Gazing at the smiling youth, Chen Ping'an felt a surge of tension flood his body, his muscles involuntarily taut. When he once fought to the death alongside Cai Jinjian and Fu Nanhua, the closer he drew to them, the more his heart calmed into a still lake. Even when later entangled with the Mountain-Moving Apes of Zhengyang Mountain and pursued relentlessly, Chen Ping'an had long accepted his inevitable demise. Though recollections of fear occasionally surfaced afterwards, during the clash, no matter how perilous his life hung, he remained unnervingly composed—perhaps simply too preoccupied to be otherwise. The sole moment etched vividly in his memory was his duel with Ma Kuxuan, a peer from Xinghua Lane, at the Immortal's Grave—a battle of equals during which his palms were slick with sweat.
Chen Ping'an's instinctive acuity seemed to surprise Cui Zan not at all. Since Cui Zan dared to provoke the inscrutable Elder Yang on Old Porcelain Mountain, it was clear he was no mere charlatan; otherwise, even the martial sage Ruan Qiong, esteemed among the Eleven Floors, would not have harbored such unease. He deliberately ignored the faint anxiety betrayed by the straw-sandal-clad youth, diverting his gaze toward the Grand Secretariat's precinct, steeped in history with the Dali imperial capital. Pointing a finger with a lively, earnest expression, he explained:
"Confucianism's 'Act with rightful resolve,' Taoism's 'Speak sparingly by nature,' Buddhism's 'Seek not without,' and the martial spirit's 'Fiery vigor unyielding'—these four plaques bear sixteen characters that embody the immense and potent divine will of their calligrapher, as well as the enduring influence left by the four saints of the Three Teachings who once established these edicts here. See that object in the Minister's hand? It's used for rubbings, designed to peel away the essence and spirit layer by layer. The first rubbing is the closest to the 'original,' both in form and soul; subsequent copies progressively stray further from the true original, their value diminishing accordingly. Apart from the phrase 'Seek not without' which might withstand six rubbings at best, the other three plaques likely won't endure more than four, especially the martial motto 'Fiery vigor unyielding.' It seems two characters recently 'died,' so after two rubbings, the process must cease."
Chen Ping'an was taken aback—so much subtlety lay hidden here. Characters were not merely lines on books or couplets on walls, nor just inscriptions on tombstones marking the departed. His thoughts flickered to the seals Mr. Qi had bestowed and the young Daoist Lu's prescriptions. Cui Zan continued:
"The rubbing papers are exceedingly precious, each thick as a wooden tablet. They belong exclusively to the Daoist Zhenjiao Sect of another realm and are called 'Wind-Thunder Sheets.' When the brush meets the paper, it stirs sounds like wind and thunder. Even our emperor hoards them sparingly, reserving them for rewarding meritorious ministers or bestowing upon official offices at year's end. Hence the Ministry of Rites is determined to seize these inscriptions at all costs. Our promising young Lord Wu is overly ambitious, eager to grasp everything firmly—he's likely to face setbacks in this town. Other ruthless prefects and county magistrates might find it difficult to survive under his rule."
Chen Ping'an listened as if to an arcane text. Though the youth beside him spoke confidently, Chen Ping'an sensed no falsehood. The vermilion-marked youth claimed no official rank in Dali, nor any pretense, yet he appeared at the blacksmith's, shadowing the supervising officer Wu Yuan. Ruan Xiu surmised he might be Wu's companion or tutor boy—the kind who follows a young master during scholarly pursuits, carrying books. But now Chen Ping'an was certain this delicate-looking youth, self-styled 'Embroidered Tiger' Cui Zan, was no ordinary figure. His manner and cultivated demeanor rivaled those of Chen Songfeng, eldest scion of Longwei Commandery, and Fu Nanhua, young lord of Old Dragon City.
Among those Chen Ping'an knew, a rare few stood apart: Old Yao from the kiln, taciturn and often scolding, yet returning from the mountains imbued with vitality surpassing that of robust men; Old Yang from the apothecary, fair and unswayed by closeness or enmity; young Lady Ning Yao, recently acquainted, radiating resolute spirit; and Ma Kuxuan of Xinghua Lane, whose aura brimmed with sharpness and bitterness. 'Embroidered Tiger' Cui Zan was akin to these, seemingly exalted even beyond the divine heirs like Fu Nanhua and Cai Jinjian. Chen Ping'an felt that even the stern Master Jiejiang would meet Cui Zan's casual, indifferent gaze with no more than a flicker of surprise. Only Liu Baqiao of the Wind-Thunder Garden could rival this youth's loquacity.
