On the narrow street, the rain gradually subsided. Ning Yao turned to glance at Chen Ping'an, whose breath was steady and demeanor composed. Though she harbored no fondness for Old Man Yang, she could not deny that the elder was a true master beyond the mundane world.
"Old Man Yang is no ordinary man."
Ning Yao paused briefly, then cast her gaze toward the unassuming Yang family shop. The light drizzle on Heavenly Street softened everything like a fine glaze; the apothecary after the rain appeared gentle, its outlines blurred by mist. The young girl made a subtle correction to her words:
"Old Man Yang is truly extraordinary."
Chen Ping'an did not discern the nuance between the two phrases but simply responded with a soft "Hmm," smiling, "I used to think Grandfather Yang was just kind and fair, but now I realize he is a man of hidden depths. Miss Ning, he might be a cultivator, wouldn't you say?"
Ning Yao uttered a phrase Chen Ping'an could not understand.
"Somewhat similar, but actually different. Though for you, it makes little difference."
They had now reached the southern end of the covered bridge. The calamity survived, Chen Ping'an glanced back at the maiden in blue; his youthful heart had transformed greatly. Hearing footsteps behind, she rose shyly and saw standing beside her the straw-sandaled youth and the green-robed girl. The girl with the tied ponytail seemed somewhat uneasy.
Chen Ping'an no longer regarded the girl named Ruan Xiu as an ordinary maiden. Yet the most vivid impression she left was still those four words: "living off the land." Ruan Xiu cast a cautious glance at the cold and heroic Ning Yao and did not dare greet her. Ning Yao, in turn, barely nodded to the petite yet well-nurtured and delicate girl.
The three descended the bridge steps together. Chen Ping'an whispered, "I heard from Mr. Qi that Liu Xianyang is safe."
Ruan Xiu nodded vigorously, "He's awake, he's awake! After the shopkeeper of the Yang family's place saw him, he said the King of Hell showed mercy, sparing Liu Xianyang's life. The old shopkeeper said that as long as he wakes up, it means he's out of danger. I was worried you'd be anxious, so I wanted to tell you immediately. But my father forbade me from crossing the bridge…"
The girl chattered on like a chirping sparrow on a branch, trailing off with a hint of apology. There were things she left unsaid—when Liu Xianyang awoke, she had rushed out the door and come to the bridge's rear, so focused on delivering the news that she forgot her father's prohibition against entering the town. Yet just as she was about to descend from the northern steps, her elusive father caught her by the ear and dragged her back. After pleading, he reluctantly allowed her to wait on the southern steps.
This was not a matter of youthful romance or tender feelings, but a spontaneous kindness. Provided Chen Ping'an did not repel her—in fact, she even felt some fondness or at least recognition toward him. All of this stemmed from their first meeting on the Blue Ox's back, when the youth willingly waded into the water to fish for another. Though his left hand throbbed painfully afterward, he harbored no regret. Later, when Liu Xianyang suffered misfortune, the boy stepped up to take responsibility. Chen Ping'an had accumulated blessings, little by little, through his steady perseverance—blessings the girl had witnessed by chance.
Yet Chen Ping'an missed many opportunities: the golden carp in the fish basket, the loach gifted to Gu Can, the lizard, the falling locust leaves before his eyes—all these lost blessings and fateful moments would never be grasped solely because he cherished blessings.
As Chen Ping'an, Ning Yao, and Ruan Xiu descended the bridge, none of them noticed the droplets of water silently falling into the stream—some clinging beneath the eaves, others gathering on the railings or in hollows along the walkway—all eventually merging into the flowing water.
Meanwhile, in the Yang family's courtyard, a myriad of puddles shimmered like a small pond. Ripples disturbed the muddy surface as a hazy, smoky figure appeared—a hunched old crone whose features were indistinct.
Old Man Yang was unperturbed. Lighting his dry tobacco pipe, he asked,
"What have you discerned?"
The watery apparition swayed like a water plant and rasped,
"That little girl is the sacred daughter of our next saint. Such noble status—why does she favor a boy from the humble alleys?"
Old Man Yang scoffed,
"That's all?"
The crone trembled, falling silent. The elder spoke slowly,
"Now that you have come this far, certain rules must be made clear. So that when you perish, you won't be confused or feel wronged."
