town who had arrived one snowy winter day. She had collapsed at the entrance to Lin Zixuan’s courtyard and would have surely died if not found in time. The old caretaker at the official manor, however, told a different story. He insisted with great certainty that she was an orphan Master Lin had purchased long ago as a companion for his son, a way to compensate for leaving the boy behind. Whatever the truth, the moment Lin Zixuan named the maidservant Yuechan, it left no doubt as to the truth of his relationship with Master Lin. For every wealthy person in town knew that the characters for “Yuechan” were carved into Master Lin’s favorite inkstone. Snapping out of his reverie, Lin Zixuan broke into a bright smile. “For some reason, I just thought of that stubborn four-legged snake. Think about it, Yuechan. I tossed that thing into Zhao An’s yard, but it still crawled back to our house. Can you imagine what a miserable sty Zhao An’s place must be, if even a little lizard wouldn’t stay there?” Yuechan considered this carefully. “Perhaps some things are simply a matter of fate.” Lin Zixuan gave her a thumbs-up. “Exactly!” he said happily. “Zhao An is just a man with no fortune. He should be grateful just to be alive.” Yuechan remained silent. Lin Zixuan mused aloud, “When we leave town, Zhao An will watch the house. Do you think he’d steal what’s been left in his care?” “Surely not, Young Master,” Yuechan replied. “Oh? You know what it means to steal something left in your care?” he asked with a grin. Yuechan blinked innocently. “Doesn’t it just mean what it says?” Lin Zixuan smiled and cast his gaze south, a trace of longing on his face. “I’ve heard there are more books in the capital than there are plants in our entire town!” At that moment, the storyteller’s voice rose to a crescendo. “There are no true dragons left in this world, but their kin—flood dragons, drakes, and hornless dragons—still exist among us, and perhaps…” The old man paused for dramatic effect, but his audience remained impassive, oblivious to his craft. He could only forge ahead. “Perhaps they are hidden in plain sight! The Daoist deities call them dragons masquerading among mortals!” Lin Zixuan let out a bored yawn. Suddenly, a single, vibrant green locust leaf fluttered down from above, landing squarely on his forehead. Lin Zixuan plucked it off, idly twirling it by its stem between his fingers. As Zhao An approached the great locust tree, debating whether to go to the eastern gate to demand the five copper coins he was owed, he saw another leaf begin its descent. He quickened his pace, reaching out to catch it, but it danced past his fingertips, carried away on a gentle breeze. Agile on his feet, Zhao An sidestepped to intercept it, but the leaf continued to elude him, spiraling in the air. He refused to give up, lunging a few more times, but in the end, the leaf drifted to the ground. He sighed in frustration. An azure-robed boy, a known slacker from the private school, walked past Zhao An just then. A locust leaf settled on his shoulder, and he continued on, completely unaware. Meanwhile, Zhao An set off toward the eastern town gate. Even if he came away empty-handed, it was worth reminding the gatekeeper of his debt. Over at a distant fortune-telling stall, the young Daoist priest murmured to himself, “Who dares say that fortune is not impartial?”

Chapter 5: A Tale for the Ages