Sword Arrives

On the second day of the second lunar month, as the dragon raises its head,

 dusk descends upon the secluded Mud Bottle Alley of the small town. Amidst this tranquil setting, a lonely and lanky youth adheres to an ancient custom. With a flickering candle in one hand and a peach branch in the other, he illuminates the beams, walls, wooden bed, and every corner of his humble abode. Tapping and swishing the branch, he utters the timeless chant passed down through generations: "On the second day of the second lunar month, candlelight shines bright, peach branch swishes light; pests and evil spirits, take flight."

 The youth's name is Chen Ping'an, a name carried with safeness, yet burdened by a life marked by early orphanhood. This small town, renowned for its porcelain, once bore the imperial mandate to oversee the making of sacrificial vessels for the Mausoleum. Imperial officials resided here year-round, their presence a testament to the town's craftsmanship and importance. From a tender age, Chen Ping'an took up the trade of a kiln master, toiling under the guidance of a grumpy, half-hearted mentor. After years of arduous labor, he had just begun to grasp the intricate nuances of porcelain firing when fate dealt a cruel blow. The town, once the pride of the imperial kilns, lost its status overnight. Scores of kilns, like dragons resting on the land, were ordered shut down and extinguished by the authorities.

 Chen Ping'an placed the peach branch aside, blew out the candle, and stepped out into the night. Seated on the steps, he gazed up at the dazzling starry sky, a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond his humble abode.

 He still remembered his old mentor, Yao, who reluctantly acknowledged him as a half-disciple. Yao, a man of obstinate principles, passed away one early morning in late autumn, leaving Chen Ping'an with unfulfilled dreams and unlearned secrets.

 But Yao was but one among many.

 The craftsmen of the town, dedicated solely to porcelain firing for generations, dared not presume to produce tribute porcelain nor sell their stored wares privately. They were forced to seek alternative livelihoods, leaving Chen Ping'an evicted and returning to Mud Bottle Alley to guard the dilapidated old house. The bleak scene, devoid of furniture and warmth, left him with nowhere to start, even if he had the desire to squander his inheritance.

 After wandering aimlessly like a lost soul for some time, the youth found it impossible to earn a living. With his meager savings, he managed to scrape by, filling his stomach barely. A few days ago, he heard that an outsider blacksmith surnamed Ruan had arrived in Dragon Ride Alley, a few streets away, and was looking to take seven or eight apprentice blacksmiths. Although there was no pay, meals were provided. Chen Ping'an quickly rushed over to try his luck. Unexpectedly, the middle-aged man merely glanced at him askance and turned him away. At that moment, Chen Ping'an wondered if the skill of blacksmithing wasn't based on physical strength but rather on facial appearance?

 You should know that although Chen Ping'an may look frail, his strength cannot be underestimated. This was due to the physical foundation he had built up from years of shaping porcelain bodies during his apprenticeship in porcelain firing. Besides that, Chen Ping'an had also followed Yao, traversing the mountains and rivers around the small town, and willingly taking on any dirty or strenuous work without complaint or hesitation. Yet, Yao never liked him, despising his lack of comprehension and stubbornness, far inferior to his eldest disciple Liu Xianyang. It was not surprising that the old man was partial, as the saying goes, 'The teacher opens the door, but personal cultivation determines the outcome.' Liu Xianyang's skill after just half a year was equivalent to Chen Ping'an's hard work over three.

Though he may never need this skill, Chen Ping'an closed his eyes and imagined a slate and pottery wheel before him. He began to practice shaping the porcelain body, believing in the power of practice.

Every fifteen minutes, he would take a break, shaking out his wrists. This cycle continued until he was completely exhausted, only then rising to stroll around the courtyard, stretching his muscles and joints. No one had taught Chen Ping'an these things; he had figured them out through trial and error.

The world was silent, but Chen Ping'an heard a piercing, sarcastic laugh. He stopped and, as expected, saw his neighbor perched on the wall, grinning with disdain.

This person was Song Jixin, Chen Ping'an's elegant neighbor and, according to rumors, the illegitimate son of the former supervisor. The former supervisor, fearing criticism and impeachment, returned to the capital alone, leaving his child in the care of the succeeding official. Now, for some inexplicable reason, the town had lost its imperial kiln status. The supervisor, struggling to stay afloat, had no time for the illegitimate son of his fellow official. After leaving some silver and money, he hastily left for the capital.

Song Jixin, unknowingly becoming a discarded pawn, continued to lead a leisurely life. He wandered around the town, accompanied by his maid, Zhigui, a name as literary as his own. She stood on the other side of the courtyard wall, her timid almond-shaped eyes watching Chen Ping'an.