Suddenly, Cui Zan smiled and asked, "Chen Ping'an, could you take me to visit the courtyard of the Song family?"
Chen Ping'an's heart tightened, replying with feigned nonchalance, "But the gate ceremony isn't over yet."
The youth's eyes twinkled like a benign, enchanting fox spirit. "I know you suspect me of ill intent. Honestly, I'm close to Song Jixin's younger brother. He's curious about how his elder sibling has lived in this town for over a decade and entrusted me to see for myself—then report back once I return to the capital."
Chen Ping'an inquired, "If they're brothers, why doesn't he ask directly?"
Cui Zan snapped his fingers, praising, "Smart of you, to spot that loophole so quickly."
Chen Ping'an struggled to follow his train of thought. The youth massaged his brow, exasperated. "Their relationship's strained due to their parents, never meeting properly. Nobility's dirty secrets rival the trivial squabbles of Mud Bottle and Xinghua Lanes. So you must understand."
Chen Ping'an grinned, "If I refuse, will you give me trouble?"
The youth feigned offense, pointing to himself. "Do I look like some villain? Look closely—do I appear the type to slaughter a family over a word?"
Chen Ping'an honestly replied, "Not at all."
The youth gasped, "That doesn't sound like a compliment."
Crossing his arms, he snorted, "If you won't take me, I'll find my own way."
Chen Ping'an asked, "You don't have the key. How will you get in?"
The youth's expression conveyed "You're too naive," smiling silently—a smile Chen Ping'an knew well, often worn by Liu Xianyang and Gu Can.
Sighing, Chen Ping'an said, "Fine, I'll take you to Mud Bottle Lane, but no climbing walls into the courtyard. Just the gate."
The youth slapped Chen Ping'an's shoulder hard. "Why didn't you say so sooner?!" Then he strode off from the bustling archway.
Suddenly pausing, he turned to see Chen Ping'an walking the opposite way, carrying a basket. The youth hastened to catch up.
Entering Mud Bottle Lane, he glanced around, clicking his tongue. "So this is the famed Mud Bottle Lane, full of hidden dragons and concealed tigers, a place teeming with talent. In a hundred years, aside from Xinghua Lane, even Fulu and Taoye Streets combined might not rival it."
His mystical words sounded surprisingly natural. Along the way, he hopped occasionally, peeking over low walls at the courtyards.
Chen Ping'an led him to Song Jixin's gate. "Here it is."
The youth's eyes brightened on spotting the couplet penned by Song himself, admiration flowing: "So this is where Song Jixin and his maid Zhi Gui live? Hmm, his handwriting's quite good—much more insightful than his brother's. The more I look, the more I like it."
Without warning, the youth stepped forward, on tiptoe, reaching to tear down the couplet. Alarmed, Chen Ping'an blocked him. "What are you doing?"
The youth looked innocent. "Song Jixin will never return. Leaving the couplet to fade away in wind and sun is a pity—I'd rather bring it to the capital."
Chen Ping'an shook his head firmly. "No. Until the New Year when couplets are traditionally replaced, these must remain. Removing them now invites misfortune upon the household."
The youth sighed. "So the town even has such customs."
Chen Ping'an asked, "Want to visit my place?"
The youth waved off the offer. "No, it's too small. Probably wouldn't even get a cup of tea. Let's go. By the way, this lane isn't a dead end, right? Can we walk all the way through?"
Chen Ping'an smiled, "Yes, you can."
The youth strode off, glancing back to wave at Chen Ping'an.
Chen Ping'an watched the peculiar youth disappear, then returned home to find the locust branch still by the wall. Setting down his basket, he fetched a bench and sat.
Suddenly springing up, he dashed into Mud Bottle Lane. Sure enough, a furtive figure fled swiftly. Approaching Song Jixin's gate, Chen Ping'an found the couplet stolen. Standing before the bare walls, he muttered bitterly, "What sort of people are these? So shameless."
Sighing deeply, Chen Ping'an returned home, only to find Old Yang sitting on the bench, puffing smoke.
The old man slowly said, "Young and sighing—what a waste. The precious vital energy you've gathered is leaking away. Martial artists especially suffer this."
Chen Ping'an shuddered, replying
, "I know, I know. But these emotions are hard to abandon."
Old Yang smiled slightly, "All those who stand firm on the path face such trials. Let time sift the pure from the dross."
Chen Ping'an nodded, "Thank you, Master Yang. I will strive harder."
The old apothecary flicked ash, eyes gleaming, "Be careful. Soon the Imperial Court's envoy will descend."
Chen Ping'an looked up, heart pounding: The storm was truly approaching.