He seemed to gather the heavens' secrets, pausing before speaking further.
As the rain ceased, the courtyard water gradually receded, and the crone's figure became ever more blurred.
With pitiful plaintiveness, she murmured,
"Great Immortal, I only wish to see my grandson a few more times."
Yang, interrupted from his thoughts, grew impatient.
"How you think is your own business—I care not."
His gaze clouded, he muttered to himself,
"Consider yourself fortunate. Had you fallen into the hands of the Three Teachings, whether you'd have a next life is questionable; there'd be no present state like this. Buddhism teaches subduing the restless mind—thoughts and vows are critical. Confucianism is somewhat kinder, more about earnest counsel and urging sincere conduct. Taoism elevates the importance of 'how one thinks' even further, viewing inner demons as the greatest adversaries, stricter than Buddhism. Many who stray find themselves lost in side paths because Taoism pursues purity and self-examination. Once trapped by the profound questions left by the Daoist patriarchs, one's mind becomes chaotic..."
Puffing his pipe, the elder was like a hidden dragon beneath the cloud sea. The crone, a native with no formal education, could only barely memorize these abstruse teachings.
Suddenly, Old Man Yang laughed,
"You needn't remember these. We do not concern ourselves with such things."
The crone was stunned.
He repeated,
"We don't care what you think, only what you do."
The crone nervously replied,
"Great Immortal, I will remember."
Yang smirked,
"As a river spirit, you must oversee all river matters—not only to accrue virtue for yourself but also to earn the prayers of the local people. If you can inspire others to build a shrine, craft a golden effigy, and establish a manifestation there, that is your true power. Afterward, you must strive for official recognition—be included in the nation's sacred registers as a mountain, river, or land deity. At minimum, be recorded in local gazetteers. If your shrine is defiled and deemed a den of licentious worship, authorities will order its destruction, the golden effigy toppled. Then your existence will be more miserable than a wandering lost spirit."
The crone dared to ask,
"Great Immortal, since all here is forbidden, what can a humble river spirit like me do besides cling to the hope of prolonged life? The shrine, incense, registers, local gazetteers—what are they really?"
Yang answered,
"That was before. In the future, this place will be downgraded from a small cavern paradise to a humble blessed land with no thresholds—anyone can come without paying the three bags of copper coins. This explains why the Dali Emperor is so ruthless. Whether something is done sixty years earlier or later can change everything."
The crone gritted her teeth, asking,
"Great Immortal, you protect me only because of my grandson, right?"
Yang nodded without concealment.
She pressed on,
"If so, why did you allow the martial swordsman from Zhenwu Mountain to take my grandson Ma Kuxuan? Why not cultivate him yourself?"
This crone, the river spirit, was none other than Ma Po Po of Xinghua Lane, who had died from a slap.
Yang lightly tapped his pipe, and the watery figure twisted wildly, wailing incessantly. Such sudden torment was like a mortal experiencing shattering anguish. How could she endure it?
Yang calmly said,
"Though I see no distinctions of good or evil, right or wrong, in measuring virtue, it does not mean I favor your deeds. Before, I did not bother with you, but from now on, if I reduce you to ashes, it will be in an instant—do not overstep."
The crone knelt, begging,
"Great Immortal, I dare not again!"
The martial swordsman of Zhenwu Mountain had paid a heavy price to summon the Yin family's true god. When Ma Kuxuan questioned the deity impudently, even the swordsman trembled, fearing divine wrath. Yet in the end, the god answered seriously, in human words, "Not unwilling, but unable." Such a response was unheard of between humans and gods.
Only the elder in the courtyard understood—the youth was the destined one, rivaling the maid Zhi Gui in brilliance.
Wang Zhu—when combined, the character for "pearl." What treasure is most precious to a true dragon? The pearl.
Why did she choose to ally with the Dali prince Song Jixin? Emperors have long likened themselves to true dragons; the fate of a person can be bound to the dynasty's fortune. Clearly, these two were a powerful alliance.
Yet cultivation is a long path. Fortune, talent, lineage, opportunity, and temperament are all indispensable. Some advance step by step, others bloom late but magnificently. Thus, nothing is absolute.
Among the youth of this age, Chen Ping'an stood out, silently shaping his path.
The rain stopped. The stream beneath the bridge flowed clear once again.
The story continued.