The town now resembled a battlefield diorama, meticulously crafted by the generals of Great Li, yet cast aside beneath a careless shroud of black cloth once the war had ended.
In his modest home, Chen Ping'an lit an oil lamp and began to inventory his possessions—three pouches of golden copper coins, each for a different purpose: offerings, spring welcomes, and protective charms. One pouch had been a gift from a prince of Great Sui, in thanks for witnessing the golden carp; the remaining two were left by Gu Can, compensation for buying loaches.
As for the two pouches of coins that Chen Dui had intended to give him as a token of gratitude, Chen Ping'an had earnestly requested, during his journey down the mountain, that she pass them on to Liu Xianyang instead. Though puzzled, Chen Dui did not refuse. Perhaps she was surprised by the boy from the alley's decision—or simply in good spirits after a successful ancestral rite—for she did something unprecedented: she smiled, her tone softened, and she offered heartfelt words, assuring Chen Ping'an that a promise from a direct descendant of the Yingyin Chen clan was worth far more than two pouches of gold-laced coins.
Chen Ping'an remained skeptical, unsure whether to believe her entirely. Yet, when Ning Yao heard the phrase "direct descendant of the Yingyin Chen clan," she quietly urged him to put his mind at ease.
Mr. Qi had gifted him four seals in total, across two occasions. The first two—"Serene Heart and Joyful Intent" and "Chen Eleven"—were carved from snake gallstone he had long kept in his private collection. The latter two, however, had been shaped from stone gifted by Chen Ping'an himself. One bore small seal script, the other clerical script. By chance, the two matched perfectly, forming a scenic tableau of green mountains and flowing waters. One was bold and solid, the other delicate and graceful. Mr. Qi had engraved the characters for "Mountain" and "Water" upon them. According to Ning Yao, they could be rightfully called a pair of "Shanshui Seals."
Chen Ping'an placed Daoist Lu's two prescriptions—three sheets in total—on the table. Ning Yao had once mocked Lu's handwriting for being lifeless and plain, lacking charm, spirit, worldliness, or divinity—like those scholars from mortal dynasties who conformed to the stiff and subservient style of the examination halls for the sake of title and fame.
Chen Ping'an, of course, couldn't judge the artistry or depth of the calligraphy, nor would he dismiss the pages simply because of Ning Yao's criticism. Moreover, before departing, Daoist Lu had said that books and literacy were scarce in the town. If Chen Ping'an wished to learn, he could start with these very prescriptions.
Now, Chen Ping'an carefully picked up the final page. He had previously noticed the vermilion seal reading "Decree of Lu Chen" but hadn't given it much thought. Now that he, too, possessed four seals of his own, those tiny characters seemed particularly dear and endearing.
He imagined a day when he had spare coin, bought a book, and tucked it away in his personal collection. Then, upon the title or closing page, he would press his "Chen Eleven" seal in red ink—just that thought made him break into a wide grin.
But soon a dilemma presented itself: with seals came the need for ink paste. In Riding Dragon Alley, next to the store that sold pastries and New Year's goods, was a shop named "Grassy Tip" that sold all kinds of miscellaneous items. Song Jixin and his maid Zhi Gui often frequented it; their brush, ink, and desk supplies had come from there.
Chen Ping'an hesitated briefly. He decided that once he could read and chanced upon a book that stirred his heart at first glance, he would then go and buy a box of ink paste.
There was also a burlap sack filled with snake gallstones—seven or eight pieces in total, carefully selected and varying in color. Despite being long out of water, they retained their vibrant hues. The open sack on the table revealed stones the size of a grown man's palm, a child's fist, or a pigeon's egg—all nestled together, looking endearingly precious.
Chen Ping'an had originally hoped to give them to Liu Xianyang. Song Jixin, though sharp-tongued, had once spoken a truth worth pondering: the same trinket, if placed in a peddler's tray outside the Mud Bottle Alley, might fetch only a few coins and demand great effort to sell. Yet if it appeared behind the counter of the Grassy Tip shop, it would start at three or four taels of silver—take it or leave it.
