After Ruan Xiu hurried back to the blacksmith's shop, she found only her father sitting alone on a bamboo chair beneath the eaves. He handed her a jug of wine, then took a seat in another chair himself.
"Father, have you finished your discussion?" she asked.
Ruan Qiong uncorked the wine jug and, without drinking, merely inhaled the aroma. A slight headache ensued—though it was indeed Taohua Spring Wine, it was hardly the fine variety worth two taels of silver. This was clearly the cheapest batch, worth no more than eight qian per jug. From the corner of his eye, Ruan Qiong caught sight of his daughter, looking guilty as a thief, twisting the edge of her clothes, her gaze evasive—clearly afraid he would see through her deception.
Sighing inwardly, he feigned ignorance and tilted his head back to gulp down some wine, his heart heavy with frustration and restraint.
The man spoke slowly: "We've finished talking, and it went fairly well. Tomorrow, I'll send someone to the Kiln Office to fetch two maps—the old and the new topographical charts. I reckon once Chen Ping'an regains his senses, he'll come looking for me to ask about them."
Ruan Xiu breathed a sigh of relief, smiled, and stretched her legs straight out, then leaned comfortably against the smooth, cool back of the bamboo chair.
Ruan Qiong, thinking about how he was about to initiate their plan here, knew the first step was always the hardest. The omen seemed promising, and his mood lightened somewhat. Rarely did he speak favorably of Chen Ping'an.
"That boy from Niping Alley," he said, "simple in nature though he may be, he's no fool."
Ruan Xiu laughed happily: "Father, that's called 'great wisdom appearing as foolishness.' You know that, right?"
Ruan Qiong chuckled softly without replying. Inwardly, he scoffed, 'What do I know about such so-called great wisdom?'
He gazed toward the distant brook, holding the wine jug's neck between two fingers, gently rocking it.
"There are things I can't say to him directly. I worry he might overthink or misinterpret them, making things worse. Tomorrow, when you meet him, you explain."
Curious, Ruan Xiu asked, "What is it?"
Ruan Qiong paused, took a small sip of the strong liquor, and then said, "Tell him not to harbor illusions about Longji Mountain. Even some unrooted Upper Five Realm cultivators wouldn't dare demand it. The massive Dragon-Slaying Terrace, the Wind-Snow Temple, and True Martial Mountain were hard-fought victories. Given my current status, I barely managed to hold them. Many secretly envy it and gnash their teeth behind the scenes. Of course, you don't need to explain all these convoluted details to Chen Ping'an—just tell him plainly that Longji Mountain is out of the question.
"Also, the Dali court is selling peaks cheaply this time, but there are only about sixty in total. Chen Ping'an can only afford to buy five tops at most; any more, and I can't guarantee his safety or that of his holdings. Thirdly, I've just resolved to demand three peaks centered on Shenxiu Mountain from Dali. When he examines the maps, tell him to pay close attention to Shenxiu Mountain, Tiaodeng Mountain, and Hengshuo Peak along with their surrounding hills. I'm not unreasonable—I won't ask him to spend on every nearby peak, only half the amount in copper coins will suffice.
"If he's smart, though, it's better for him to buy more surrounding hills to protect our two mountains and one peak—that's the right approach. Lastly, if he can save a few copper coins, he should buy some shops in town. Many fine shops are going to change hands soon, as local families with outside connections are relocating. Prices will be cheap, at most a single copper coin."
Ruan Xiu tentatively said, "Father, why don't you buy the 'New Year's Shop' then? You kept my two bags of copper coins, right? Just give me one back, just one—how about that?"
Ruan Qiong smiled wryly, not seriously: "Forget about the copper coins I saved. Best to give up that hope. You can always tell Chen Ping'an to pay—after all, he's the richest man in our town now."
Without hesitation, Ruan Xiu replied, "That won't do. He's poor; he even has to borrow ten taels of silver."
Ruan Qiong's mouth twitched; unable to restrain himself, he turned and asked, "So, my money isn't money, but Chen Ping'an's is?"
Ruan Xiu chuckled, "We're quite close, you know."
Ruan Qiong nearly spat out old blood. Close? If that's close, then why would you let your own father drink such awful wine, stuffing himself just to lend money to that scoundrel? Daughter, what exactly does 'close' mean to you?
He took a hard swig of the mediocre liquor and stood up.
