The town seemed to have fallen under a rare and ominous eclipse, a darkness so thick it swallowed everything whole—so complete that not even an outstretched hand could be seen. Outside the town, one divine statue after another shattered like firecrackers, the explosions growing louder and more frequent. In the oppressive silence that had settled over the town with the sudden nightfall, the noise became even more jarring, further fueling the panic among the common folk. Whispers turned into suspicions, especially after witnessing the earlier procession of ox carts and horse-drawn carriages carrying the scions of noble families. In alleys and marketplaces, anxiety clung to every breath.
Behind the towering gates of the four great surnames and ten prominent clans, not a single household permitted even a flicker of lantern light. Whenever a servant or maid attempted to light one without permission, they were promptly berated. Some of the more hot-tempered stewards would swat the lanterns to the ground and crush them beneath their heels, their faces twisted with hostility, as if the well-meaning servants were enemies to be guarded against.
At the blacksmith shop, Chen Ping'an sat with Ning Yao beside the well, eating lunch. Though puzzled by the sudden darkness, he didn't let it interfere with his appetite. The blacksmith's meals were hearty: each worker was given a slab of glistening braised pork about the size of a finger, along with a spoonful of rich broth and as much rice as they could eat. Chen Ping'an, who could easily down two bowls, always saved the meat for last. With the juices soaking his rice, the first bowl was consumed meatless, letting the pork gradually slide to the bottom, where he would retrieve it after refilling his bowl.
Ning Yao often found herself on the verge of laughter watching him eat. Ruan Xiu, however, looked at him differently—not with amusement, but with a gaze that seemed to say, "A fellow traveler."
Now, holding his empty porcelain bowl in one hand and his chopsticks in the other, Chen Ping'an strained his eyes, barely able to see a few meters ahead. Over the past few days, in addition to his labor at the forge, he had carved out three hours daily for stake-walking training—one during the day and two at night, from dusk till the early hours. He had attempted to incorporate the Sword Furnace Mudra with the stances, but the combination disrupted his breathing and unsteadied his footwork, prompting him to abandon the idea. Instead, he trained the mudra in secret, using stolen moments between tasks, nurturing his body in the same way he once shaped clay for pottery—only now, the manual was the Mountain-Shaking Guide.
During the daytime practice session, he would travel a full mile downriver from the smithy before beginning, to avoid gossip, returning after covering ten miles or so in total. For Chen Ping'an, this had already become an inviolable new family rule.
Back at the well, Ning Yao sat with her eyes fixed on the sky, as black as cloth stretched taut overhead. Her long, slender brows—usually elegant—were now furrowed with unease. Chen Ping'an asked softly, "Does this have something to do with Mister Qi?"
She didn't offer a clear answer. "Since Mister Qi is the master of this pocket realm, I suppose it must."
"Then why," Chen Ping'an continued, "didn't he leave the town with that young scholar Zhao Yao, as they'd originally planned? That's what Song Jixin and Zhi Gui said."
Ning Yao chuckled and shook her head. "A sage's mind is like a dragon vein—stretching endlessly across mountains and rivers. Who could guess at its twists and turns? I wouldn't even try."
With that, she tossed her bowl and chopsticks to Chen Ping'an and rose to leave, heading for the thatched cottage of mud walls that had been reserved for her alone. Even she found it odd how respectfully Master Ruan treated her. Could he have guessed her identity? It seemed unlikely. After all, Upside-Down Mountain wasn't even in the Eastern Bottle Continent, nor did it have much interaction with the outside world. Its name was well-known, but its visitors were few. Even those on the mountain seemed unsure of who she really was. But Ning Yao was the sort to meet a forked road and forge her own straight path with a sword if necessary. Since the renowned swordsmith of the East, Master Ruan, had extended goodwill, she accepted it with grace.
Chen Ping'an was just about to head to the kitchen with the bowls when he noticed someone passing by—a young man in long, flowing sleeves, exuding the scholarly air even more than Chen Songfeng. There was something about him that reminded Chen Ping'an of both Mister Qi and the imposing Superintendent Song he'd once met in Clay Bottle Alley. The man, noticing the straw-sandaled youth staring in a daze by the well, seemed surprised but smiled warmly as he approached.
"I'm looking for Master Ruan. Do you know where he might be?"
This time, unlike with Cai Jin and Fu Nanhua in Clay Bottle Alley, Chen Ping'an didn't lie. He pointed directly and answered honestly. For one, Ning Yao had vouched for Ruan's skill. For another, this man didn't seem cunning or dangerous.
"Would you like me to take you there?" he offered.
The man smiled, shaking his head gently. "No need. It's just a few steps away. Thank you."
Chen Ping'an nodded and walked toward the kitchen, while the man made his way to the forge chamber.
Later, Chen Ping'an noticed the apprentices had gathered indoors, oil lamps lit, whispering about the strange reversal of day and night. Some swore it was due to a mountain god trespassing into the wrong territory, angering the river god who governed the local streams, resulting in a battle that darkened the heavens. Others scoffed at such tales, saying all local mountains were sealed by imperial decree and none held gods anymore—and such a small stream could never host a river deity.
Chen Ping'an didn't join the debate. With time to spare, he used his unusually sharp eyesight to descend into the last well alone, hauling up soil basket by basket. One time, as he climbed the wooden ladder, he caught sight of the man from earlier leaving the forge. They saw each other from a distance; the man didn't approach but raised a hand in farewell. Chen Ping'an returned the gesture, feeling a strange mix of emotion. Whoever this person was—good or bad—he was undeniably different from the outsiders of Mount Zhengyang, Mount Yunxia, or the cities of Clearwind and Old Dragon.
After another round of digging, Chen Ping'an emerged to find Ruan Xiu standing near the well crank, a cloth wrapped around her palm and stacked with delicate pastries. When she saw him, she reached out with her hand. Chen Ping'an, covered in dirt, smiled and shook his head. Ruan Xiu sat down and began nibbling on the sweets from the Dragon-Riding Alley's New Year shop, completely absorbed, her whole being radiating joy.
Chen Ping'an continued his labor. By the time he returned once more, she was gone—but on the well's edge, she had left the cloth and a single pastry: the shop's famed peach blossom wine cake. Chen Ping'an paused, took off his basket, and sat by the well. Wiping his hands clean, he picked up the cake and took a bite.
He nodded vigorously—it was delicious. After all, it cost ten full coins. The thought alone made it taste even better.
For the next few hours, the sky remained dim. Occasionally, the sound of distant, muffled drumbeats rolled through the air, but otherwise the town was quiet. Master Ruan, in a rare act, gave the short-term workers two days of rest, telling them to return home and not linger, waiting for "daybreak" to resume work.
Chen Ping'an was among them. He returned to town, heading for Liu Xianyang's home, making sure nothing had gone missing…