Though the words had been uttered casually, they struck a chord with Chen Ping'an. He figured that these stones, if kept in town, would never fetch a high price. But if passed to Liu Xianyang, who was bound for the greater world of the Yingyin Chen clan, even if swindled or bargained down, he'd surely gain more than what Chen Ping'an could ever hope to earn.
And if it came down to Chen himself holding a thatched cottage or his friend gaining a mountain of gold and silver—was there even a choice? Why else be friends with Liu Xianyang?
Even as Chen Ping'an admitted that Liu Baqiao of Wind and Thunder Garden seemed decent, he could never bring himself to believe the man's friendly overtures. No matter how many times Liu Baqiao addressed him as "brother," Chen never echoed the sentiment.
At last, Chen Ping'an picked up the jade hairpin. Mr. Qi had said it was a gift from his own teacher in his younger days—an ordinary object, not some rare treasure.
The green jade was engraved with eight tiny characters. Ning Yao had explained their meaning to him once: "In thought, I dwell upon the gentleman; gentle and warm as jade."
Gentleman. Though he had never read books, Chen Ping'an instinctively felt that the term carried great weight.
From outside came Ning Yao's voice: "Why not wear that hairpin? If someone gifts it to you, they must wish you to make use of it."
Startled, Chen Ping'an looked up and smiled. "What brings you here?"
Ning Yao sat across from him and glanced at the hairpin in his hand. "I inspected it carefully. It truly is just a simple hairpin, no hidden secrets. At first, I thought it might conceal a pocket realm."
Chen Ping'an blinked in confusion. "Huh?"
Ning Yao, gazing at his 'heirloom treasures' scattered across the table, elaborated, "You've heard the phrase 'a world within a world,' haven't you? Common folk think it's just poetic rhetoric, but it actually holds great meaning.
There are two kinds of pocket realms. One is like the one we are in now—Li Pearl Cave Heaven—one of the ten great caves and thirty-six lesser ones. These are the 'blessed lands' of legend. Some span thousands of miles. It's said that the Dao Ancestor once possessed a Lotus Cave Heaven, one of the thirty-six lesser ones, where just a single lotus leaf's surface was larger than your Great Li Dynasty's capital."
Startled, Chen Ping'an exclaimed, "That can't be real, can it?"
Ning Yao chuckled and confidently raised her thumb to herself. "I don't believe it either. That's why I'll go see it myself and tell you the truth when I return."
Chen Ping'an murmured, "Places that strange… not just anyone can enter, right?"
With a soft laugh, Ning Yao replied, "And who do you think I am?"
Chen Ping'an quickly changed the subject. "Miss Ning, please go on about the cave heavens."
Ning Yao casually picked up a delicate snake gallstone—peach-colored—and rolled it in her palm. "Any great cave heaven links heaven and earth, rich in spiritual energy, making it a true immortal's abode. Cultivators who train there gain double the results with half the effort. The master of such a realm must be a person of great fortune and destiny. Long ago, the elite of the Three Teachings and Hundred Schools carved up all such places, leaving none for others.
The thirty-six lesser cave heavens are more like hidden realms, veiled and secretive, like a maiden behind her pipa. Of these, the Peach Blossom Source is the most scenic, the Gang Wind Cave the most treacherous, and Li Pearl Cave Heaven…"
Chen Ping'an eagerly interrupted, "What about ours?"
Ning Yao raised two fingers and gently rubbed them together. "The smallest—about this big. A mere speck. Hardly worth mentioning."
Chen Ping'an sat cross-legged, lazily sprawled across the table. One by one, he raised his fingers and softly said with a smile, "But here, I met Mr. Qi, Old Yang, Liu Xianyang, Gu Can… and of course, you, Miss Ning."
Ning Yao smiled as well. "There's another kind of lesser cave heaven—those used to store items. Buddhism calls it the mustard seed within Mount Sumeru; Daoism refers to sleeves containing heavens. The various schools each have their versions, but they all follow the principle of 'a speck that contains the cosmos.'"