"I've said all that needs saying. You pick your words and talk to Chen Ping'an tomorrow."
Striding away, he knew full well his daughter would spill everything, both what should and shouldn't be said.
Growing more agitated, he cursed softly under his breath and wandered to a deserted spot. Throwing away the empty jug, he leapt upward and soon landed before the peach blossom wine shop at the town's edge. The shop was already closed for the night.
He knocked hard. A sleepy woman appeared from the back yard, cursing: "Looking to die or be reborn? Drinking at midnight, why not just drink your own piss for free? Dare to knock on a widow's door at night, don't you fear I'll break three legs?"
Ruan Qiong said nothing, his face dark.
Seeing it was the blacksmith Ruan, the woman glanced at his taut arm in the moonlight, instantly changing her expression to one of coquettish warmth. Grasping his arm, she smiled as if drought had met rain. Almost stumbling, she leaned on him—but the blacksmith, oblivious to her intentions, gently steadied her shoulder. After dropping some silver, he took two jugs of wine and strode off.
Standing at the door, the woman sneered loudly: "A fine strong man, yet such a disgrace to his name! Soft Master—no, Ruan Master—next time you buy from my shop, you'll pay double! But if one day you stand tall, I might just give you free wine and free lodging."
Ruan Qiong walked indifferently to the street's end. Without returning to the southern shops, he headed north to a small mountain composed entirely of shattered porcelain shards piled high.
About thirty paces from the hill, he seated himself cross-legged at a random spot.
A voice sounded nearby, "What a coincidence, you're here too."
Ruan Qiong nodded, tossing over a jug of wine. The elderly man received it, weighing it thoughtfully, then clicked his tongue.
"Buying wine from Widow Liu at this hour, every man takes a loss."
Ruan Qiong wanted to avoid small talk and instead asked, "Old Master Yang, who exactly is that youth with the new supervisor Wu Yuan? I can't gauge his true strength. On the surface, he looks no different from an ordinary person."
The old man from the Yang shop took a sip and said, "His identity is unknown. But as the old saying goes, 'Those who come with ill intent never come in peace,' right?"
He laughed, looking up at the peak of Porcelain Mountain, where a youth in a blue robe stood with hands folded inside his sleeves, a mole between his brows, smiling warmly. The youth drew one hand from his sleeve and waved it.
"When entering, one calls out. When entering a temple, one bows to the gods. I respect the rules—first greeting Master Ruan, then Old Master Yang. Proper etiquette all around."
Old Master Yang didn't continue drinking but produced a string to hang the wine jug at his waist, then drew a long drag from his pipe, smiling wryly:
"When entering mountains or marshes, one paints talismans to ward off spirits. But I wonder if yours are ghostly scribbles or divine symbols?"
The youth retracted his hand, leaning slightly forward with a smile:
"Regardless of any misunderstandings, I assure you, after notifying you both today, we shall have no further dealings. Well, if there is any, it will be the City God Pavilion's establishment, which I currently oversee—slightly involving you two. As for the Wenchang Pavilion or Martial Saint Temple, that's beyond me. I only govern a tiny, insignificant City God Pavilion."
According to common gossip, within a county's jurisdiction, the magistrate governs all affairs of the living world. The towering City God statue is said to oversee the night and the spirits beneath his domain.
Ruan Qiong furrowed his brow. Was this man a Ministry of Rites official? Or a practitioner from the Imperial Astronomical Bureau? Regardless of whether his roots lay in the Ministry, the Bureau, or somewhere in the imperial palace, anyone bold enough to stand atop Porcelain Mountain must at least be a top-tier practitioner in the Upper Five Realm.
Thus, this youth was surely no mere boy.
The youth's refined features, marked by a small cinnabar mole between his brows, turned to Old Master Yang.
"Sir, heed this warning—caution ensures a voyage of ten thousand years."
Old Master Yang drew deeply on his pipe but exhaled only a thin wisp of smoke, which soon vanished without a trace.
The youth kept his hands folded in his sleeves, a smile on his lips, as he turned to leave.
Ruan Qiong watched silently, then pulled out a small brush and a sheet of yellow paper from his robe. Swiftly, he wrote a few characters, dipped the brush in vermilion ink, and carefully drew a seal before folding the paper.
The paper glowed faintly in the night, then disappeared as if swallowed by the dark.
"Longji Mountain," he muttered under his breath.